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I never should forget it: Wilt thou not, Jule?'
quoth he: And, pretty fool, it stinted,1 and said • Ay.' L. Cap. Enough of this : I pray thee, hold thy
Yea,' quoth my husband; • fall’st upon thy face?
Ju. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,
I have my
Nurse. Peace; I have done: God mark thee to
Ju. It is an honor that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse,
1 Left off crying.
L. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man,
L. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
1 i. e, as well made as if he had been modelled in wax.
2 i. e. is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him.
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
Nurse. No less ? nay, bigger; women grow by
L. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris'
Ser. 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, L. Cap. We follow thee.—Juliet, the county
stays. Nurse. Go, girl; seek happy nights to happy days.
Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six
Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. Ro. 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 hoodwink'd with a scarf,
Ro. Give me a torch ; I am not for this ambling:
dance. Ro. 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,
Ro. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft,
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Ro. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with Prick love for pricking, and you' beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in :
1 A scarecrow.
2 A dance. 3 A torch-bearer was formerly an appendage to every troop of maskers.
[putting on a mask. A visor for a visor! What care I, What curious
1 deformities ? Here are the beetle brows, shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock, and enter ; and
sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs.
Ro. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the senseless rushes 2 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
Ro. Nay, that's not so.
I mean, sir, in delay
Ro. And we mean well, in going to this mask ; But 'tis no wit to go. Mer.
Why, may one ask ? Ro. I dreamt a dream to-night.
2 Before the use of carpets it was customary to strew rooms with rushes.