The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

Tickling a parson s nose as 'a 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 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,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, this, is she-

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, 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 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 ourSupper is done, and we shall come too late. [selves, Rom. 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 soul!-On, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.

[xeunt.

SCENE V. A HALL IN CAPULET'S HOUSE.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to takeaway? 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 ine a piece of march-pane; and as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell. -Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy! ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there 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. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes [you :Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all [she, Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, I'll swear, hath corns. Am I come near you now? You are welcome, gentlemen; I have seen the day, That I have worn a visor; and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, [gone; Such as would please ;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis

You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians,
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls. [play.
[music plays, and they dance.
More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables 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.

[so much:

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

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir

[hand [bright!

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn 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 her's, 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, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?

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 not, for the wealth of all this town, Here in my house do him disparagement; Therefore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will; the which, if thou respect, Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

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. [soulYou'll not endure him!-God shall mend my You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set 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.-'s't so, indeed?

This trick may chance to scathe you ;-I know |
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time- [what.
Well said, my hearts:-you are a princox; go:—
Be quiet, or- -More light, more light, 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: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [exit.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
{to Jul.

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 Which mannerly devotion shows in this; [much, For saints have hands, that pilgrims' hands do And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. [touch, Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. [do; Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for [I take. Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. [kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. [urg'd!

prayer's sake.

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly Give me my sin again.

Jul. You kiss by the book.

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word
Rom. What is her mother?
Nurse. Marry, bachelor,

[with you.

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 dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

Ben. Away, begone: the sport is at the best. Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night:More torches here!-Come on, then let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, [to 2 Cap.] by my fay, it waxes late; I'll to my rest. [exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse. Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentleNurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. [man? 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 Nurse. I know not. [not dance?

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 hat! 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,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks,
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful
Being held a foe, he may not have access [hooks:
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [erit.
ACT II.

Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.-
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.-
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite; my invocation

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, A

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.

[exeunt.

Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.—
[Juliet enters above, at a window.
But soft! what light through yonder window
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! [breaks?
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady; O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!-

14.

She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.—
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven [stars,
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

Jul. Ab me!

Rom. She speaks :

O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;

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;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch

these walls,

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to in-
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore washed by the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise. [face;
Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; but farewell compliment!

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say-Ay;

Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

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 not 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 called,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name;

And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague; I am too fond; [light.
And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st ere I was 'ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.

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
That monthly changes in its circled orb, [moon,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?

Jul. Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,

And I'll believe thee.

Rom. If my heart's dear love

And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mins,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!

Rom. My sweet!

Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?

Rom. At the hour of nine.

Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then.

Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have forgot why I did call thee back.

I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;

Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower, when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow
for mine.
[it:
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request
And yet I would it were to give again. [pose, love?
Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what pur-
Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, If that thy bent of love he honourable, [indeed. Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow By one that I'll procure to come to thee,

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. [gone:

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thes
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

'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;

His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [exit.

SCENE III. FRIAR LAURENCE'S CELL. Enter Friar Luurence, with a basket. Fri. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, [light; Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels:

I must up-fill this osier cage of ours,

Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite; The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world. Nurse. [within] Madam.

Jul. I come, anon:-but if thou mean'st not
I do beseech thee,-

Nurse. [within] Madam.·
Jul. By and by, I come:-

To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.

Rom. So thrive my soul,

[well,

Jul. A thousand times good night. [exit.
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy
light.
[books;
Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their
But love from love, toward school with heavy
**looks.
[retiring slowly.

Re-enter Juliet, above.
Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-O, for a falconer's
To lure this tassel-gentle back again! [voice,
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,

With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb :
And from her womb children of divers kind
We, sucking on her natural bosom, find;
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile, that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each
part:

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good morrow, father!

Fri. Benedicite!

What carly tongue so sweet saluteth me?-
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruis'd youth, with unstuff'd brain,
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, [reign:
Thou art uprous'd by some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right—
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri. God pardon sin? wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri. That's my good son: but where hast thou

been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again,
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man: for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

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
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: [set
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage: when, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.
Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence

then

Fri. O, she knew well, Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell, But come, young waverer, come go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your household's rancour to pure love. Rom. O, let us hence, I stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely, and slow; they stumble, that run fast. [exeunt.

SCENE IV. A STREET.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?— Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,

Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

Mer. A challenge, on my life.
Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man that can write, may answer a letter.

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master. how he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead. stabbed with a white wench's black eye; sho' through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft, and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than a prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a ducllist; a gentleman of the very first house,-of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antick, lisping, affecting, fantasticoes; these new-tuners of accents!- By Jesu, a very good blade!—a very tall man!—a very good whore !'-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these 'pardonnez-moys,' who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons! Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring :O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench ;— marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose.-Signior Romeo, 'bon jour!' there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good morrow to you both. What coun.. terfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip, can you not conceive?

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: From the Text of Johnson ...