In fhape no bigger than an agat-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens' nofes as they lie asleep:

Her waggon-fpokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers;
The traces, of the fmalleft fpider's web;

The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film
Her waggoner, a fmall grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo big as a round little worm,
Prickt from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner fquirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this State fhe gallops, night by night,
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'fies strait;
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftrait dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who ftrait on kisses 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 fmelling out a fuit;

And sometimes comes fhe with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parfon as he lies afleep,
Then dreams he of another Benefice.
Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he flarts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night,

And cakes the elf-locks in foul fluttish hairs,
Which, once entangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That preffes them, and learns them firft to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is the

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 phantafy,
Which is as thin of fubftance as the air,
And more unconftant than the wind; who wooes
Ev'n now the frozen bosom 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 Stars,
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 fteerage of my courfe,.
4 Direct my fuit! On, lufty Gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[They march about the Stage, and Exeunt.

3 And cakes the elf-locks, &c.] This was a common fuperftition; and feems to have had its rife from the horrid disease called the

I

1 Serv.

SCENE

VI.

Changes to a Hall in Capulet's Houfe.

Enter Servants, with Napkins.

WHE

HERE'S Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he

scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners fhall lie all in one or two mens' hands, and they unwafh'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-ftools, remove the court cup board, look to the plate; good thou, fave me a piece of march-pane; and, as thou loveft me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony, and Potpan

2 Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

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

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

[Exeunt.

Enter all the Guests and Ladies, with the maskers.

1 Cap. Welcome, Gentlemen. Ladies, that have

you all

you.

your feet Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with Ah me, my mistreffes, which of Will now deny to dance? fhe that makes dainty, I'll fwear, hath corns; am I come near you now? Welcome, all, Gentlemen; I've seen the day That I have worn a vifor, and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would pleafe. 'Tis 'Tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone! s You're welcome,Gentlemen. Come, muficians, play. A ball, a ball. Make room.

up;

And foot it, girls. [Mufick plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves, and turn the tables And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, fit; nay, fit, good coufin Capulet, For you and I are past 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 much;

'Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecoft as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years, and then we mafk'd. 2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his fon is elder, Sir: 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, Sir.

Rom. O fhe doth teach the torches to burn bright; Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!