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And pity 'tis, you lived at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before.
My child is yet a stranger in the world;
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marred are those so early made.' The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she ; She is the hopeful lady of my earth.” But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part ;3 An she agree, within her scope of choice, Lies my consent and fair-according voice. This night I hold an old accustomed feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light. Such comfort, as do lusty young men 4 feel When well-apparelled April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherits at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most, whose merit most shall be ; Which, on more view of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckoning none.

1 The quarto of 1597 reads :

“ And too soon marred are those so early married." 2 Fille de terre is the old French phrase for an heiress; but Mason suggests that earth may here mean corporal part, as again in this play

“ Can I go forward, when my heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.” 3 i. e. in comparison to.

4 For“ lusty young men ” Johnson would read “ lusty geomen.” Ritson has clearly shown that young men was used for yeomen in our elder language.

5 To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare, is to possess.

6 By a perverse adherence to the first quarto copy of 1597, which reads, “ Such amongst view of inany," &c., this passage has been made unin

Come, go with me.-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona ; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [Gives a paper,] and

to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written—that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.-In good time.

Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessened by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that.”
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.

For your broken skin. Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad ?

telligible. The subsequent quartos and the folio read, “ Which one [on] more," &c., evidently meaning, “ Hear all, see all, and like her most who has the most merit; her, which, after regarding attentively the many, my daughter being one, may stand unique in merit, though she may be reckoned nothing, or held in no estimation. The allusion, as Malone has shown, is to the old proverbial expression, “ One is no number.” It will be unnecessary to inform the reader that which is here used for who, a substitution frequent in Shakspeare, as in all the writers of his time. One of the later quartos has corrected the error of the others, and reads as in the present text:

« Which on more view," &c. 1 The quarto of 1597 adds,“ And yet I know not who are written here; I must to the learned to learn of them: that's as much as to say, the tailor," &c.

2 The plantain-leaf is a blood-stancher, and was formerly applied to green wounds. So in Albumazar:

Help, Armellina, help! I'm fallen i'the cellar:
Bring a fresh plantain-leaf ; I've broke my shin."

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is,
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipped and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow.

Serv. God gi' good e'en-I pray, sir, can you read ?
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book.
But, I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language.
Serv. Ye say honestly ; rest you merry!
Rom. Stay, fellow ; I can read.

[Reads.
Seignior Martino, and his wife and daughters ; County
Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow
of Vitruvio; Seignior Placentio, and his lovely nieces ;
Mercutio, and his brother Valentine ; Mine uncle Cap-
ulet, his wife, and daughters ; My fair niece Rosaline ;
Livia; Seignior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio,
and the lively Helena.
A fair assembly. [Gives back the note.) Whither

should they come ?
Serv. Up.
Rom. Whither?
Serv. To supper; to our house.
Rom. Whose house?
Serv. My master's.
Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before.

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

[Exit.
Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

1 This cant expression seems to have been once common; it often occurs in old plays.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires !
And these,—who, often drowned, could never die,–

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars !
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised with herself in either eye ;
But in those crystal scales, let there be weighed
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt.

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PULETO

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her

forth to me.
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady-bird !-
God forbid !-where's this girl? what, Juliet !

Enter Juliet. Jul. How now; who calls ? Nurse.

Your mother.
Jul.

Madam, I am here;
What is your will ?
La. Cap. This is the matter.—Nurse, give leave

awhile,

i Heath says, “ Your laily's love, is the love you bear to your lady, which, in our language, is commonly used for the lady herself.” Perhaps we should read, “ Your lady love."

2 In all the old copies the greater part of this scene was printed as prose. Capell was the first who exhibited it as verse; the subsequent editors have followed him, but perhaps erroneously. VOL. VII.

20

Nurse.

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.

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 ?

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? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule ? and, by my holy-dam,

1 i. e. to my sorrow.

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