Drawn with the team of little atomies,
Athwart mens 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 moon-shine'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 curt'sies straight:
O'er lawyer's fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a lawyer's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tith's-pig's tail,
Tickling the parson as he lies asleep;
Then dreams he of another benefice,
Sometimes 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 ears, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that Mab

Rom. Peace, peace, Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain phantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more unconstant than the wind.

Ben. This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves, And we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, From this night's revels-lead, gallant friends; Let come what may, once more I will behold

My

My Juliet's eyes, drink deeper of affliction:
I'll watch the time; and, mask'd from observation,
Make known my sufferings, but conceal my name:
Tho' hate and discord 'twixt our sires increase,
Let in our hearts dwell love and endless peace.

[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.

SCENE. V.

CAPULET's House.

Enter Lady CAPULET and NURSE.

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

Nurse. Now (by my maidenhead 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?

Nurse. Your mother.

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

-Nurse give leave a

while, we must talk in secret: Nurse, come back again,

I have remember'd me, thou shalt he ar mycounsel: thon know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.

La Cap. She's not eighteen.

Nurse. I'll lay eighteen of my teeth, and yet to my teeth be it spoken, I have but eight, she's not eighteen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all the days in the year.come, Lammas-eve at night shail she be eighteen. Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls) were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; she was too good for me. But as I said on Lammas-eve at night shall she be eighteen, that shall she, marry, marry, I remember it well. "Tis since the earthquake now fifteen years, and she was wean'd, I never shall forget it, of all the days in the year upon that day; for I had then laid wormwood to my breast, sitting in the sun, under the dove-house wall; my lord and you

were

were then at Mantua-nay, I do bear a brain. But as I said, when it did taste the wormwood on the nipple of the breast, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to see, it teachy and fall out with the breast. Shake, quoth the dovehouse 'twas no need I trow to bid me trudge; and since that time it is fifteen years, for then she could stand alone, nay, by th' rood she could have run, and waddled all about; for even the day before she broke her brow; and then my husband (God be with his soul, a' was a merry man,) took up the child; yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit: wilt thou not, Jule? and by my holy dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and said, ay; to see now how a jest shall come about I warrant, and I should live a thousand years I should not forget it; wilt thou not, Jule, quoth he? and pretty fool, it stinted, and said,

ay.

Jul. And stint thee too, I pray thee, peace.

Nurse. Peace, I have done; God mark thee to his grace. Thou wast the prettiest babe that ere I nurst.

An' I might live to see thee married once,

I have my wish.

La. Cap. And that same marriage is the very theme, I came to talk of. Tell, me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dreamt not of.

Nurse. An honour? Were not I thine only nurse, I'd say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers, by my 'count,

I was your mother much upon these years

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

Nurse. A man, young lady: lady such a man
As all the world- Why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower in faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love.
Jul. I'H look to like, if looking liking move;
But no more deep will I indart my eye,
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
VOL. 1.

E

Enter

Enter GREGORY.

Greg. Madam, new guests are come, and brave one's all in masks. You are call'd; my young lady ask'd for the nurse curs'd in the pantry; supper almost ready to be serv'd up, and every thing in extremity. I must hence and wait.

La. Cap. We follow thee.

SCENE. VI.

A Hall in CAPULET'S House.

[Exeunt.

The CAPULET'S, LADIES, GUESTS, and MASKERS, are discover'd.

Cap. WELCOME, gentlemen. Ladies, that have your

feet

Uuplagu'd with corns, we'll have about with you.
Who'll now deny to dance? She thatmakes dainty,
I'll swear hath corns. Am I come near you now?
Welcome all gentlemen; I've seen the day
That I have worn a viser, and could tell,

A whispering-tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please; 'tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone!
[Music plays and they dance.
More light ye knaves, and turn the table 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 ?

2 Cap. By'r lady thirty years.

Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much!

"Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years and then we mask'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his son is elder Sir,

His son is thirty.

Cap. Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two year ago.

Rom.

Rom. Cousin Benvolio, do you mark that lady which Doth enrich the hand of yonder gentleman?

Ben. I do.

Rom. Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiops' ear:

The measure done, I'll watch her to her place,
And touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Be still, be still, my fluttering heart.

Tib. 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 steer and scorn at our solemnity.

Now by the stock and honour of my race,

To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman wherefore storm you thus?

Tib. Uncle, this is a Montague, or foe: A villain that has hither come in spite, To scorn and flout at our solemnity. Capt. Young Romeo, is't?

Tib. That villian Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
He bears him like a courtly 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 this town
Here in my house do him disparagement;
Therefore be patient take no note of him.
Tib. It fits when such a villáin is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap. He shall be endur'd.

Be quiet cousin, or I'l make you quiet

Tib. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their difference.
I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet covert to bitter gall.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this.

[Dance bere.

[To Juliet. [Kiss.

Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hands too much.

For palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss.

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

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

E 2

Rom.