Rom. Thou chidd'ft me oft for loving Rofaline. Fri. Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. Rom. I pray thee chide not: fhe, whom I love now, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow : The other did not fo. Fri. Oh, fhe knew well, Thy love did read by rote, and could not fpell. For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your houfhold-rancour to pure love. Rom. O let us hence, I ftand on fudden hafte. SCENE changes to the STREET. Mer. W Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. [Exeunt. HERE the devil fhould this Romeo be? came he not home to-night? Ben. Not to his father's, I fpoke with his man. Mer. Why, that fame pale, hard-hearted wench, that Rofaline, torments him fo, that he will, fure, run mad. Ben. Tybalt, the kinfman to old Capulet, Hath fent a letter to his father's houfe. Mer. A challenge, on my life. Ben Romeo will anfwer it. Mer. Any man, that can write, may anfwer a letter. Ben. Nay, he will anfwer the letter's mafter, how he dares, being dar'd. Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! ftabb'd with a white wench's black eye, run through the ear with a love-fong; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's but-fhaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? Mer. Mer. More than prince of cats?-Oh, he's the couragious captain of compliments; he fights as you fing prick'd-fongs, keeps time, diftance, and proportion; refts his minum, one, two, and the third in your bofom; the very butcher of a filk button, a duellift, a duellift; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second caufe; ah, the immortal paffado, the punto reverfo, the, hay ! " Ben. The what? Mer. The pox of fuch antick, lisping, affected phantafies, these new tuners of accents:"Jefu! a very good blade!-a very tall man!-a very good whore !" -Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandfire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, thefe fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moy's, who ftand fo much on the new form that they cannot fit at ease on the old bench? O, their bon's! their bon's! (16) Enter Romeo. Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo, Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fifhified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gipfy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots: Thibé a grey eye or fo, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour; there's a French falutation to your French flop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly laft night. Kom. Good morrow to you both: What counterfeit did I give you? Mer. The flip, Sir, the flip: can you not conceive? (16) 0, their bones! their bones !] Mercutio is here ridiculing those frenchified fantaftical coxcombs whom he calls pardonnez-moys; and therefore, I fufpect, bere he meant to write French too. O, their bons! their bons! i. e. How ridiculous they make themselves in crying out good, and be ing in ecftafies with every trifle: as he has juft defcrib'd them before, —Jesu! a very good blade! &c. Rom. Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in fuch a cafe as mine, a man may ftrain courtesy. Mer. That's as much as to fay, fuch a cafe as yours conftrains a man to bow in the hams. Rom. Meaning, to curt'fy. Mer. Thou haft moft kindly hit is. Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. Mer. Right. Rom. Why, then is my pump well flower'd. Mer. Sure wit-follow me this jeft, now, 'till thou haft worn out thy pump, that when the fingle fole of it is worn, the jeft may remain, after the wearing, folely fingular. Rom. Ŏ fingle-fol'd jeft, Solely fingular, for the fingleness! Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio, my wit faints. Rom. Switch and spurs, Switch and fpurs, or I'll cry a match. Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goofe chafe, I am done: for thou haft more of the wild-goofe in one of thy wits, than, I am fure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goofe? Rom. Thou waft never with me for any thing, when thou waft not there for the goose. Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. Rom. Nay, good goofe, bite not. Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter fweeting, It is a moft fharp fauce. Rom. And is it not well ferv'd into a fweet goofe? Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that ftretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad. Rom. Iftretch it out for that word broad, which, added to the goofe, proves thee far and wide a broad goofe. Mer. Why, is not this better, than groaning for love? Now thou art fociable; now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art, as well as by nature; for this drivelling love is like a great Natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. Ben. Ben. Stop there, stop there. Mer. Thou defir'ft me to stop in my tale, against the hair. Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd, I would have made it fhort; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. Enter Nurfe, and Peter her Man. Rom. Here's goodly geer: a fail! a fail! Nurfe. Peter, Peter. Anon ? Nurfe. My fan, Peter. Mer. Do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two. Nurfe. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Mer. "Tis no lefs, I tell you: for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurfe. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made, him felf to mar. Nurfe. By my troth, it is well faid: for himself to mar, quotha? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where find the young Romeo? I may Rom. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you fought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse. You fay well. Mer. Yea, is the worst well. Very well took, i'faith, wifely, wifely. Nurfe. If you be he, Sir, I defire fome confidence with you. (17). Ben. (17) I defire fome confidence with you. Ben. She will invite bim to some supper.] Mr. Rowe first spoil'd the joak of the second line in his editions, and Mr. Pope is generally faithful Ben. She will indite him to fome fupper. Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd. So ho! Rom. What haft thou found ? Mer. No hare, Sir, unless a hare, Sir, in a lenten pye, that is fomething ftale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, an old hare hoar, is very good meat in Lent. But a hare, that is hoar, is too much for a fcore, when it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither. Rom. I will follow you. Mer. Farewel, ancient lady: Farewel, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio. Nurfe. Ipray you, Sir, what faucy merchant was this, that was fo full of his ropery? Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute, than he will fland to in a month. Nurse. An' a fpeak any thing against me, I'll take him down an' he were luftier than he is, and twenty fuch Jacks and if I cannot, I'll find thofe that hall. Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his fkains-mates. And thou must ftand by too, and fuffer every knave to ufe me at his pleafure? [To her man. Pet. I faw no man ufe you at his pleafure; if I had, my weapon fhould quickly have been out. I warrant you. I dare draw as foon as another man, if I fee occafion in a good quarrel, and the law on my fide. faithful to his foot fteps. All the genuine copies read, as I have reftor'd to the text; She will indite him to fome fupper. Benvolio, hearing the nurfe knock one word out of joint, humourously is re olv'd be will corrupt another in imitation of her. Both the corruptions are ufed by our Author in other parts of his works. Quick. -and I will tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we have confidence, and of other wooers. Merry Wives, &c, Dogb. Marry, Sir, I would have fome confidence with you, that decerns you nearly. Much Ado, &c. Quick, and he is indited to dinner to the Lubbar's head, &c. 2 Henry V. Nurfe |