Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out of mind the Fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of

love;

O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies

straight;

O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.

Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.

Which are the children of an idle brain

Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,

Which is as thin of substance as the air

And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,

Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night's revels, and expire the term
Of a despised life, closed in my breast,

By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail. On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-A Hall in CAPULET'S House

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 't is a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate.-Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too.Cheerly, boys: be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind.

Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their toes

Unplagued with corns, will have a bout with you :

Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all

Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she,

I'll swear,

hath corns. Am I come near you now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please; 't is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone. You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians,

play.

A hall, a hall give room; and foot it, girls.

[Music plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves! and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.——

Ab, sirrah, this unlooked-for sport comes well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet,

For you and I are past our dancing days :
How long is 't now, since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap.

By 'r lady, thirty years.

Cap. What, man! 't is not so much, 't is not so much.

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five-and-twenty years; and then we masked. 2 Cap. 'T is more, 't is more: his son is elder,

sir;

His son is thirty.

Cap.

Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn

bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,