i

Nurfe. An hour? were not I thine only nurse,
I'd fay, thou hadft fuck'd wifdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger
than you

Here in Verona, ladies of efteem,

Are made already mothers. By my count,

I was your mother much upon

thefe years

That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;
The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.

Nurfe. A man, young lady, lady, fuch a man
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower.
Nurfe. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. What fay you, can you like the Gentle-
man?

1

This night you shall behold him at our Feast;
Read o'er the Volume of young Paris' Face,
And find Delight writ there with Beauty's pen;
Examine ev'ry fev'ral Lineament,

And fee, how one another lends Content:
And what obfcur'd in this fair Volume lies,
Find written in the Margent of his Eyes.
This precious book of Love, this unbound Lover,
To beautify him only lacks a Cover.

The fifh lives in the Sea, and 'tis much pride,
For Fair without the Fair within to hide.
That Book in many Eyes doth fhare the Glory,
2 That in gold clafps locks in the golden Story.
So, fhall you fhare all that he doth poffefs,
By having him, making yourfelf no lefs.

La. Cap. What say you, &c.] This ridiculous fpeech is entirely added fince the first edition.

POPE.

That in gold clofps lo ks in the golden Story.] The golden fary is perhaps the golden legend,

a book in the darker ages of popery much read, and doubtlefs often exquifitely embellished, but of which Canus, one of the popish doctors, proclaims the author to have been homo ferrei oris, plumbei cordis,

Nurfe.

Nurfe. No lefs? Nay, bigger; Women grow by

Men.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move.
But no more deep will I indart mine eye,
Than your confent gives ftrength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, fupper ferv'd up, you call'd, my young lady afk'd for, the nurse curft in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I muft hence to wait; I beseech you, follow ftrait.

La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the County ftays.

Nurfe. Go, girl, feek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Street before Capulet's House.

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or fix other mafkers, torch-bearers, and drums.

Rom.

HAT, fhall this fpeech be spoke for our excufe?

WHA

Or fhall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of fuch prolixity.

We'll

We'll have no Cupid, hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper:
Nor a without-book prologue faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our enterance.
But let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

Rom. Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heavy, I will bear the Light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me; you have dancing fhoes With nimble foles; I have a foul of lead,

So ftakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

Mer. You are a Lover; borrow Cupid's Wings, And foar with them above a common Bound. Rom. I am too fore enpearced with his Shaft, To foar with his light Feathers; and fo bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull Woe.

Under Love's heavy burden do I fink.

Mer. And to fink in it, fhould you burden Love, Too great Oppreffion for a tender Thing!

Rom. Is Love a tender Thing! It is too rough, Too rude, too boift'rous; and it pricks like Thorn. Mer. If Love be rough with you, be rough with Love;

Prick Love for pricking, and you beat Love down. Give me a Cafe to put my vilage in ?

[Putting on his Mask. A Vifor for a Vifor!what care I, What curious eye doth quote

deformities?

Here are the beetle-brows fhall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no fooner in,
But ev'ry man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the fenfelefs rufhes with their heels; For I am proverb'd with a granfire-phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.

The game was ne'er fo fair, and I am done.

Mer. 7 Tut! dun's the mouse, the conftable's own word;

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire;

8

Or, fave your reverence, Love, wherein thou stickest Up to thine ears: come, we burn day-light, ho.

Mercutio, in his reply, answers
the last line firft. The thought
of which, and of the preceding,
is taken from gaming, I'll be a
candle holder (fays Romeo) and
luck on.
It is true, if I could
play myself, I could never ex-
pect a fairer chance than in the
company we are going to: but,
alas! I am done. I have nothing
to play with; I have lost my
heart already. Mercutio catches
at the word done, and quibbles
with it, as if Romeo had faid, The
ladies indeed are fair, but I am
dun, i. e. of a dark complexion.
And fo replies, Tut! dun's the
mouse; a proverbial expreflion of

Rom.

the fame import with the French, La nuit tous les chats font gris. As much as to fay, You need not fear, night will make all your complexions alike. And because Romeo had introduced his obfervation with,

I am proverb'd with a grand

fire's phraf,

Mercutio adds to his reply, the conftable's own word. As much as to fay, if you are for old proverbs, I'll fit you with one; 'tis the conflable's own word: whofe cuftom was, when he fummoned his watch, and affigned them their feveral ftations, to give them what the foldiers call, the word. But this night guard being diftinguished for their pacific character, the conflable, as an em blem of their harmless difpofition, chofe that domeftic animal for his word: which, in time, might become proverbial. WARE,

8 Or, fave your reverence,

Love,] The word or obfcures the fentence; we should read O! for or Love. Mercutio

Rem. Nay, that's not fo.

Mer. I mean, Sir, in delay

We waste our lights in vain, like lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment fits
Five times in that, ere once in our fine wits.
Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer. And fo did I.

Rom. Well what was yours?

Mer. That dreamers often lye.

Rom. In bed asleep; while they do dream things

true.

Mer. O, then I fee, Queen Mab hath been with

you.

She is the Fancy's mid-wife, and fhe comes

having called the affection with which Romeo was entangled by fo difrefpectfuul a word as mire,

cries out,

O! fave your reverence, Love. 90, then I fee, Queen Mab

hath been with you.

She is the FAIRIES' midwife.] Thus begins that admirable fpecch upon the effects of the imagination in dreams. But, Queen Mab the fairies' midwife? What is the then Queen of Why, the fairies. What! and their mid fe too? But this is not the greatest of the abfurdities. Let us fee upon what occafion fhe is introduced, and under what quality. It is as a Being that has great power over human imaginations. But then the title given her, muft have reference to the employment fhe is put upon: Firft then, the is

called Queen: which is very pertinent; for that defigns her power: Then he is called the fairies' midwife; but what has that to do with the point in hand? If we would think that Shakespear wrote fenfe, we must fay, he wrote--the FANCY's midwife: and this is a proper title, as it introduces all that is faid afterwards of her vagaries. Befides, it exactly quadrates with thefe lines:

I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain,

Begot of nothing but vain fan-.

tafie.