Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter ROMEO, at a distance.

aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ah me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was: - What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours?

Rom. Not having that, which having, makes them short.

Ben. In love? Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me! What fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: -
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.

No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.

At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Ben.

[Going.

Soft, I will go along; And if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness who she is you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben.

But sadly tell me, who.

Groan? why no?

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marks-man! And she's fair

I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?

Rom.
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair :
She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge
waste;

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.

Rom.

'Tis the way

To call hers, exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost :
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. - A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world, She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. 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 birds shall you this night Inherit 7 at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most, whose merit most shall be:

6 Account, estimation.

7 To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare, is to possess.

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,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned :In good time.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holy by backward turning:

One desperate grief cure with another's languish :
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.

And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd 9 with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
Rom. I'll 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.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd, and tormented, and

Good e'en, good

fellow, Serv. Good e'en, sir. — I pray, sir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 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. A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither should they come?

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.8 Rest you merry. [Exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all the admir'd 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!

We still say in cant language—crack a bottle.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teen 2 be it spoken, I have but four,She is not fourteen: How long is it now To Lammas-tide?

-

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she were of an age, but Susan's dead; 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, Of all the days in the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my teat, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua: Nay, I do bear a brain 3, — but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple And felt it bitter, O the pretty fool!

To see it tetchy, and fall out with the teat.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.

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.

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

I 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
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. 5
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 gen-

tleman ?

This night you shall behold him at our feast :
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find 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. 6
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him only lacks a cover:

The fish lives in the sea 7; 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.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

1

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.

SCENE IV.A Street.

[Exeunt.

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. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with 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 2 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 3 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
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer.

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.

Mer.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.

;

And so did I.

That dreamers often lie. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things

true.

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 8 : 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 9, and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch',-I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax.

6 The comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin.

7. c. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him. A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows.

9 A dance.

A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers

Drawn with a team of little atomies 4
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 of mind the fairies' coach-makers.

And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On 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 breath with sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit 5:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice :
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier'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, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab.
This, this is she-

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

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

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

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

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, gentlemen.

Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

· A Hall in Capulet's House.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher ! 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate: good thou, save me a piece of march-pane7; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please; -'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:
You are welcome, gentlemen!- Come, musicians,
play,

A hall! a hall! 8 give room, and foot it girls.
[Musick plays, and they dance
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, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
For you and I are past our dancing days:
How long is't now, since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?
2 Cap.

By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much :

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost 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.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that? His son 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, she 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! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows, The measure 9 done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 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 Montague:Fetch me my rapier, boy:-What! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antick 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, 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.
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 say truth, Verona brags of him,

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,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

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

1 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 make a mutiny among my guests! You will set a cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap. You are a saucy boy:

8. c. Make room.

Go to, go to,

:- Is't so indeed?

? The dance.

-

This trick may chance to scath' you;-I know what.
You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts: You are a princox 2; go: -
Be quiet, or - More light, more light, for shame!-
I'll make you quiet; What! - Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
[To JULIET.
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, -
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

[Exit.

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? 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 yours, 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.

-

:

Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 1 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, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay 3, it waxes late; I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon 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 Petruchio. Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance?

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair, 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, Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.

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 trim, When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid. 4 — He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape 5 is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

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

3 Faith.

Alluding to the old ballad of the king and the beggar. This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness.