Jul. Madam, I am here: what is your will? La. Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave a while,

We must talk in fecret.-Nurfe, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear our counfel.
Thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurfe. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,She's not fourteen: How long is't now to LammasLa. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days.

[tide? Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, fhall she be fourteen. Sufan and the,-God rest all christian fouls!Were of an age.---Well, Sufan is with God; She was too good for me: But, as I faid, On Lammas-eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen; That fhall fhe, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,-I never fhall forget itOf all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting i' the fun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua :Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I faid, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To fee it teachy, and fall out with the dug.

Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge.

And fince that time it is eleven years:

For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about.

B 2

For

For even the day before, fhe broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his foul!
'A was a merry man ;-took up the child;
Yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou haft more wit;
Wilt thou not, Fule? and, by my holy dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said—Ay :
To fee now, how a jeft fhall come about!
I warrant, an I fhould live a thousand

years,

I never fhould forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he: And, pretty fool, it stinted, and faid—Ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurfe. Yes, madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, To think it fhould leave crying, and fay-Ay: And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone; A par❜lous knock and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my hufband, fall ft upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou com'ft to age; Wilt thou not, Fule? it stinted, and faid-Ay.

Jul. And ftint thou too, I pray thee, nurfe, fay I. Nurfe. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!

Thou waft the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wifh.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of :-' -Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How ftands your difpofition to be married?

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

Nurfe. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadft fuck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now: younger than you,.

Here

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 love the gentleman?
This night you fhall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every feveral lineament,

And fee how one another lends content;
And what obfcur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:

The fish lives in the fea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth fhare the glory,
That in gold clafps locks in the golden story;
So fhall you fhare all that he doth poffefs,
By having him, making yourself no lefs.

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 endart 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

B 3

curs'd

curs'd in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I muft hence to wait; I befeech you, follow ftraight. La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays. Nurfe. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

SCENE IV. Aftreet.

[Exeunt.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or fix mafkers, torch-bearers, and others.

Rom. What, fhall this fpeech be fpoke for our Or fhall we on without apology?

[excufe? Ben. The date is out of fuch prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a fearf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But, let them meafure 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 flakes 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 fhaft, 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

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 vifage in:

[Putting on a maskr

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 every 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 grandfire phrafeI'll be a candle-holder, and look on.—— The game was ne'er fo fair, and I am done.

Mer. Tut! dun's the moufe, the conftable's own word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire,
Or (fave your reverence) love, wherein thou ftick'st
Up to the ears.Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not fo.

Mer. I mean, fir, in delay

We waste our lights in vain, like lamps 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 afleep; while they do dream things true. Mer. O, then, I fee queen Mab hath been with you.

She