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We must talk in secret—Nurse, come back again,
I have remembered 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, I have but four.—
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide P -
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——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 weaned,—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 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
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug,
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;
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 3
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam,

l i. e. to my sorrow.

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 cock’rel’s stone;
A parlous knock, and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face 3
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com’st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule 3 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 I nursed;
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of—Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married ?
Jul. It is an honor that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honor were not I thine only nurse,
I’d say thou hadst sucked 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.”
1 To stint is to stop.

* This tautologous speech is not in the first quarto of 1597. 8 i. e. as well made as if he had been modelled in 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 P 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 obscured 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 F may, bigger; women grow by YY162 sle La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love P 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 days. [Exeunt.

* After this speech of the nurse, lady Capulet, in the old quarto,

says only:- -
“Well, Juliet, how like you of Paris' love?”

She answers, “I’ll look to like,” &c.; and so concludes the scene.

2 Thus the quarto of 1599. The quarto of 1609 and the folio read, several lineaments.

3 The comments on ancient books were generally printed in the margin.

4 Dr. Farmer explains this, “The fish is not yet caught.” Fish-skin covers to books anciently were not uncommon.

5 The quarto of 1597 reads engage mine eye,

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter Romeo, MERCUTIo, BENvolio, with five or sw maskers, torch-bearers, and others.

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse P Or shall we on without apology P Ben. The date is out of such prolixity.” We'll have no Cupid hood-winked with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,” Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;" 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 empierced with his shaft,

1 Shakspeare appears to have formed this character on the following slight hint:-" Another gentleman, called Mercutio, which was a courtlike gentleman, very well beloved of all men, and by reason of his pleasant and courteous behavior was in all companies well entertained.”— Painter's Palace of Pleasure, tom. ii. p. 221. 2 “Introductory speeches are out of date or fashion.” 3 The Tartarian bows resemble, in their form, the old Roman or Cupid's bow, such as we see on medals and bass-relief 4 See King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 6. 5 A torch-bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers. To hold a torch was anciently no degrading office.

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 boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love,
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.—
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 in,
But every man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes” with their heels;
For I am proverbed 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 daylight,” ho.
Rom. Nay, that’s not so.

1 To quote is to note, to mark. 2 It has been before observed, that the apartments of our ancestors were strewed with rushes; and so, it seems, was the ancient stage. 3 To hold the candle is a common proverbial expression for being an idle spectator. There is another old prudential maxim subsequently alluded to, which advises to give over when the game is at the fairest. 4 Dun is the mouse, is a proverbial saying, to us of vague signification, alluding to the color of the mouse, but frequently employed with no other intent than that of quibbling on the word done. Why it is attributed to a constable we know not. To draw dun out of the mire was a rural pastime, in which dun meant a dun horse, supposed to be stuck in the mire, and sometimes represented by one of the persons who played, at others, by a log of wood. Mr. Gifford has described the game at which he remembers often to have played, in a note to Ben Jonson's Masque of Christmas, vol. vii. p. 282. 5 This proverbial phrase was applied to superfluous actions in general.

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