X

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep;

Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders’ legs,

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,

The traces of the smallest spider’s web,

The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,

Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,

Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,

Not so big as a round little worm

Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid;

Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut

Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,

Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.

And in this state she gallops night by night

Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;

O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court’sies straight,

O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees,

O’er ladies ’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,

Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:

Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;

And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail

Tickling a parson’s nose as a’ lies asleep,

Then dreams, he of another benefice:

Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon

Drums in his ear, at which 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 elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,

Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:

This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

That presses them and learns them first to bear,

Making them women of good carriage:

This is she–

ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!

Thou talk’st of nothing.

MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams,

Which are the children of an idle brain,

Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,

Which is as thin of substance as the air

And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes

Even now the frozen bosom of the north,

And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,

Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

ROMEO I fear, too early: for my mind misgives

Some consequence yet hanging in the stars

Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night’s revels and expire the term

Of a despised life closed in my breast

By some vile forfeit of untimely death.

But He, that hath the steerage of my course,

Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.

BENVOLIO Strike, drum.

Exeunt

Scene 5

A hall in Capulet’s house.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins

First Servant Where’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He

shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!

Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s

hands and they unwashed too, ’tis a foul thing.

First Servant Away with the joint-stools, remove the

court-cupboard, 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!

Second Servant Ay, boy, ready.

First Servant You are looked for and called for, asked for and

sought for, in the great chamber.

Second Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be

brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers

CAPULET Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes

Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.

Ah ha, 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 welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play.

A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.

Music plays, and they dance

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,

And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.

Ah, sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.

Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;

For you and I are past our dancing days:

How long is’t now since last yourself and I

Were in a mask?

Second Capulet By’r lady, thirty years.

CAPULET What, man! ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much:

’Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,

Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.

Second Capulet ’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir;

His son is thirty.

CAPULET Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

ROMEO [To a Servingman]

What lady is that, which doth

enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Servant I know not, sir.

ROMEO O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows 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.

TYBALT This, by his voice, should be a Montague.

Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave

Come hither, cover’d with an antic face,

To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,

To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

CAPULET Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

TYBALT Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,

A villain that is hither come in spite,

To scorn at our solemnity this night.

CAPULET Young Romeo is it?

TYBALT ’Tis he, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET 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 respect,

Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,

And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest:

I’ll not endure him.

CAPULET He shall be endured:

What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;

Am I the master here, or you? go to.

You’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!

You’ll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will set cock-a-hoop! you’ll be the man!

TYBALT Why, uncle, ’tis a shame.

CAPULET Go to, go to;

You are a saucy boy: is’t so, indeed?

This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:

You must contrary me! marry, ’tis time.

Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:

Be quiet, or–More light, more light! For shame!

I’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!

TYBALT Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting

Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall

Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.

Exit

ROMEO [To JULIET]

If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!

Give me my sin again.

JULIET You kiss by the book.

Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

ROMEO What is her mother?

Nurse Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous

I nursed her daughter, that you talk’d withal;

I tell you, he that can lay hold of her

Shall have the chinks.

ROMEO Is she a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe’s debt.

BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

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