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How now, a conduit 17, girl? what, still in tears?
Ever more showering? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind :
For still thy eyes, which I may

call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,-
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body.-How now, wife?


deliver'd to her our decree? La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives

you thanks.

I would, the fool were married to her grave!
Cap. Soft, take me with

take me with

you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks ? Is she not proud ? doth she not count her bless'd, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ? Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you

have; Proud can I never be of what I hate ; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. Cap. How now! how now, chop-logick 18! What

is this? Proud,and, I thank you,--and, I thank you not;And yet not proud ;—Mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,

17 The same image, which was in frequent use with Shakspeare's cotemporaries, occurs in the poem of Romeus and Juliet more than once : • His sighs are stopt, and stopped in the conduit of his tears.'

18 Capulet, as Steevens observes, uses this as a nickname. The hyphen is wanting in the old copy. • Choplogyk is he that whan his mayster rebuketh his servaunt for his defawtes, he will give him xx wordes for one, or elles he will bydde the devylles paternoster in scylence.'— The xxiiii Orders of Knaves, blk. 1.

But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go

with Paris to Saint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green sickness carrion! out, you baggage ! You tallow face 19!

La. Cap. Fye, fye! what, are you mad?

Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient

wretch ! I tell thee what,-get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face : Speak not, reply not, do not answer me: My fingers itch.-Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd, That God had sent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding 40! Nurse.

God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your

Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse. I speak no treason.

0, God ye good den! Nurse. May not one speak? Cap.

Peace, you mumbling fool! 19 Such was the indelicacy of the age of Shakspeare, that authors were not contented only to employ these terms of abuse in their own original performances, but even felt no reluctance to introduce them in their versions of the most chaste and elegant of the Greek or Roman poets. Stanyhurst, the translator of Virgil, in 1582, makes Dido call Æneas hedge-brat, cullion, and tar-breech, in the course of one speech. Nay, in the Interlude of The Repentance of Mary Magdalene, 1567, she says to one of her attendants :

Horeson, I beshrewe your heart, are you here? 20 Base woman.

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Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.
La. Cap.

You are too hot.
Cap. God’s bread! it makes me mad; Day, night,

late, early,
At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her match'd : and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train’d,
Stuff'd (as they say,) with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man,-
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answerI'll not wed, I cannot love 21,
I am too young ,- I pray you, pardon me;
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you

shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i’the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good :
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit.

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
0, sweet my mother, cast me not away

Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

21 There is a passage in the old play of Wily Beguiled, pointed out by Malone, so nearly resembling this, that one poet must have copied from the other. Wily Beguiled was on the stage before 1596, being mentioned by Nashe in his Have with You to Saffron Walden, printed in that year.

• A whining mammet,' in the preceding line, confirms the explanation of mammets given in vol. v. p. 161, note 13.

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word; Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. Jul. O God!-O nurse! how shall this be pre

vented ? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that busband send it me from heaven By leaving earth ? — comfort me, counsel me.Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself ?What say’st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy ? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse.

’Faith, bere 'tis : Romeo Is banished; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. 0, he's a lovely gentleman ! Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam, Hath not so green 23, so quick, so fair an eye,

22 The character of the Nurse exhibits a just picture of those whose actions have no principles for their foundation. She has been unfaithful to the trust reposed in her by Capulet, and is ready to embrace any expedient that offers, to avert the consequences of her first infidelity. The picture is not, however, an original, the nurse in the poem exhibits the same readiness to accommodate herself to the present conjuncture. Sir John Vanbrugh, in The Relapse, has copied, in this respect, the character of his nurse from Shakspeare.

23 Perhaps Chaucer has given to Emetrius, in 'The Knight's Tale, eyes of the same colour :

His nose was high, his eyin bright citryn.' i. e. of the hue of an unripe lemon or citron. Again in The Two Noble Kinsmen, by Fletcher and Shakspeare:

oh vouchsafe With that thy rare green eye,' &c. Arthur Hall (the most ignorant and absurd of all the translators of Homer) in the fourth Iliad (4to. 1581), calls Minerva

' The greene eide goddesse.' The early French poets have frequent mention of yeux vers,

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As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead : or 'twere as good he were,
As living here, and you no use of him.

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?



soul too; Or else beshrew them both. Jul.

Amen! Nurse.

To' what? Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous

much. Go in; and tell

lady I

am gone,
Having displeas’d my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.
Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

[Exit. Jul. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin—to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she bath prais’d him with above compare So many thousand times ?-Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.I'll to the friar, to know his remedy; If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit. which Le Grand has in vain attempted to convert into yeux vairs, or gray eyes. Plautus alludes to green eyes in his Curculio :

Qui hic est homo

Cum collativo ventre atque oculis herbeis.' And Lord Verulam says, * Great eyes, with a green circle between the white and the white of the eye signify long life.'Hist. of Life and Death, p. 124. Villareal, a Portuguese, has written a treatise in praise of green eyes, and they are even said to exist now among his countrymen. See Pinkerton's Geography, vol. i.


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