Enter Lady Capulet, and Narfe, an

La. Cap. NURSE, where's my daughter? call her forth

Nurfe.

WE VOAN BAhead, at twelve years

old) I had her come; what lamb, what lady-bird, god forbid where's this girl? what, Juliet?

Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now, who calls?

Nurfe. Your mother.

Jul, Madam, I am here, what is your will?
La. Cap. This is the matter

Nurse, give

leave a while, we must talk in freret; nurse come back again, I bave remembred me, thou fhalt hear my coun fel: thou know'ft my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurfe. Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, and yet to my teeth be it fpoken, I have but four, fhe's not fourhow long is it now to Lammastide à

teen;

La. Cap. A fortnight-and odd days.

Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas eve at night fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and fhe (God reft all chriftian fouls) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God; fhe was too good for me. But as I faid, on Lammasieve at night fhall fhe be fourteen, that fhall The, marry, I remem ber it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake how eleyen and fhe was wean'd, I never fhall forget it, years, of all the day's in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid worm-wood to my dug, fitting in the fun under the dove-houfe wall, my lord and you were then at Mantua-nay, I do bear a brain. But as I faid, when it did tafte the worm-wood on the nipple of the dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the

⚫ dove

dove-houfe-'twas по o need I trow to bid me trudge; ⚫ and fince that time it is cleven years, for then The ⚫ could stand alone, nay, by th' rood fhe could have run, and wadled all about; for even the day before the broke her brow, and then my husband, (God be with his foul, a was a merry man,) took up the child; yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face; thou wilt fall backward when thou haft more wit, wilt thou not, Jule? and by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and faid, ay';' To fee now how a jeft fhall come about. I warrant, an I 'fhould live a thousand years, I fhould not forget it: Wilt thou not, Julé, quoth he and pretty fool, it • ftinted, and said, ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace. Nurfe. Yes, madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it thould leave crying, and fay, ays and yet I warrant it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young.cockrel's ftone: a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face thou wilt fall backward when thou comeft to age; wilt thou not, Fulé? it ftinted, and faid, ay,

Ful. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurfe, fay I. Nurfe. Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his. grace,

Thou waft the prettiest babe that e'er I nurft.
An I might live to see thee married once,

I have my wish.

La Cap. And that fame marriage is the very theam I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How ftands your difpofition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurfe. An honour were not I thine only nurfe, I'd fay thou hadft fuck'd wisdom from thy tear. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger

than you

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers.
I was your mother much
That you are now a maid.

By my count, upon thefe years Thus then in brief,

The

The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.
Nurfe, A man, young lady, lady, fuch a man
As all the world-Why he's a man of wax,

La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower. Nurfe. Nay he's a flower, in faith a very flower. La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move. But no more deep will I ingage mine eye,

Than your confent gives ftrength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. Madam, the guests are come, fupper ferv'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurfe curft in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I muft hence to wait, I beseech you follow. *

busi and Clad SCENE V.1

[Exeunt.

Enter Romeo. Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or Joe ..£. fix other maskers, torch-bearers.

Rom. What, fhall this fpeech be fpoke for our excufe ? Or fhall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of fuch prolixity.

We'll have no Cupid hook-wink'd with a fcarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a cow-keeper:
Nor a without-book prologue faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our enterance.
But let them meafure 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.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you
dance.
Rom. Not I, believe me; you have dancing fhoes
With nimble foles, I have a foul of lead,
So ftakes me to the ground I cannot move.
Mer. Give me a cafe to put my visage in,
A vilor for a vifor; what care I

-I befeech you follow.

L. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county ftays.
Nurse. Go, girl, feek happy nights to happy days.

What

What curious eye doth quote deformities,

Here are the beetle-brows fhall blufh

Rom. A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart, me, i Tickle the fenfelefs rufhes with their heels, b For I am proverb'd with a grand-fire phrafe. T I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. I'dream't a dream to-night. wel dguardT

Mer. And fo did I.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer. That dreamers often lie.

Rom. In bed fleep; while they do dream things

true.

Mer.O then I fee queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies mid-wife, and he comes DIA In fhape no bigger than an agat-ftone not bo On the fore-finger of an Alderman, • Drawn with a team of little atomies,

Athwart mens nofes as they lie afleep emismo? • Her waggon-fpokes made of long fpinners legs; The cover, of the wines of grafhoppers, The traces, of the fmalleft fpider's web The collars, of the monthine's watry beams Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lafh, of film; Her waggoner a fmall grey-coated gnat,(off-ku • Not half fo big as a round little worm,

*

and look on,

The game was ne'er fo fair, and I am done.

bad

Mer. Tut, dun's the moufe, the conftable's own word",

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire;
Or, fave your reverence, love, wherein thou ftickeft
Up to thine ears come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, thats not fo.

Mer. I mean, Sr, we delay.

We burn our lights by night, and lamps by day. [ed, 1.]
Take our good meaning, for our judgment fits

Five times a day, ere once in her right wits. [ed. 1.
Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask
But 'tis no wit to go.

ask?

Mer. Why, may on
Rom. I dreamt a dream,

Prickt

་

Prickt from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joyner fquirrel, or old grub,
mind the fairies coach-makers

Time

And in this fate the gallops night by night,

Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers knees, that dream on curtfies ftrait:
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftrait dream on fees:
O'er ladies lips, who ftrait on kiffes dream,
which oft, the angry Mab with blifters plagues,
Becaufe their breaths with fweet-meats tainted are.
Sometimops o'er a lawyer's note,
the
And then dreams be of fmelling out a fuit:
And fometimes comes fhe with a tith-pig's tail,
Tickling the Parfon as he lies afleep;

• Then dreams he of another benefice.

་

Sometimes the driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign threats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, Spanish blades,
Of health's five fathom deep; and then anon
• Drums

in his ears, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two, And fleeps again. This is that very Mab

That plats the manes of hores in the night,
And cakes the elf locks in foul fluttish hairs,
• Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs;
That prefles them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage :
This is the

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace:
Thou talk'ft of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;

Which are the children of an idle brain,

Begot of nothing, but vain phantafy,

Which is as thin of fubftance as the air,

uds

And more unconftant than the wind, who wooes
Ev'n now the frozen bofom of the north,
And being anger'd puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping fouth.

Ben