She is the fairies' midwife; and fhe comes
In fhape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
'Athwart men's nofes as they lie afleep:

Her waggon fpokes made of long fpinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grafshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bones; the lash of film :
Her waggoner, a fmall gray-coated gnat,
Not half fo big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-maker.
And in this ftate fhe gallops night by night

Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'fies straight;
O'er lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kiffes dream;
Which oft the angry Mab with blifters plagues,
Because their breaths with fweet meats tainted are.
Sometimes the gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a fuit:
And fometime comes fhe with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parfon's nofe as a' lies afleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometimes fhe driveth over a foldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,

And

And fleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul fluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That preffes them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage,
This is fhe-

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'ft of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain phantasy;
Which is as thin of fubftance as the air;
And more inconftant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bofom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping fouth.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our felves;

Supper is done, and we fhall come too late.
Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind mifgives,
Some confequence yet hanging in the ftars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night's revels: and expire the term
Of a defpifed life, clos'd in my breast,
By fome vile forfeit of untimely death:
But he that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my fail!-on, lufty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A hall in CAPULET's house.

Enter Servants.

I Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he fhift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners fhall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a fool thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint ftools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate :-good thou, fave me a piece of march-pane; and, as thou lov't me, let the porter let in Sufan Grindstone, and Nell, Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are look'd for, and call'd for, afk'd for, and fought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brifk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.

Enter CAPULET, with the guests and the maskers.

I Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their feet

Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you :Ah ha, my miftreffes! which of you all

Will now deny to dance? fhe that makes dainty, fhe, I'll fwear, hath corns; Am I come near you now? You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day, That I have worn a vifor; and could tell

A whifpering tale in a fair lady's ear,

gone:

Such as would pleafe;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis
You are welcome, gentlemen.Come, musicians,

play,

A hall!

A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.

[Mufic plays, and they dance.
More lights, ye knaves; and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.-
Ah, firrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay fit, nay fit, good coufin Capulet;

For you and I are paft our dancing days:
How long is't now, fince last yourself and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not fo "Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come pentecoft as quickly as it will,

[much :

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his fon is elder, fir; His fon is thirty.

1 Cap. Will

you tell me that?

His fon was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, fir.

Rom. O, fhe doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear: Beauty too rich for ufe, for earth too dear! So fhews a fnowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows fhews. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. Did my heart love 'till now? forfwear it, fight! For I ne'er faw true beauty 'till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague :--Fetch me my rapier, boy :-What! dares the flave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,

T.

To fleer and fcorn at our folemnity?

Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To ftrike him dead I hold it not a fin.

1 Cap. Why, how now kinfman? wherefore ftorm you fo?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in fpight,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to fay truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my houfe, do him difparagement:
Therefore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will the which if thou refpect,
Shew a fair prefence, and put off these frowns,
An ill befeeming femblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when fuch a villain is a guest;
I'll not endure him.

1 Cap. He fhall be endur'd;

What, goodman boy !-I fay, he shall :—Go to ;— Am I the mafter here, or you? go to.

You'll not endure him!-God fhall mend my foul-
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will fet cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fhame.

1 Cap. Go to, go to,

You are a faucy boy :-Is't fo, indeed?

This trick may chance to feathe you;-I know what.You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time

Well faid, my hearts :-You are a princox; go:

Be