I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he: And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said--Ay. Lady C. 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 cockrel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age; Wilt thou not, Jule? 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 Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: [grace! An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. Lady C. 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 honour that I dream not of. Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, Are made already mothers: by my count, That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;- Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, [you, Lady C. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. Lady C. What say you? can you love the gentleman? 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 obscur'd in this fair volume lies, Find written in the margin of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride, Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by men. Lady C. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? Jul. I 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. Lady C. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without apology? Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 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, Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, 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 boist'rous; 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 proverb'd 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 Mer. Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask; Mer. Mer. And so did I. That dreamers often lie. Rom. Well, what was yours? She is the fairies' midwife! and she comes Her waggon spokes made of long spinners' legs; C Making them women of good carriage. This, this is she Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace; Thou talk'st of nothing. True, I talk of dreams; Mer. Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; With this night's revels; and expire the term [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, 'tis a foul thing. 1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the courtcupboard, 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. |