SCENE, during the greater part of the Play, in Verona; once, in the fifth Act, at Mantua.

PROLOGUE.

ACT I.

thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here | That quench the fire of your pernicious rage comes two of the house of the Montagues.

Enter ABRAM and BALTHAZAR.

With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd' weapons to the ground.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will And hear the sentence of your moved prince.

back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them

begin.

Gre. I will frown as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb
at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say—ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir; I do not bite my thumb at you, sir: but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as

good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Enter BENVOLIO, at a distance.

Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.en.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. Enter TYBALT.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart-
less hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace?

the word,

I hate

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee;
Have at thee, coward.
[They fight.
Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who join
the Fray; then enter Citizens with Clubs.
Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans! strike! beat
them down!

Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!
Enter CAPULET in his Gown; and LADY CAPULET.
Cup. What noise is this?-Give me my long

sword, ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!--Why call you for

a sword?

Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE, and LADY MONTAGUE.
Mon. Thou villain, Capulet,-Hold me not, let
me go!

La. Mon.Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel,-

Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans,' in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-pla e.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; CAPULIT,
LADY CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens,

Servants.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach!—
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scora:
While we were interchanging thrust and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and per
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him t>
day?

Right glad I am, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd su
Peer'd' forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
That westward rooteth from the city's side.-
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
So early walking did I see your son:

And stole into the covert of the wood:
I measuring his affections by my own,-
That most are busied when they are most alone.-
Pursued my humor, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been see
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
And makes himself an artificial night:
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
Black and portentous must this humor prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you impórtuned him by any means!
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself I will not say, how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,

Will they not hear?-what, ho! you men, you So far from sounding and discovery,

beasts,-

Poor John is hake, dried and salted.

Clubs was the usual exclamation at an affray in the streets, as we now call Watch!

As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
• Angry.
A kind of pike.
Appeared.

SCENE II.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter ROMEO, at a distance.

From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,

Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.

Is the day so young?

Ah me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was:- What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours?

Rom. Not having that, which having, makes
them short.

Ben. In love?
Rom. Out-
Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favor, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was
here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:-
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.

I rather weep.
No, coz,
Rom. Good heart, at what?
At thy good heart's oppression.
Ben.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.—
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast
shown,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[Going.

Soft, I will go along;
Ben.
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Tell me in sadness who she is you love.
Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee?
Ben.

But sally tell me, who.

Groan? why no;

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:-
Ah, word i'-urged to one that is so ill!-
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marksman! And she's fair
I love.

Ben. A right fair nark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom. Well, in that it, you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow, s.he hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,

Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live
chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge

waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
"Tis the way

Rom.

To call hers, exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Street.
Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honorable reckoning' are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd 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 marr'd are those so early
made.

The earth hath swallow'd 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;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd 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 feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female birds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me:-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,

Account, estimation.

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

Whose names are written there, [Gives a Paper.] | Herself pois'd' with herself in either eye:

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 lessen'd by another's anguish ;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning:

One desperate grief cure 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 shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd 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! Kom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads. Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior 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 ask'd you that

fore.

be

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.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to

But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
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.
SCENE III-A Room in Capulet's House.

Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her
forth to me.

Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head, 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.
Jul.
What is your will?

Your mother.

Madam, I am here,

La. Cup. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave

awhile,

We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd 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.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
She is not fourteen: How long is it now
And yet, to my teen' be it spoken, I have but four,-
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 wean'd,—I never shall forget it,—
of all the days in 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,'
The pretty wretch left crying, and said-g:
To see now, how a jest shall come abor fi!
I warrant, an I should live a thouse ax years,
I never should forget it; Will trots not, Jule?
quoth he:

ilo

And, pretty fool, it stinted, arow t] said—Ay:
La. Cap. Enough of this; o clo pray thee, hold thy

peace.

cover

ious

1. e. I have a perfect rement leavedly. To my Tow.

The cros8.

Holy dam
pike.

brance or recollection.

$,& the blessed Virgin.

It stopped crying.

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 full 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 grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs❜d:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. 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 honor that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger
than you,

Here, in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief:-
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man,
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a
flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. 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 obscured in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes."
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him only lacks a cover:

The fish lives in the sea;' and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.

Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by

men.

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 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.

La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county
stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy
days.

[Exeunt.

• Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax.
The comments on ancient books were always printed

in the margin.

1 i. e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind

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 out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hook-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper: 2
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But, let them measure 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;
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,
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore impierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

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
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer.

I mean, sir, in delay. We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning: for our judgment sits Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.

Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Why, may one ask?
Mer.
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer.

And so did I.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
That dreamers often lie.
Mer.
Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things