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he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted, swears a Prayer or two, and sleeps again. This is that very Mab that plats the Manes of Horses in the Night, and bakes the Elf-locks in foul sluttish Hairs, which once intangled, much Misfortunes bodes. This is the Hag, when Maids lye on their Backs, That presses them, and learns them first to bear, Making them Women of good Carriage : This is the
Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ;
Mer. True, I talk of Dreams;
Ben, This Wind you talk of, blows us from our selves;
Ben. Strike, Drum.
They march about the Stage, and Servants come forth with
1 Ser. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a Trencher ! 'He scrape a Trencher !
2 Ser. When good Manners shall ye in one or two Mens Hands, and they unwalh'd too, 'tis a foul thing.
1 Ser. Away with the Joint-stools,remove the Court-cup. board, look to the Plate : Good thou, save me a piece of March-pane; and as thou lovest me, let the Porter let in VOL. v. C
Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthony, and Potpan.
2 Ser. Ay, Boy, ready.
1 Ser. You are lookid for, callid for, ask'd for, and sought for, in the great Chamber.
2 Ser. We cannot be here and there too; chearly Boys ; Be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.
Enter all the Guests and Ladies to the Maskers.
gone: You are all welcome, Gentlemen; come, Musicians, play.
[Musick plays, and they Dance, A Hall, Hall; give room, and foot it, Girls: More Light ye Knaves, and turn the Tables up; And quench the Fire, the Room is grown too hot. Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd for sport comes well: Nay, fit, nay, sit, good Cousin Capulet, For you and I, are past our dancing daies: How long is't now since last your self and I Were in a Mask ?
3 Cap. By'r Lady, thirty Years. I Cap. What, Man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much; "Tis firce the Nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecoft, as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty Years, and then we Mask'd.
2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his Son is Elder, Sir : His Son is Thirty.
I Cap. Will you tell me that? ?
Rom. What Lady is that which doth enrich the Hand of yonder Knight?
Ser. I know not, Sir.
Rom. O lhe doth teach the Torches to burn bright; Her Beauty hangs upon the cheek of Night,
Like a rich Jewel in an Æthiop's Ear:
Tib. This by his Voice should be a Mountague.
Cap. Why, how now, Kinsman,
Tib. Uncle, this is a Mountague, our Foe :
Cap. Young Romeo, is it?
, An ill beseeming semblance of a Feast,
Tib. It fits, when such à Villain is a Guest. I'll not endure him.
Cap. He shall be indur'd.
Tib. Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame.
You are a faucy Boy-'tis so indeed-
-marry 'tis time.
Tib. Patience perforce with wilful Choler meeting,
Rom. If I prophane with my unworthieft Hand, [To Juliet.
Jul. Good Pilgrim,
Rom. Have not Saints Lips, and holy Palmers too?
Jul. Saints do not move,
Rom. Then move not while my Prayers effé& do take :
Rom. Sin from my Lips! O trespass sweetly urg'd :
Jul. You kiss by th' Book.
Nur. Marry, Batchelor,
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.
[Exeunt. Jul. Come hither, Nurse. What is yond Gentleman
Nur. The Son and Heir of old Tyberio.
, Jul. What's he that follows here, that would not dance? Nur. I know not.
Jul. Go ask his Name. If he be Married,
Nur. His Name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
Nur. What's this? what's this?
Jul. A Rhime I learni'd even now of one I danc'd withal.
[One calls within, Juliet. Nur. Anon, anon: Come, let's away, the Strangers all are gone, [Exeunt.
A CT II.
II. SCENE I.
ow old Desire doth in his Death-bed lye,
gapes to be his Heir :