Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are those so early made;
The earth hath fwallow'd all my hopes but the.
7 She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her confent is but a part;
If the agree, within her fcope of choice
Lies my confent, and fair according voice:
This night, I hold an old-accuftom'd Feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,

Such as I love; and you, among the ftore,
One more, moft welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor houfe, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark Even light.
Such comfort as do lufty young men feel,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, even fuch delight
Among fresh female-buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

And like her moft, whofe merit moft fhall be:
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, tho' in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona; find thofe perfons out,
Whose names are written there; and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Ser. Find them out, whofe names are written here? It is written, that the Shoe-maker fhould

7 She is the hopeful lady of my earth:] This line not in the first edition. Mr. Pope.

8 Earth-treading fars that make dark HEAVEN's light.] This nonfenfe fhould be reformed thus,

Earth treading fars that make dark EVEN light.

i. e. When the evening is dark and without ftars, thefe earthly ftars fupply their place, and light it up. So again in this play, Her beauty bangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.

meddle

meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find those Persons, whose names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I muft to the Learned. In good time,

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is leffen'd by another's Anguish:

Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning;
One defperate grief cure with another's Languish;
Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poyfon of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for That.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken fhin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is: Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented: and-Good-e'en, good fellow.

[To the Servant. Ser. God gi' good e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery. Ser. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: but, I pray,

Can you read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Ser. Ye fay honeftly, reft you merry.-
Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.

[He reads the letter.]

Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count

Anfelm and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet,

bis

bis wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

? A fair affembly; whither fhould they come? Ser. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Ser. To fupper, to our house.

Rom. Whofe house?

Ser. My mafter's.

Rom. Indeed, I fhould have askt you that before. Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My mafter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the House of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Reft you merry.

[Exit.

Ben. At this fame antient Feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou fo lov'ft; With all th' admired beauties of Verona. Go thither, and, with unattained eye, Compare her face with fome that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow. Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains fuch falfehoods, then turn tears to fires! And these, who, often drown'd, could never die, Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! th' all-feeing Sun Ne'er faw her match, fince first the world begun. Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none else being by ; Her felf pois'd with herself, in either eye: But in those cryftal fcales, let there be weigh'd Your Lady's love against fome other maid,

9 A fair affembly: whither fhould they come? Ser. Up.

Rom. Whither? to fupper?

Ser. To our House.] Romeo had read over the lift of invited guefts; but how fhould he know they were invited to fupper? This comes much more aptly from the Servant's anfwer, than Romeo's question; and must undoubtedly be placed to him.

That

That I will fhew you, fhining at this feaft;
And she will fhew fcant well, that now fhews best.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be fhewn;
But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own.

[Exeunt.

La. Cap. NURSE, where's my daughter? call her

to me.

Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years 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?

Nurfe. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here, what is your will?
La. Cap. This is the matter

Nurfe, give leave a while, we must talk in fecret; Nurfe, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear our counfel: thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurfe. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four ;) the's not fourteen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and the (God reft all chriftian fouls!) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God, fhe was too good for me. But as I faid on Lammas-eve at night shall fhe be fourteen, that fhall fhe, marry, I remember VOL. VIII. it

C

it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and fhe was wean'd; I never fhall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid worm-wood to my dug, fitting in the Sun under the Dove-houfe wall, my lord and you were then at Mantua-nay, -nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I faid, when it did tafte the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-house-'twas no need, I trow, to bid ⚫me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then she could ftand alone; nay, by th' rood, fhe ⚫ could have run, and waddled all about; for even the day before the broke her brow, and then my hufband, (God be with his foul, a' was a merry man ;) took up the child; yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou haft more wit, wilt thou not, Julé ? and by my holy dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and faid, ay; To fee now, how a jeft fhall come about.—İ warrant, an' I fhould live a thousand years, I fhould ⚫ not forget it: Wilt thou not, Julé, quoth he? and, pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid, ay.'

La. Cap. Enough of this, I pray thee, hold thy peace.

1

Nurfe. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it should leave crying, and fay, ay; and yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone: a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comeft to age, wilt thou not, Julé ? it ftinted, and faid, ay.

Ful. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

Nurfe. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe &c.] This speech and tautology is not in the first edition.

Mr. Pope.

Nurfe.