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ROMEO AND JULIET.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

ESCALUS, Prince of Verona.

PARIS, a young nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.
MONTAGUE, heads of two houses, at variance with
CAPULET, S
An old Man, uncle to Capulet.
ROMEO, son to Montague.

each other.

MERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to

Romeo.

BENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to

Romeo.

TYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet. Friar LAURENCE, a franciscan. Friar JOHN, of the same order. BALTHAZAR, servant to Romeo. SAMPSON,

servants to Capulet.

ABRAM, servant to Montague.
SCENE,

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife.

An Apothecary.

Three Musicians. Chorus.

– during the greater Part of the Play, in VERONA: once in the Fifth Ac, u Mantua.

SCENE I. A publick Place.

Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with swords and bucklers.

Boy.

Page to Paris. PETER.

An Officer.

PROLOGUE.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry

coals.

Lady MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.
Lady CAPULET, wife to Capulet.
JULIET, daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar.

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.

ACT I.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd leve,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could re-

move,

Is now the two hours' traffick of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves

me.

Gre. To move is -to stir; and to be valiant, is -to stand to it: therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou run'st away.

Sam.

A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

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Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say - ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

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Enter several partizans of both houses, who join the ' fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs.

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate
the wold,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.

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Enter PRINCE, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, Will they not hear? what ho! you men, you beasts,

--

;

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield our partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate :
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt PRINCE and Attendants; CAPULET,
Lady CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and
Servants.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?— Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them; in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. La. Mon. O, where is Romeo! saw you him

To-day?
Right glad I am, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,
[They fight. That westward rooteth from the city's side,

So early walking did I see your son :
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own, —
That most are busied when they are most alone, -
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the further east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts
up
his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you impórtun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself - I will not say, how trueBut to himself so secret and so close,

So far from sounding and discovery,

As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweat leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter ROMEO, at a distance.

Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Ben. But new struck nine. Rom.

Is the day so young?

Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was: - -What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

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Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. Ben. In love?

Rom. Out.

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was

here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create ! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? Ben.

No, coz,

1 rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.

At thy good heart's oppression
Rom. Why, such is love's transgressi ǝn.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[Going.

Ben.

Soft, I will go along ; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why, no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

-

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marks-man! - And she's

fair I love.

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Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,

That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow, Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.

Rom.

'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more :. These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget. Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. - A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me ;- Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.
Serv. Find them out, whose names are written
here? It is written that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard, and the taylor with his last,
the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his
nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose
names are here writ, and can never find what names
the writing person hath here writ. I must to the
learned :- - In good time.

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Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's
burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ;
Turn giddy, and be holp' by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish :
Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom.
For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman
is:

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Enter Lady CAPULET and Nurse.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

-at twelve

2

Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head,
year old,
I bade her come.-What, lamb ! what, lady-bird!-
God forbid !. where's this girl? - what, Juliet!
Enter JULIET.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires!
And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,—
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Room in Capulet's House.

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd, and tormented, and Good-e'en, good Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.
fellow.

Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse.
Jul.

What is your will?

La. Cap. This is the matter: - Nurse, give leave
awhile,

We must talk in secret. -Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel.

Your mother.

Madam, I am here.

V

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,-
She is not fourteen - How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

La. Cap.

A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, [Reads. Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen, 3 K 4 2. mcht vern

verrine!

Alisem|3
3 Thera Clevelan

Susan and she, God rest all Christian souls!
Were of an age.
- Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd, I never shall forget it,
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua : ---
Nay, I do bear a brain : — but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I
trow,

To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years:

And then husband my

For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow :
God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man; - took up the child:
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said
To see now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

Ay:

I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he:

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Ay.

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot choose but laugh,

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To think it should leave crying, and say - Ay:
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said- Ay.
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say
I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to
his grace!

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Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of: - Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief ;-
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman ? This night you shall behold him at our feast:

inched of

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,

And see how one another Tends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.

This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover :

The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair, within to hide :
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by

men.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye,
Than your consent gives strength to make it

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are

come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county

stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seck happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.A Street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with Five or Six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and others.

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?

Or shall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ;

Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance :
But let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

Rom. Give me a torch, I am not for this am

bling ; Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you

dance.

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.

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