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Ser. 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.


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

burning; One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning : One desperate grief cures with another's lan

guish :
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

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


your broken shin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ?

Ro. 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. Ser. God gi’ good e’en.—I pray, sir, can you read ?

Ro. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Ser. Perhaps you have learn’d it without book :

But I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Ro. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Ser. Ye say honestly: rest you merry!
Ro. Stay, fellow; I can read.



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 ? Ser. Up. Ro. Whither? Ser. To supper; to our house. Ro. Whose house? Ser. My master's. Ro. Indeed, I should have asked you that before.

Ser. 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. Rest you merry.

[Exit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's, Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona :

"A cant phrase equivalent to crack a bottle.

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.

Ro. 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! 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 poised 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 scanti show well, that now shows

best. Ro. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [E.reunt.


A room in Capulet's house.

Enter LADY CAPULET and NURSE. L. Cap. Nurse, where 's my daughter? call her Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year

forth to me.

i Scarcely.


I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird ! God forbid !—where's this girl ?—what, Juliet !



Ju. How now, who calls ?

Your mother.

Madam, I am here. What is


will ? L. Cap. This is the matter.—Nurse, give leave

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.
L. Cap. She's not fourteen.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,And yet, to my teen 1 be it spoken, I have but

She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide ?
L. 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,-God rest all Christian souls !--
Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God;

i Sorrow..

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 of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse 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 dovehouse : 'twas no need, I

To bid me trudge ;
And since that time it is eleven years :
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,1
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 Cross,

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