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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 intangled, much Misfortunes bodes. This is the Hag, when Maids lye on their Backs, That presses them, and learns them first to bear, Making them Women of good Carriage : This is the
Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace ;
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mer. True, I talk of Dreams;
Which are the Children of an idle Brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain Phantasie,
Which is as thin of substance as the Air,
And more unconftant than the Wind; who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the North,
And being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the Dew-dropping South.
Ben, This Wind you talk of, blows us from our selves;
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. I fear too early; for my
Some consequence still hanging in the Stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this Night's Revels, and expire the term
Of a despised Life clos'd in my Breaft,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death;
But he that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my Suit : On, lusty Gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, Drum.
They march about the Stage, and Servants come forth with
i Ser. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a Trencher ! 'He scrape a Trencher!
2 Ser. When good Manners shall ye in one or two Mens Hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.
1 Ser. Away with the Joint-stools remove the Court-cupboard, look to the Plate : Good thou, save me a piece of March-pane; and as thou lovest me, let the Porter let in Vol. V. с
Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthony, and Potpan."
2 Ser. Ay, Boy, ready.
i Ser. You are lookid for, calld for, ask'd for, and fought for, in the great Chamber.
2 Ser. We cannot be here and there too; chearly Boys ; Be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.
Enter all the Guests and Ladies to the Maskers.
1 Cap. Welcome, Gentlemen ;
Ladies that have their Toes
Unplagu'd with Corns, will walk about with you.
Ah me, 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 ye 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: 'Tis gone;
'tis gone; 'tis gone: You are all welcome, Gentlemen; come, Musicians, play.
[Mufick plays, and they Dance, A Hall, Hall; give room, and foot it, Girls: More Light ye Knaves, and turn the Tables up; And quench the Fire, the Room is Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd for sport comes well: Nay, fit, nay, fit, good Cousin Capulet, For you and I, are past our dancing daies: How long is't now since last your self and I Were in a Mask ?
3 Cap. By'r Lady, thirty Years.
I Cap. What, Man! 'cis not so much, 'tis not so much ; "Tis firice the Nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost, as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty Years, and then we Maskid.
2 Cap. 'Tis more, ’tis more, his Son is Elder, Sir : His Son is Thirty.
i Cap. Will you tell me that? His Son was but a Ward two Years ago.
Rom. What Lady is that which doth enrich the Hand Of yonder Knight?
Ser. I know not, Sir.
Rom. O me doth teach the Torches to burn bright; Her Beauty hangs upon the cheek of Night,
Like a rich Jewel in an Æthiop's Ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear!
So shews a Snowy Dove trooping with Crows
As yonder Lady o'er her Fellows shows :
The Measure done, I'll watch her place of stand;
And touching hers, make blessed my rude Hand.
Did my Heart love till now; forswear it Sight?
For I ne'er saw true Beauty 'till this Night.
Tib. This by his Voice should be a Mountague.
Fetch me my Řapier, Boy: what dares the Slave
Come hither cover'd with an Antick Face,
To fleer and scorn at our Solemnity?
Now by the stock and honour of my Kin,
Te strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.
Cap. Why, how now, Kinsman,
Wherefore storm you so ?
Tib. Uncle, this is a Mountague, our Foe :
A Villain that is hither come in spight,
To scorn at our Solemnity this Night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is it?
Tib. 'Tis he, that Villain Remco.
Cap. Content thee, gentle Coz, let him alone;
He bears him like a portly Gentleman:
And to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd Youth.
I would not for the wealth of all the Town,
Here in my House do him disparagement :
Therefore be patient, take no Note of him,
It is my will, the which if thou respe&t,
Shew a fair Presence, and put off these Frowns,
An ill beseeming semblance of a Feast,
Tib. It fits, when such a Villain is a Guest.
I'll not endure him.
Cap. He shall be indur’d.
What, Goodman-boy- I say he shall. Go toamna
Am I the Master here, or you?
You'll not endure him! God shall mend my Soul,
You'll make a Mutiny among the Guests :
You will set Cock-a-hoop? You'll be the Man
Tib. Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame.
Cap. Go to, go to.
You are a saucy Boy-'tis so indeed
This trick may chance to scathe you; Í know what,
You must contrary me?
-marry 'tis time.
Well said, my Hearts, you are a Princox, gó,
Be quiet, or more light, for shame;
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my Hearts.
Tib. Patience perforce with wilful Choler meeting,
Makes my Flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw; but this Intrusion Thall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter Gall.
Rom. If I prophane with my unworthiest Hand, [TO Juliet.
This holy Shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My Lips two blushing Pilgrims ready stand,
To smooth that rough touch with a tender Kiss.
Jul. Good Pilgrim,
You do wrong your Hand too much,
Which mannerly Devotion shews in this,
For Saints have Hands—the Pilgrim's Hand do touch,
And Palm to Palm, is holy Palmer's Kiss.
Rom. Have not Saints Lips, and holy Palmers too?
Jul. Ay, Pilgrim, Lips that they must use in Prayer.
Rom. O then, dear Saint, let Lips do what Hands do,
They pray (grant thou) lest Faith turn to Despair.
Jul. Saints do not move, Though grant for Prayers fake.
Rom. Then move not while my Prayers effe do take : Thus from my Lips, by thine my fin is purg'd. [Kising her. Jul. Then have my Lips the sin that they have
took. Rom. Sin from my Lips! O trespass sweetly urg'd : Give me my fin again.
Ful. You kiss by th' Book.
Nur. Madam, your Mother craves a word with you.
Rom. What is her Mother?
Nur. Marry, Batchelor,
Her Mother is the Lady of the House,
And a good Lady, and a wife and virtuous,
I nurs'd her Daughter that you talk withal :
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the Chinks.
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
O dear Account! My Life is my Foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear, the more is my unreft.
Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish Banquet towards.
Is it e'en so? why then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honest Gentlemen, good Night:
More Torches here come on, then let's to Bed.
Ah, Sirrah, by my Fay it waxes late.
I'll to my reft.
[Excunt. Jul. Come hither, Nurse. What is yond' Gentleman?
Nur. The Son and Heir of old Tyberio.
Jul. What's he that now is going out of Door?
Nur. Marry, that I think to be young Petruchio.
Ful. What's he that follows here, that would not dance?
Nur. I know not.
Jul. Go ask his Name. If he be Married,
My Grave is like to be my wedding Bed.
Nur. His Name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The only Son of our great Enemy.
Jul. My only Love sprung from my only Hate!
Too early seen, unknown, and known too late:
Prodigious birth of Love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed Enemy.
Nur. What's this? what's this?
Jul. A Rhime I learni'd even now of one I danc'd withal.
[One calls within, Juliet. Nur. Anon, anon: Come, let's away, the Strangers all are gone, [Exeunt.
W old Desire doth in his Death-bed lye,
gapes to be his Heir :
That fair, for which Love groan'd sore, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov’d, and loves again,