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Ro. Whether to fupper?
Ser. To our house.
Ro. Whose house?
Ser. My mafters.
Ro. Indeed I should haue askt thee that before.
Ser. Now Il'e tel you without asking. My mafter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Reft you
Ben. At this fame auncient feaft of Capulets,
That I will fhew you fhining at this feast,
And fhe shall scant fhew well that now feemes best.
Enter Capulets wife and Nurce.
Wife. Nurce wher's my daughter call her forth to mee. Nurce. Now by my maiden head at twelue yeare old I bad her come, what lamb, what ladie bird, God forbid. Wher's this girle? what Iuliet.
Juliet. How now who cals?
Nurce. Your mother.
Iul. Madame I am here, what is your will?
W. This is the matter. Nurfe giue leaue a while, we must talke in fecret. Nurce come back again I haue remembred me, thou'fe heare our counfaile. Thou knoweft my daughters of a prettie age.
Nurce. Faith I can tell her age unto an houre.
Wife. Shee's not fourteene.
Nurce. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth, and yet to my teene be it fpoken, I haue but foure, fhee's not fourteene. How long is it now to Lammas-tide?
Wife. A fortnight and odde days.
Nurce. Euen or odde, of all dayes in the yeare come Lam
Sufan and she God rest Well Sufan is with God,
mas eue at night fhall fhe be fourteene. all chriftian foules were of an age. fhe was too good for me: But as I faid on Lammas eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall fhee marie I remember it well. Tis fince the earth-quake nowe eleauen yeares, and she was weand I neuer fhall forget it, of all the daies of the yeare vpon that day: for I had then laid wormewood to my dug, fitting in the fun vnder the doue-houfe wall. My lord and you were then at Mantua, nay I do beare a braine: but as I faid, when it did taft the wormwood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty foole to fee it teachie and fall
out with dugge. Shake quoth the doue-house twas no need I trow to bid me trudge, and fince that time it is a leauen yeare: for then could Juliet ftande high lone, nay by the roode, fhee could haue wadled vp and downe, for euen the day before shee brake her brow, and then my husband God be with his foule, hee was a merrie man: doft thou fall forward Iuliet? thou wilt fall backward when thou haft more wit: wilt thou not Iuliet? and by my hollidam, the pretty foole left crying and faid I. To fee how a ieaft shall come about, I warrant you if I fhould liue a hundred yeare, I neuer should forget it, wilt thou not luliet? and by my troth fhe ftinted and cried I.
Juliet. And ftint thou too, I prethee nurce fay I.
Nurce. Well goe thy waies, God marke thee for his grace, thou wert the prettiest babe that euer I nurft, might I but liue to fee thee married once, I haue my wifh.
Wife. And that fame marriage nurce, is the theame I meant to talke of tell me Iuliet, howe ftand you affected to be married?
Iul. It is an honor that I dreame not off.
Nurce. An honor! were not I thy onely nurce, I would fay thou hadst fuckt wifedome from thy teat.
Wife. Well girle, the noble countie Paris feekes thee for his wife.
Nurce. A man young ladie, ladie fuch a man as all the world, why he is a man of waxe.
Wife. Veronaes fummer hath not fuch a flower.
Nurce. Nay he is a flower, in faith a very flower.
Wife. Well Iuliet, how like you of Paris loue.
But no more decpe will I engage mine eye,
Clowne. Maddam you are cald for, fupper is readie, the nurce curst in the pantric, all thinges in extreamitie, make haft for I must be gone to waite.
Enter Mafkers with Romeo and a Page.
Ro. What shall this fpeech bee spoke for our excuse?
Benuoleo. The date is out of fuch prolixitie,
Rom. A torch for me I am not for this aumbling,
Mer. Beleeue me Romeo I muft haue you daunce.
With nimble foles, I haue a foule of lead
So ftakes me to the ground I cannot flirre,
A vifor for a vifor, what care I
What curious eye doth coate deformitie.
Rom. Giue me a torch, let wantons light of hart
For I am prouerbd with a grandfire phrase,
The game was nere fo faire and I am done.
Mer. Tut dun's the mouse, the cunftable's old word, If thou beeft dun, weele draw thee from the mire
Of this furreuerence loue wherein thou stickst.
Mer. I meane fir in delay,
We burne our lights by night, like lampes by day,
Rom. So we meane well by going to this maske:
Mer. Why Romeo may one asķe ?
Rom. I dreamt a dreame to night.
Rom. Why what was yours?
Mer. That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed afleepe while they doe dreame things true.
She is the fairies midwife and doth come
In fhape no bigger than an aggat stone
A thwart mens nofes when they lie asleepe.
The traces are the moone-fhine watrie beames,
Pickt from the lafie finger of a maide,
And in this fort fhe gallops up and downe
Through louers braines, and then they dreame of loue.
O're ladies lips, who dreame on kisses strait :