E

Scalus, Prince of Verona.

Paris, a young Nobleman in Love with Juliet, and Kinfman to the Prince.

Mountague, Two Lords of antient Families, EneCapulet, Smies to each other.

Romeo, Son to Mountague.

Mercutio, Kinfman to the Prince, and Friend to
Romeo.

Benvolio, Kinfman and Friend to Romeo.
Tybalt, Kinsman to Capulet.
Friar Lawrence.

Friar John.

Balthafar, Servant to Romeo.
Page to Paris.

Samplon,} Servants to Capulet.

Gregory,

Abram, Servant to Mountague.
Apothecary.

Lady Mountague, Wife to Mountague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.

Juliet, Daughter to Capulet, in Love with Romeo.
Nurfe to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona, feveral Men and Women Relations to Capulet, Maskers, Guards, and other Attendants.

The SCENE, in the beginning of the Fifth A&t, is in Mantua, during all the rest of the Play, in and near Verona.

ROMEO

!

ROMEO

AND

JULIE T.

ACT I.

SCENE I

SCENE the Street in Verona.

Enter Sampfon and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers.

SAMPSON.

Regory, a my word we'll not carry Coals.
Greg. No, for then we fhould be Colliers.
Sam. I mean, if we be in Choler, we'll draw.
Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your Neck
out o'th' Collar.

Sam. I ftrike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg. But thou art not quickly mov'd to strike.
Sam. A Dog of the Houfe of Mountague moves me.
Greg. To move, is to ftir; and to be valiant, is to stand:
Therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'ft away.

Sam. A Dog of that Houfe fhall move me to ftand:
I will take the Wall of any Man or Maid of Mountague's.
Greg. That fhews thee weak, Slave, for the weakest
to the Wall.

VOL. V.

B 2

goes

Sam

Sam. True, and therefore Women, being the weakest Veflels, are ever thruft to the Wall: therefore I will push Mountague's Men from the Wall, and thruft his Maids to the

"

Wall.

Greg. The Quarrel is between our Mafters, and us their

Men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew iny felf a Tyrant: when I have fought with the Men, I will be civil with the Maids, and cut off their Heads.

Greg. The Heads of the Maids?

Sam. Ay, the Heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what fenfe thou wilt.

Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it.

Sam. Me they fhall feel while I am able to ftand: And 'tis known I am a pretty piece of Flesh.

Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: if thou hadft, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy Tool, here comes of the House of the Mountagues.

Enter Abram and Balthafar.

Sam. My naked Weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.
Greg. How? turn thy back and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Greg. No, marry: I fear thee.

Sam. Let us take the Law of our fides: let them begin. Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they lift.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my Thumb at them,
which is a difgrace to them, if they bear it.
Abr. Do you bite your Thumb at us, Sir?
Sem. I do Lite my Thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite your Thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. Is the Law on our fide, if I say ay?
Greg. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my Thumb at you, Sir: but
I bite my Thumb, Sir.

Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?

Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I ferve as good a Man as you.

Abr. No better?

Sam. Well, Sir.

Enter

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say better: here comes one of my Master's Kinfmen.
Sam. Yes, better.

Abr. You Lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be Men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.

[They fight. Ben. Part, Fools, put up your Swords, you know not what you

do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless Hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy Death.

Ben. I do but keep the Peace; put up thy Sword, Or manage it to part thefe Men with me.

Tyb. What draw, and talk of Peace? I hate the word As I hate Hell, all Mountagues and thee:

Have at thee, Coward.

[Fight.

Enter three or four Citizens with Clubs. Offic. Clubs, Bills, and Partifans! ftrike! beat them down, Down with the Capulets, down with the Mountagues.

Enter old Capulet in his Gown, and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noife is this? Give me my long Sword, ho? La. Cap. A Crutch, a Crutch: why call you for a Sword? Cap. A Sword, I fay: Old Mountague is come,

And flourishes his Blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Mountague and Lady Mountague.
Hold me not, let me go.

Moun. Thou Villain, Capulet.

La. Moun. Thou shalt not ftir a foot to feek a Foe.
Enter Prince with Attendants.

Prin, Rebellious Subjects, Enemies to Peace,
Prophaners of this Neighbour stained Steel-
Will they not hear? What ho, you Men, you Beafts,
That quench the Fire of your pernicious Rage,
With purple Fountains iffuing from your Veins:
On pain of Torture, from thefe bloody Hands
Throw your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground,
And hear the Sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil Boils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capuler, and Mountague,
Have thrice difturb'd the quiet of our Streets,
And made Verona's antient Citizens
Caft by their grave befeeming Ornaments,

B 3

Τα

To wield old Partifans, in Hands as old,
Cankred with Peace, to part your Cankred-hate ;
If ever you disturb our Streets again,
Your Lives fhall pay the Forfeit of the Peace.
For this time all the reft depart away:
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Mountague, come you this Afternoon,
To know our further Pleasure in this cafe,
To old Free-town, our common Judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of Death, all Men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c. La. Moun. Who fet this ancient Quarrel new abroach? Speak, Nephew, were you by when it began?

Ben. Here were the Servants of your Adversary,
And yours, clofe fighting, e'er I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the inftant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his Sword prepar'd,
Which as he breath'd Defiance to my Ears,
He fwong about his Head, and cut the Winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, kifs'd him in Scorn;
While we were interchanging thrufts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

La. Moun. O where is Romeo, faw you him to Day?
Right glad am I, he was not at this Fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peer'd forth the golden Window of the East,
A troubled Mind drave me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the Grove of Sycamour,
That Weftward rooteth from this City fide,
So early walking did I fee your Son;
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,
And ftole into the Covert of the Wood;

I measuring his Affections by my own,

Which then most fought, where moft might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary felf,
Purfued my Humour, not purfuing his,
And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fl.d from me.

Moun. Many a Morning hath he there been seen With Tears augmenting the fresh Morning Dew, Adding to Clouds, more Clouds, with his deep fighs: But all fo foon as the all-cheering Sun,

Should,