A visor for a visor! what care I, Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, - If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Mer. Rom. Well, what was yours? And so did I. That dreamers often lie. Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things true. Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grashoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams: Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film: Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half 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 of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On 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 sweat-meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: And sometimes 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 elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, Mer. 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. Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Rome. 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, clos'd 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. Ben. Strike, drum. [Exeunt. SCENE V.- A Hall in Capulet's House. Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. 1 Serv. 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! Of yonder knight? Serv. I know not, sir. Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop'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 happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:Fetch me my rapier, boy:- What! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antick face, 1 Cap. Why, how now kinsman? wherefore storm you so? Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; I'll not endure him. 1 Cap. He shall be endur'd; 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. Rom. If I profane with my unworthy 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. Jul. 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. 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' sake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door? Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse. I know not. Jul. Go, ask his name: - if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your 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. Nurse. What's this? What's this? Jul. A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, JULIET. Nurse. Anon, anon:Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Enter CHORUS. [Exeunt. Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir, That fair, which love groan'd for, and would die, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access SCENE I. ACT II. An open Place, adjoining Capulet's | But, soft! what light through yonder window Garden. Enter ROMEO. Rom. Can I go forward, when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out. [He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Mer. He is wise; And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. Nay, I'll conjure too. Mer. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress, were that kind of fruit, As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, good night; I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep : Come, shall we go? Ben. Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here, that means not to be found. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Jul. Rom. Ah me! She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? [Aside. Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title: - Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself. Rom. I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel ? 6 2 ད Rom. By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: Had I it written, I would tear the word. Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound; Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore? The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out: Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. Rom. Alack there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And, but thou love me, let them find me here: Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place? Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face; Ay; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops, Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it : And yet I would it were to give again. Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again. To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest musick to attending ears! Rom. Jul. I will not fail; At what o'clock to-morrow At the hour of nine. 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company. Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; } Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. Rom. I would, I were thy bird. Jul. Sweet, so would I : Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: Rom. Good morrow, father! Benedicile ! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? — Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here! Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. To lay one in, another out to have. now, Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; Fri. fast. |