If Ever You Disturn Our Streets Again
PROLOGUE
CHORUS.
Two households, both akin in nobility,
In off-white Verona, where nosotros lay our scene,
From aboriginal grudge interruption to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil easily unclean.
From along the fatal loins of these ii foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd dearest,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, merely their children's end, nought could remove,
Is now the ii hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you lot with patient ears nourish,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
Scene I.—A Public Place.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with Swords and Bucklers.
Sam. Gregory, on my discussion, we'll not bear coals.
Gre. No, for and then we should exist colliers.
Sam. I hateful, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre. Ay, while you alive, draw your neck out of the collar.
Sam. I strike rapidly, beingness moved.
Gre. Merely one thousand art non quickly moved to strike.
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
Gre. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand up: therefore, if thou art moved, thou run'st away.
Sam. A dog of that house shall motion me to stand. I volition have the wall of whatever human being or maid of Montague's.
Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.
Sam. 'Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,are ever thrust to the wall:—therefore, I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.
Sam. 'Tis all one, I volition show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will exist civil with the maids; I will cut off their heads.
Gre. The heads of the maids?
Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.
Gre. They must take it in sense, that experience information technology.
Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand; and 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of mankind.
Gre. 'Tis well, yard fine art non fish; if thou hadst, grand hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes 2 of the house of the Montagues.
Enter Abraham and Balthasar.
Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
Gre. How! turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.
Gre. No marry: I fear thee!
Sam. Let u.s. have the police of our sides; allow them brainstorm.
Gre. I will pout as I pass by, and let them accept it equally they list.
Sam. Nay, as they dare. I volition bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they acquit it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law of our side, if I say—ay?
Gre. No.
Sam. No, sir, I do not seize with teeth my thumb at you lot, sir; but I seize with teeth my thumb, sir.
Gre. Practise you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.
Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a human being as you lot.
Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.
Enter Benvolio, at a altitude.
Gre. Say—better: here comes one of my primary's kinsmen.
Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. Y'all prevarication.
Sam. Draw, if y'all exist men.—Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight.
Ben. Part, fools! put up your swords; you know not what yous practice.
[Beats down their Swords.
Enter Tybalt.
Tyb. What! art g fatigued among these heartless hinds?
Plow thee, Benvolio, await upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace: put upwards thy sword,
Or manage it to function these men with me.
Tyb. What! drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the give-and-take,
Equally I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
Have at thee, coward.
[They fight.
Enter several persons of both Houses, who join the fray; and then enter Citizens, with clubs or partisans.
i Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them downward!
Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!
Enter Capulet in his gown; and Lady Capulet.
Cap. What dissonance is this?—Requite me my long sword, ho!
La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!—Why telephone call you for a sword?
Cap. My sword, I say!—Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Enter Montague and Lady Montague.
Mon. Grand villain Capulet!—Hold me not; let me go.
La. Monday. Thou shalt not stir ane pes to seek a foe.
Enter Prince, with his train.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel—
Will they non hear?—what ho! you lot men, you beasts,
That quench the burn down of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis–temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the judgement of your moved prince.—
Three civil brawls, bred of an blusterous word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And fabricated Verona'due south ancient citizens
Cast past their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield sometime partisans, in hands as old,
Herpes'd with peace, to role your canker'd detest.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace:
For this time, all the rest depart abroad.
You Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this example,
To onetime Complimentary-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more than, on hurting of decease, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants.
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were yous past when information technology began?
Ben. Hither were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did arroyo.
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cutting the winds,
Who, nil hurt nonetheless, hiss'd him in scorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon. O! where is Romeo?—saw you him to-day?
Correct glad I am he was non 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 sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
And then early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I fabricated; only he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
Which and so nearly sought, where most might non be found,
Being ane too many past my weary self,
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning time hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morn'southward dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all and then soon every bit the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to describe
The shady curtains from Aurora'southward bed,
Abroad from the light steals domicile my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts upward his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Blackness and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless expert counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Monday. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him past any ways?
Monday. Both by myself, and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself—I will not say, how true—
But to himself so hush-hush and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
Equally is the bud bit with an envious worm.
Ere he tin spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could nosotros simply learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.
Enter Romeo, at a distance.
Ben. See, where he comes: and so please you, step bated;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would, thou wert and so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.—Come, madam, let'south away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the mean solar day then immature?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ah me! pitiful hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. Information technology was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Rom. Non having that, which, having, makes them short.
Ben. In love?
Rom. Out.
Ben. Of love?
Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.
Ben. Alas, that honey, and so gentle in his view,
Should exist then tyrannous and crude in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled however,
Should, without optics, run across pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine?—O me!—What fray was hither?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard information technology all.
Hither'due south much to practice with hate, merely more with love:
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O whatsoever thing, of nothing first created!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, vivid fume, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking slumber, that is not what information technology is!—
This honey feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost grand non laugh?
Ben.
No, coz; I rather cry.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.
At thy good center'southward oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.-
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which one thousand wilt propagate, to have it presse'd
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to as well much of mine own.
Love is a fume, fabricated with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Existence vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lover's tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Good day, my coz.
[Going.
Ben. Soft, I will go on:
And if you lot leave me so, y'all do me wrong.
Rom. Tut! I have lost myself: I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's another where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is it that you love.
Rom. What! shall I groan, and tell thee?
Ben
Groan! why, no;
But sadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will;
A give-and-take ill urg'd to one that is so ill.-
In sadness, cousin, I do dear a adult female.
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.
Ben. A right fair marker, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hitting.
With Cupid'due south arrow. She hath Dian's wit;
And in potent proof of chastity well arm'd,
From dearest'south weak childish bow she lives unharm'd
She volition not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor abide th' run across of assailing optics,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O! she is rich in beauty; just poor,
That when she dies with dazzler dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste matter;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is besides fair, also wise; wisely likewise off-white,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to beloved, and in that vow
Do I live expressionless, that live it to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me; forget to call up of her.
Rom. O! teach me how I should forget to recollect.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Examine other beauties.
Rom.
'Tis the way
To phone call her's, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being blackness, put u.s. in mind they hibernate the fair:
He, that is stricken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Bear witness me a mistress that is passing off-white,
What doth her beauty serve, just as a notation
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Goodbye: thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.
(Verona.)
Scene Two.—A Street.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. Only Montague is spring likewise as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not difficult, I retrieve,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds and then long.
But at present, my lord, what say you to my arrange?
Cap. Only saying o'er what I have said earlier;
My kid is still a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the modify of xiv years:
Let ii more summers wither in their pride,
Ere nosotros may think her ripe to be bride.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those and then early fabricated.
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my world:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she concord, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd banquet,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I beloved; and y'all amid the store,
One more most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor business firm await to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make night heaven lite:
Such comfort, every bit exercise lusty young men experience,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Amidst fresh female person buds shall yous meet this dark
Inherit at my house: hear all, all see,
And similar her near, whose merit most shall be:
Which, on more than view of many, mine existence ane,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none-
Come, go with me—Become, sirrah, trudge almost
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, and to give them say,
[Giving a newspaper.
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.
Serv. Notice them out, whose names are written hither? It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his k, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are hither writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:—in adept time.
Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
Ben. Tut, homo! one burn down burns out another's burning,
One hurting lessen'd past some other'southward anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with some other's languish:
Take m some new infection to thy middle,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom. Your plantain foliage is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.
For your cleaved shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, are thou mad?
Rom. Non mad, but bound more than a madman is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd and tormented, and—Skillful-den, skilful fellow.
Serv. God gi' good den.—I pray, sir, can you read?
Rom. Ay, mine ain fortune in my misery.
Serv. Peradventure you have learn'd it without book; only I pray, can y'all read annihilation you see?
Rom. Ay, if I know the messages, and the language.
Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry.
Rom. Stay, young man; I can read.
[Reads.
"Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his blood brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena."
A fair associates; whither should they come?
Serv. Upwardly.
Rom. Whither? to supper?
Serv. To our firm.
Rom. Whose business firm?
Serv. My chief's.
Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that before.
Serv. Now, I'll tell you without request. My master is the great rich Capulet; and if y'all exist not of the firm of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest yous merry.
[Exit.
Ben. At this same ancient banquet of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou and so lov'st,
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, with unattainted middle,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I volition make thee think thy swan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine heart
Maintains such falsehood, then turns tears to fires;
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars.
One fairer than my love! the omniscient sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her off-white, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either centre;
But in those crystal scales, let there exist counterbalance'd
Your lady's beloved against some other maid,
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
Rom. I'll continue, no such sight to exist shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.
[Exeunt.
Scene 3—A Room in Capulet's Business firm.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.
La. Cap. Nurse, where'south my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head at twelve yr quondam,
I bade her come—What, lamb! what, lady-bird!—
God forbid!—where'southward this girl?—what, Juliet!
Enter Juliet.
Jul. How at present! who calls?
Nurse.
Your mother.
Jul.
Madam, I am hither.
What is your will?
La. Cap. This is the matter.—Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in clandestine.—Nurse, come up back once more:
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel.
Thou know'st my daughter'due south of a pretty age.
Nurse. 'Faith, I tin tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not xiv.
Nurse.
I'll lay xiv on my teeth.
And even so to my teen be it spoken I have only iv,
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?
La. Cap.
A fortnight, and odd days.
Nurse. Fifty-fifty or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at dark shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she,—God remainder all Christian souls!—
Were of an age.—Well, Susan is with God;
She was likewise skilful for me. But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry: I call up it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,—I never shall forget information technology,—
Of all the days of the year, upon that day;
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-business firm wall:
My lord and yous were then at Mantua.—
Nay, I do bear a brain:—but, every bit I said,
When it did sense of taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt information technology bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time information technology is eleven years;
For so she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could take run and waddled all virtually,
For fifty-fifty the twenty-four hours before she bankrupt her brow:
And then my husband—God exist with his soul!
'A was a merry man,—took upwardly the child:
"Yea," quoth he, "dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt autumn backward, when thou hast more than wit;
Wilt yard not, Jule?" and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said—"Ay."
To see, at present, how a jest shall come up about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: "Wilt thou not, Jule?" quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said—"Ay."
La. Cap. Enough of this: I pray thee: hold thy peace.
Nurse. Yep, madam. Nevertheless I cannot choose but laugh,
To call up information technology should go out crying, and say—"Ay:"
And however, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A crash-land as big every bit a young cockerel'due south rock,
A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.
"Yea," quoth my husband, "fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?" it stinted, and said—"Ay."
Jul. And stint thou besides, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God marker thee to his grace!
Thou was the prettiest babe that eastward'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married one time,
I have my wish.
La. Cap. Marry, that ally is the very theme
I came to talk of:—tell me, girl Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Jul. Information technology is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honour! were not I thine simply nurse,
I would say, m hadst sucked wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of wedlock 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, so, in brief;—
The valiant Paris seeks y'all for his honey.
Nurse. A man, immature lady! lady, such a man,
Every bit all the world—Why, he's a homo of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's summertime hath not such a flower.
Nurse. Nay, he'southward a flower; in faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. What say you lot? can you love the gentleman?
Tonight you shall behold him at out' banquet:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with dazzler's pen.
Examine every married lineament,
And see how ane another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this off-white volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To adorn him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the ocean; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the off-white within to hibernate.
That volume in many's eyes doth share the celebrity,
That in aureate clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger: women abound by men.
La. Cap. Speak briefly, tin you like of Paris' love?
Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking movement;
Just no more deep will I endart mine heart,
Than your consent gives forcefulness to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you chosen, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.
La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse. Get, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
[Exeunt.
Scene Iv.—A Street.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with v or vi Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others.
Rom. What, shall this speech exist spoke for our excuse,
Or shall we on without apology?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies similar a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our archway:
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 comport the light.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have yous dance.
Rom. Not I, believe me. You take dancing shoes,
With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead,
So stakes me to the basis, I cannot movement.
Mer. You are a lover: borrow Cupid'southward wings,
And soar with them above a common spring.
Rom. I am also sore enpierced with his shaft,
To soar with his calorie-free feathers; then bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above irksome woe:
Under dearest'due south heavy brunt do I sink.
Mer. And, to sink in it, should yous burden love;
Likewise not bad oppression for a tender affair.
Rom. Is beloved a tender thing? it is besides rough,
Too rude, too bouncy; and it pricks like thorn.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with dearest;
Prick love for pricking, and yous vanquish love down.—
Give me a case to put my visage in:
[Putting on a mask.
A visor for a visor!—what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the protrude-brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every human betake him to his legs.
Rom. A torch for me: allow wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,—
I'll be a candle-holder, and expect on:
The game was ne'er and so fair, and I am done.
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's ain word.
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this save-reverence love, wherein chiliad stick'st
Upward to the ears.—Come, we burn solar day-low-cal, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's non so.
Mer.
I hateful, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by twenty-four hours.
Take our adept meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our 5 wits.
Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask,
Only 'tis no wit to go.
Mer.
Why, may one inquire?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night?
Mer.
And and so did I.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.
That dreamers oftentimes prevarication.
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
Over men's noses as they lie comatose:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams:
Her whip, of cricket's os; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small-scale greyness-coated gnat,
Not half then big equally 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 nighttime by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies directly:
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees:
O'er ladies' lips, who directly on kisses dream;
Which oft the aroused Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
Former she gallops o'er a courtier'southward olfactory organ,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig'southward tail,
Tickling a parson's olfactory organ every bit 'a lies asleep;
Then he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's cervix,
And then dreams he of cut foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Castilian blades,
Of healths v fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or 2,
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,
That presses them, and learns them outset to conduct,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, is she—
Rom.
Peace, peace! Mercutio, peace!
G talk'st of nothing.
Mer.
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing only vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the n,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his confront to the dew-dropping south.
Ben. This current of air, you talk of, blows the states from ourselves;
Supper is washed, and we shall come up likewise late.
Rom. I fear, likewise early; for my mind misgives,
Some outcome, all the same hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful engagement
With this evening'due south revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
Past some vile forfeit of untimely expiry:
Only He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail.—On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, pulsate.
[Exeunt
('Court-closet,' and Plate.)
Scene V.—A Hall in Capulet'southward House.
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.
1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps non to accept abroad? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
ii Serv. When skilful manners shall prevarication all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed also, 'tis a foul thing.
1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate.—Good thou, salvage me a piece of marchpane; and, every bit thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.—Antony! and Potpan!
2 Serv. Ay, boy; prepare.
ane Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber.
2 Serv. Nosotros cannot be hither and in that location too.—Cheerly, boys: be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.
[They retire behind.
Enter Capulet, &c., with the Guests, and the Maskers.
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that accept their toes
Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:—
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of y'all all
Volition now deny to dance? she that makes nice, she,
I'll swear, hath corns. Am I come near you lot now?
You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the twenty-four hour period,
That I take worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please:—'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone.
You are welcome, gentlemen!—Come up, musicians, play.
A hall! a hall! give room, and pes it, girls.
[Music plays, and they dance.
More lite, ye knaves! and turn the tables up,
And quench the burn down, the room is grown also hot.—
Ah! sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay, sit down, nay, sit down, skilful 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, xxx years.
i Cap. What, man! 'tis non and so much, 'tis not so much:
'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,
Come Pentecost as speedily as it will,
Some v and xx years; and then nosotros mask'd.
two Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir;
His son is 30.
ane Cap.
Will you tell me that?
His son was only a ward two years ago.
Rom. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
Serv. I know not, sir.
Rom. O! she doth teach the torches to burn vivid.
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of nighttime
Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop'south ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
Then shows a snowy pigeon trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll spotter her identify of stand up,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my centre beloved till now? forswear it, sight!
I never saw true beauty till this night.
Tyb. This, by his vocalization, should be a Montague.—
Fetch me my rapier, boy.—What! dares the slave
Come here, cover'd with an antic confront,
To fleer and contemptuousness at our solemnity?
At present, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
one Cap. Why, how at present, kinsman! wherefore storm yous so?
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
ane Cap. Immature Romeo is it?
Tyb.
'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would non for the wealth of all this town,
Here, in my house, do him disparagement;
Therefore, be patient, accept no note of him:
It is my will; the which if chiliad respect,
Bear witness a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a invitee.
I'll not endure him.
1 Cap. He shall be endur'd:
What! goodman boy!—I say, he shall;—go to;—
Am I the chief here, or y'all? become to.
You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul—
You'll make a mutiny amongst my guests.
You will set up cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
1 Cap. Go to, go to;
You are a saucy boy.—Is't so, indeed?—
This pull a fast one on may chance to scath you;—I know what.
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time—
Well said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go:—
Be tranquillity, or—More low-cal, more than calorie-free!—for shame!
I'll make you quiet;—What!—Cheerly, my hearts!
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: simply this intrusion shall,
At present seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.
[Exit.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest paw
[To Juliet.
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,—
My lips, ii blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smoothen that rough bear upon with a tender buss.
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' easily do impact,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' buss.
Rom. Accept not saints lips, and holy palmers also?
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must apply in prayer.
Rom. O! then, dear saint, allow lips do what hands practise;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Jul. Saints exercise not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Rom. And then motility not, while my prayer'southward event I have.
Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd.
[Kissing her.
Jul. And so have my lips the sin that they have took.
Rom. Sin from my lips? O, trespass sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again.
Jul.
You lot osculation by the book.
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Rom. What is her mother?
Nurse.
Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;
I tell you—he that can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.
Rom.
Is she a Capulet?
O, beloved account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Abroad, begone: the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to exist gone;
We have a trifling foolish feast towards.—
Is information technology e'en and so? Why and then, I thank yous all;
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good dark:—
More torches here!—Come up on, so permit'southward to bed.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my residue.
[Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.
Jul. Come here, nurse. What is yond' admirer?
Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nurse. Ally, that, I think, exist young Petruchio.
Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not dance?
Nurse. I know not.
Jul. Become, ask his proper 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 corking enemy.
Jul. My only dearest sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known likewise late!
Biggy birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurse. What'south this? what'due south this?
Jul.
A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd all the same.
[One calls within, Juliet!
Nurse.
Betimes, anon:
Come up, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
[Exeunt.
Enter Chorus.
Now former desire doth in his expiry-bed lie,
And immature affection gapes to be his heir:
That fair, for which love groan'd for, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair.
At present Romeo is belov'd, and loves once more,
Akin bewitched by the charm of looks;
Simply to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal honey's sweet allurement from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers employ to swear;
And she every bit much in honey, her ways much less
To meet her new-beloved anywhere:
Merely passion lends them power, fourth dimension, means, to run into,
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.
[Exit.
Source: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Romeo_and_Juliet_(The_Illustrated_Shakespeare,_1847)
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