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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,

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Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my halidom,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said Ay.'
To see now how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?'
quoth he;

And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'

Lady Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh,


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 cockerel's stone; A perilous 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!

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


Lady Cap. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme

I come 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 would say thou had suck'd wisdom from thy


Lady Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

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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. Lady Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

Lady Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast; 80

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

And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent 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


Lady 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 fly. 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.

Lady Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt. 106

SCENE IV.-The Same. 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 hoodwink'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. 19 Rom. Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;

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.
Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.


Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with


Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.


Give me a case to put my visage in:
Putting on a mask.
A visor for a visor! what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,

Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.

The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's
own word:

If thou art Dun, we 'll draw thee from the mire,
Or-save your reverence-love, wherein thou
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night.

And so did I. 50
Rom. Well, what was yours?
That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream
things true.

Mer. O! then I see Queen Mab hath been
with you.

She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:


Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so 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 o' mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night 70
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of

O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight;

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted

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Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels, and expire the term Of a despised life clos'd in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.



SCENE V.-The Same. A Hall in CAPULET'S House.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen.

First Serv. Where 's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

Second Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.


First Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony! and Potpan!

Second Serv. Ay, boy; ready.


First Serv. You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Third Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. They retire behind.

Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers. Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have

their toes


Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.
Ah hal my mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,

I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear
Such as would please; 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis

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Cap. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo is 't?



'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone: He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth. I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement; Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

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

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. Cap. Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy.-Is 't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you.-I know


Cap. He shall be endur'd: What goodman boy; I say he shall, go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!


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Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

Rom. O! then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect

I take.

Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd. Kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.


Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!

Give me my sin again. Jul. You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Rom. What is her mother?


Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous:


I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal;

I tell you he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks.



Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. Rom. Ay, so I fear; th more is my unrest. Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? Why then, I thank you all;

I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed.

Ah! sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.

Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse.

Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman ?


Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he that now is going out of door?
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Pe-

Jul. What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Jul. Go, ask his name.-If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.

Nurse. What's this? what's this?
A rime I learn'd even now

Of one I danc'd withal.


One calls within, 'JULIET.'
Anon, anon!

Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.




Now old desire doth in his death-bed lic,

And young affection gapes to be his heir: That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.



SCENE I.-Verona. A Lane by the wall of CAPULET'S Orchard.

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Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it.


Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Mer. He is wise; And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering

And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger



To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite my invocation
Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,


To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.
O Romeo! that she were, O! that she were
An open et cætera, thou a poperin pear.
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep :
Come, shall we go?

Go, then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.


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As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not


Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:
Speak but one rime and I am satisfied;


Cry but Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand:
O! that I were a glove upon that hand
That I might touch that cheek.



Ay me!
She speaks:
O! speak again, bright angel; for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Aside. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak
at this?

Jul. "Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O! be some other name:
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.




Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
And I will take thy word; yet, if thou swear'st.
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries, *
They say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo!
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully :
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour

But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be


Jul. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night

So stumblest on my counsel ?

50 I should have been more strange, I must con-

But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-
Jul. O! swear not by the moon, the inconstant

By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee:

Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred

Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:

Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?


Rom. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.

Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch
these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

Jul. If they do see thee they will murder


thee. Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine


Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to inquire;


He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far

As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on
my face,

Than twenty of their swords: look ou but
And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from
their eyes;

And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate.
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

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