Such as I love; and you, among the store, [more. I not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come
Once more, most welcome, makes my number and crush a cup of wine. Rest your merry!
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; here 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,

[Erit.
Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
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 heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world
begun.

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else be-
ing by,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. Herself pois'd with herself in either eye: Serv. Find them out, whose names are writ-But in those crystal scales let there be weigh'd ten here? It is written-that the shoemaker Your lady's love against some other maid should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with That I will show you, shining at this feast, his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the And she shall scant show well, that now shows painter with his nets; but I am sent to find best. those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath bere writ. I must to the learned :-In good time.

Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry!
Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads.

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.

Rom. Ill 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.

Enter Lady CAPULET and NURSE.

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

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve bade her come.-What, lamb! what, ladyyear old,[bird!God forbid !-where's this girl?-what, Juliet !

Enter JULIET.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.
Jul. Madam, I am here,
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.

Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, Í have but
She is not fourteen: How long is it now
four,-

To Laminas-tide?

La. Cup. A fortnight, and odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be four

teen.

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,-

A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither Of all the days of the year, upon that day:

should they come ?

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

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
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need,
To b'd me trudge.
I trow,

To crack a bottle, is still a cant phrase. t Weighed. 1 Scarcely. To my sorrow. iL.e. I have a periect recollection.

1

JULIET

And since that time it is eleven years:
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:
And then my husband-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-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.

La. 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 cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, full'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 1 nurs'd;
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very
theme

1 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
Thus then, in
That you are now a maid.

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:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And and delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends 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..

The cross.

Holy dame, i. e. the blessed virgin-
Favour.

it stopped crying.
As well made as if he had been modelled in wax.
The comments on ancient books were always printed,
in the margin.

** I. e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to
bind him.

. 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.

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

stays.

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

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; t
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

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 boist'rous; and it pricks like

thorn.

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough
[down.-
with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love
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
But every man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of

heart,

[in,

Tickle the senseless rushes ¶T with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with à grandşire 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
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou

stick'st

Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.

1. e. Long speeches are out of fashion.

A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows.
A dance.

A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every
Observe.
troop of massers.

Even in the reign of Charles, the floors of the pest houses were strewed with rushes.

This is equivalent to phrases in common use---I am done for, it is over with me.

Scene V.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Mon-
[slave
tague:-
Fetch me my rapier, boy :-What! dares the
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now kinsmau ? 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.

1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tgh. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Nurse. Madam, your mother 'craves a word
with you.

Rom. What is her mother?
Nurse. 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.

Rom. Is she a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare hot to be
gone;

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.

bed.

1 Cap. Coutent thee, gentle coz, let him alone, Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all;
He bears hum 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 this 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,
And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night :-
More torches here!-Come on, then let's to
[late;
Ah, Sirrah, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes
I'll to my rest.

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

[to ;[soul

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

1 Cap. Go to, go to,

You are saucy, boy;-Is't so, indeed?- [what.
This trick may chance to scath⚫ you ;-I know
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time-
Weil said, my hearts:-You are a princox ; +

go:

Be quiet, or-More light, more light, for shame!
I'll make you quiet; What -Cheerly, any

hearts.

Tab. Patience perforce with wilful choler [ing. meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greetI will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

[Exit. Rem. If I profane with my unworthy hand [75 JULIET. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,My hips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender

kiss.

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers

too?

Jal. 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.

Thas from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. 1 Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have

Look.

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly
Give me my sin again.
Juí. You kiss by the book.

• Do you an injury.

[urg'd!

+ A coxcomb.

In our poet's time, a salute in a public assembly might not be esteemed indecorous.

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal.

[One calls within, Juliet!
Nurse. Anon, anon :-
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
[Exeunt.

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
To meet her new-beloved any where:
And she as much in love, her means much less

meet,
But passion lends them power, time means to

Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet.
[Ex it.

Enter BENVOLIO, and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
Mer. He is wise;

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed,
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard
wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours ! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trin,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggarmaid. *-
He heareth not, stirreth not, be 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
thigh,

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

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger

bim.

Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle [him
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 those
trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night :
Blind is his love, and best beits 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 aloue,-
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?

Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain

To seek him here, that means not to be found.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II-CAPULET'S Garden.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.

[JULIET appears above at a Window. But, soft! what light through yonder window

breaks!

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!—
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; O it is my love:

O that she knew she were!

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.-

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head
The brightness of her cheek would shame those
stars,

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

night.

See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

Alluding to the old ballad of the King and the Beggar. + This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness. 1 Humid. A rotary to the moon, to Diana,

O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

Jul. Ah me!

Rom. She speaks :

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
Romeo?

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.

this?

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at
[A side.
Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ;-
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor band, 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:
Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name;.
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Rom. I take thee at thy word:

Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd:
Henceforth I never will be Romeo,

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

So stumblest on my counsel ?

Rom. By a name

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 not yet drunk a hundred
words

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

Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague ?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dis

their sight;

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

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in-
quire;

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