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The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet
by William Shakespeare
July, 2000 [Etext #2261]
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Executive Director's Notes:
In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they are presented herein:
Barnardo. Who's there?
Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe
Bar. Long liue the King
***
As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u, above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .
The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day, as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.
You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available . . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes, that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous for signing his name with several different spellings.
So, please take this into account when reading the comments below made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors that are "not" errors. . . .
***
Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text.
The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.
Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages.
If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best etext possible. My email address for right now are haradda@aol.com and davidr@inconnect.com. I hope that you enjoy this.
David Reed
The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers, of the
House of
Capulet.
Sampson. Gregory: A my word wee'l not carry coales
Greg. No, for then we should be Colliars
Samp. I mean, if we be in choller, wee'l draw
Greg. I, While you liue, draw your necke out o'th Collar
Samp. I strike quickly, being mou'd
Greg. But thou art not quickly mou'd to strike
Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague, moues me
Greg. To moue, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand:
Therefore, if thou art mou'd, thou runst away
Samp. A dogge of that house shall moue me to stand.
I will take the wall of any Man or Maid of Mountagues
Greg. That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakest
goes to the wall
Samp. True, and therefore women being the weaker
Vessels, are euer thrust to the wall: therefore I will push
Mountagues men from the wall, and thrust his Maides to
the wall
Greg. The Quarrell is betweene our Masters, and vs their men
Samp. 'Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant: when
I haue fought with the men, I will bee ciuill with the
Maids, and cut off their heads
Greg. The heads of the Maids?
Sam. I, the heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads,
Take it in what sence thou wilt
Greg. They must take it sence, that feele it
Samp. Me they shall feele while I am able to stand:
And 'tis knowne I am a pretty peece of flesh
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: If thou had'st, thou had'st beene poore Iohn. Draw thy Toole, here comes of the House of the Mountagues. Enter two other Seruingmen.
Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I wil back thee
Gre. How? Turne thy backe, and run
Sam. Feare me not
Gre. No marry: I feare thee
Sam. Let vs take the Law of our sides: let them begin
Gr. I wil frown as I passe by, & let the[m] take it as they list
Sam. Nay, as they dare. I wil bite my Thumb at them,
which is a disgrace to them, if they beare it
Abra. Do you bite your Thumbe at vs sir?
Samp. I do bite my Thumbe, sir
Abra. Do you bite your Thumb at vs, sir?
Sam. Is the Law of our side, if I say I?
Gre. No
Sam. No sir, I do not bite my Thumbe at you sir: but
I bite my Thumbe sir
Greg. Do you quarrell sir?
Abra. Quarrell sir? no sir
Sam. If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a man as you
Abra. No better?
Samp. Well sir.
Enter Benuolio.
Gr. Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen
Samp. Yes, better
Abra. You Lye
Samp. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
They Fight.
Ben. Part Fooles, put vp your Swords, you know not
what you do.
Enter Tibalt.
Tyb. What art thou drawne, among these heartlesse
Hindes? Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death
Ben. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me
Tyb. What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee:
Haue at thee Coward.
Fight.
Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs.
Offi. Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them down
Downe with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues.
Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife.
Cap. What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho
Wife. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword?
Cap. My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come,
And flourishes his Blade in spight of me.
Enter old Mountague, & his wife.
Moun. Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go
2.Wife. Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe.
Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine.
Prince. Rebellious Subiects, Enemies to peace,
Prophaners of this Neighbor-stained Steele,
Will they not heare? What hoe, you Men, you Beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernitious Rage,
With purple Fountaines issuing from your Veines:
On paine of Torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground,
And heare the Sentence of your mooued Prince.
Three ciuill Broyles, bred of an Ayery word,
By thee old Capulet and Mountague,
Haue thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient Citizens
Cast by their Graue beseeming Ornaments,
To wield old Partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your Cankred hate,
If euer you disturbe our streets againe,
Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away:
You Capulet shall goe along with me,
And Mountague come you this afternoone,
To know our Fathers pleasure in this case:
To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place:
Once more on paine of death, all men depart.
Exeunt.
Moun. Who set this auncient quarrell new abroach?
Speake Nephew, were you by, when it began:
Ben. Heere were the seruants of your aduersarie,
And yours close fighting ere I did approach,
I drew to part them, in the instant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his sword prepar'd,
Which as he breath'd defiance to my eares,
He swong about his head, and cut the windes,
Who nothing hurt withall, hist him in scorne.
While we were enterchanging thrusts and blowes,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part
Wife. O where is Romeo, saw you him to day?
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray
Ben. Madam, an houre before the worshipt Sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the East,
A troubled mind draue me to walke abroad,
Where vnderneath the groue of Sycamour,
That West-ward rooteth from this City side:
So earely walking did I see your Sonne:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,
And stole into the couert of the wood,
I measuring his affections by my owne,
Which then most sought, wher most might not be found:
Being one too many by my weary selfe,
Pursued my Honour, not pursuing his
And gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me
Mount. Many a morning hath he there beene seene,
With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw,
Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes,
But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne,
Should in the farthest East begin to draw
The shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed,
Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne,
And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe,
Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out,
And makes himselfe an artificiall night:
Blacke and portendous must this humour proue,
Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue
Ben. My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause?
Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him
Ben. Haue you importun'd him by any meanes?
Moun. Both by my selfe and many other Friends,
But he his owne affections counseller,
Is to himselfe (I will not say how true)
But to himselfe so secret and so close,
So farre from sounding and discouery,
As is the bud bit with an enuious worme,
Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre,
Or dedicate his beauty to the same.
Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow,
We would as willingly giue cure, as know.
Enter Romeo.
Ben. See where he comes, so please you step aside,
Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide
Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To heare true shrift. Come Madam let's away.
Exeunt.
Ben. Good morrow Cousin
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new strooke nine
Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long:
Was that my Father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo's houres?
Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short
Ben. In loue
Romeo. Out
Ben. Of loue
Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue
Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe
Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will:
Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere?
Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all:
Heere's much to do with hate, but more with loue:
Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate,
O any thing, of nothing first created:
O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity,
Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes,
Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health,
Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is:
This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this.
Doest thou not laugh?
Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good hearts oppression
Rom. Why such is loues transgression.
Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast
With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,
Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne.
Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes,
Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares,
What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet:
Farewell my Coze
Ben. Soft I will goe along.
And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong
Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here,
This is not Romeo, hee's some other where
Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue?
Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee?
Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who
Rom. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will:
A word ill vrg'd to one that is so ill:
In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman
Ben. I aym'd so neare, when I suppos'd you lou'd
Rom. A right good marke man, and shee's faire I loue
Ben. A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit
Rom. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit
With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit:
And in strong proofe of chastity well arm'd:
From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm'd.
Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes,
Nor bid th' encounter of assailing eyes.
Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold:
O she is rich in beautie, onely poore,
That when she dies, with beautie dies her store
Ben. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast?
For beauty steru'd with her seuerity,
Cuts beauty off from all posteritie.
She is too faire, too wise: wisely too faire,
To merit blisse by making me dispaire:
She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow
Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to thinke of her
Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke
Ben. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes,
Examine other beauties,
Ro. 'Tis the way to cal hers (exquisit) in question more,
These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes,
Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire:
He that is strooken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost:
Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire,
What doth her beauty serue but as a note,
Where I may read who past that passing faire.
Farewell thou can'st not teach me to forget,
Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
Exeunt.
Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.
Capu. Mountague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I thinke,
For men so old as wee, to keepe the peace
Par. Of Honourable reckoning are you both,
And pittie 'tis you liu'd at ods so long:
But now my Lord, what say you to my sute?
Capu. But saying ore what I haue said before,
My Child is yet a stranger in the world,
Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares,
Let two more Summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a Bride
Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made
Capu. And too soone mar'd are those so early made:
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,
Shee's the hopefull Lady of my earth:
But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent, is but a part,
And shee agree, within her scope of choise,
Lyes my consent, and faire according voice:
This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast,
Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest,
Such as I loue, and you among the store,
One more, most welcome makes my number more:
At my poore house, looke to behold this night,
Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light,
Such comfort as do lusty young men feele,
When well apparrel'd Aprill on the heele
Of limping Winter treads, euen such delight
Among fresh Fennell buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house: heare all, all see:
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reckning none.
Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about,
Through faire Verona, find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay.
Enter.
Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Heere it is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time. Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.
Ben. Tut man, one fire burnes out anothers burning,
One paine is lesned by anothers anguish:
Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning:
One desparate greefe, cures with anothers languish:
Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poyson of the old wil die
Rom. Your Plantan leafe is excellent for that
Ben. For what I pray thee?
Rom. For your broken shin
Ben. Why Romeo art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is:
Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode,
Whipt and tormented: and Godden good fellow,
Ser. Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read?
Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie
Ser. Perhaps you haue learn'd it without booke:
But I pray can you read any thing you see?
Rom. I, if I know the Letters and the Language
Ser. Ye say honestly, rest you merry
Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.
He reades the Letter.
Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughter: County Anselme and his beautious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters: my faire Neece Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, & his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio and the liuely Helena. A faire assembly, whither should they come? Ser. Vp
Rom. Whither? to supper?
Ser. To our house
Rom. Whose house?
Ser. My Maisters
Rom. Indeed I should haue askt you that before
Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is
the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of
Mountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest
you merry.
Enter.
Ben. At this same auncient Feast of Capulets
Sups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues:
With all the admired Beauties of Verona,
Go thither and with vnattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow
Rom. When the deuout religion of mine eye
Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire:
And these who often drown'd could neuer die,
Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers.
One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing Sun
Nere saw her match, since first the world begun
Ben. Tut, you saw her faire, none else being by,
Herselfe poys'd with herselfe in either eye:
But in that Christall scales, let there be waid,
Your Ladies loue against some other Maid
That I will show you, shining at this Feast,
And she shew scant shell, well, that now shewes best
Rom. Ile goe along, no such sight to be showne,
But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne.
Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse.
Wife. Nurse wher's my daughter? call her forth to me
Nurse. Now by my Maidenhead, at twelue yeare old
I bad her come, what Lamb: what Ladi-bird, God forbid,
Where's this Girle? what Iuliet?
Enter Iuliet
Iuliet. How now, who calls?
Nur. Your Mother
Iuliet. Madam I am heere, what is your will? Wife. This is the matter: Nurse giue me leaue awhile, we must talke in secret. Nurse come backe againe, I haue remembred me, thou'se heare our counsell. Thou knowest my daughter's of a prety age
Nurse. Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre
Wife. Shee's not fourteene
Nurse. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth,
And yet to my teene be it spoken,
I haue but foure, shee's not fourteene.
How long is it now to Lammas tide?
Wife. A fortnight and odde dayes
Nurse. Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare come Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene. Susan & she, God rest all Christian soules, were of an age. Well Susan is with God, she was too good for me. But as I said, on Lamas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall she marie, I remember it well. 'Tis since the Earth-quake now eleuen yeares, and she was wean'd I neuer shall forget it, of all the daies of the yeare, vpon that day: for I had then laid Worme-wood to my Dug sitting in the Sunne vnder the Douehouse wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua, nay I doe beare a braine. But as I said, when it did tast the Worme-wood on the nipple of my Dugge, and felt it bitter, pretty foole, to see it teachie, and fall out with the Dugge, Shake quoth the Doue-house, 'twas no neede I trow to bid mee trudge, and since that time it is a eleuen yeares, for then she could stand alone, nay bi'th' roode she could haue runne, & wadled all about: for euen the day before she broke her brow, & then my Husband God be with his soule, a was a merrie man, tooke vp the Child, yea quoth hee, doest thou fall vpon thy face? thou wilt fall backeward when thou hast more wit, wilt thou not Iule? And by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch lefte crying, & said I: to see now how a Iest shall come about. I warrant, & I shall liue a thousand yeares, I neuer should forget it: wilt thou not Iule quoth he? and pretty foole it stinted, and said I
Old La. Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace
Nurse. Yes Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to thinke it should leaue crying, & say I: and yet I warrant it had vpon it brow, a bumpe as big as a young Cockrels stone? A perilous knock, and it cryed bitterly. Yea quoth my husband, fall'st vpon thy face, thou wilt fall backward when thou commest to age: wilt thou not Iule? It stinted: and said I
Iule. And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I
Nur. Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace thou wast the prettiest Babe that ere I nurst, and I might liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish
Old La. Marry that marry is the very theame
I came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet,
How stands your disposition to be Married?
Iuli. It is an houre that I dreame not of
Nur. An houre, were I not thine onely Nurse, I would
say thou had'st suckt wisedome from thy teat
Old La. Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then you
Heere in Verona, Ladies of esteeme,
Are made already Mothers. By my count
I was your Mother, much vpon these yeares
That you are now a Maide, thus then in briefe:
The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue
Nurse. A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as all
the world. Why hee's a man of waxe
Old La. Veronas Summer hath not such a flower
Nurse. Nay hee's a flower, infaith a very flower
Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our Feast,
Read ore the volume of young Paris face,
And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen:
Examine euery seuerall liniament,
And see how one another lends content:
And what obscur'd in this faire volume lies,
Find written in the Margent of his eyes.
This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer,
To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer.
The fish liues in the Sea, and 'tis much pride
For faire without, the faire within to hide:
That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie,
That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie:
So shall you share all that he doth possesse,
By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse
Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men
Old La. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue?
Iuli. Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue.
But no more deepe will I endart mine eye,
Then your consent giues strength to make flye.
Enter a Seruing man.
Ser. Madam, the guests are come, supper seru'd vp, you cal'd, my young Lady askt for, the Nurse cur'st in the Pantery, and euery thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight. Enter.
Mo. We follow thee, Iuliet, the Countie staies
Nurse. Goe Gyrle, seeke happie nights to happy daies.
Exeunt.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers,
Torch-bearers.
Rom. What shall this spech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without Apologie?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie,
Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe,
Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath,
Skaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper.
But let them measure vs by what they will,
Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone
Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling.
Being but heauy I will beare the light
Mer. Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance
Rom. Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes
With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue
Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings,
And soare with them aboue a common bound
Rom. I am too sore enpearced with his shaft,
To soare with his light feathers, and to bound:
I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe,
Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke
Hora. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue,
Too great oppression for a tender thing
Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne
Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue,
Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe,
Giue me a Case to put my visage in,
A Visor for a Visor, what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities:
Here are the Beetle-browes shall blush for me
Ben. Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in,
But euery man betake him to his legs
Rom. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart
Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles:
For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase,
Ile be a Candle-holder and looke on,
The game was nere so faire, and I am done
Mer. Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word,
If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire.
Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest
Vp to the eares, come we burne day-light ho
Rom. Nay that's not so
Mer. I meane sir I delay,
We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day;
Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits
Fiue times in that, ere once in our fiue wits
Rom. And we meane well in going to this Maske,
But 'tis no wit to go
Mer. Why may one aske?
Rom. I dreampt a dreame to night
Mer. And so did I
Rom. Well what was yours?
Mer. That dreamers often lye
Ro. In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true
Mer. O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you: She is the Fairies Midwife, & she comes in shape no bigger then Agat-stone, on the fore-finger of an Alderman, drawne with a teeme of little Atomies, ouer mens noses as they lie asleepe: her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners legs: the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers, her Traces of the smallest Spiders web, her coullers of the Moonshines watry Beames, her Whip of Crickets bone, the Lash of Philome, her Waggoner, a small gray-coated Gnat, not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme, prickt from the Lazie-finger of a man. Her Chariot is an emptie Haselnut, made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub, time out a mind, the Faries Coach-makers: & in this state she gallops night by night, through Louers braines: and then they dreame of Loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame on Cursies strait: ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreampt on Fees, ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame, which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their breath with Sweet meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops ore a Courtiers nose, & then dreames he of smelling out a sute: & somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale, tickling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe, then he dreames of another Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers necke, & then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats, of Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades: Of Healths fiue Fadome deepe, and then anon drums in his eares, at which he startes and wakes; and being thus frighted, sweares a prayer or two & sleepes againe: this is that very Mab that plats the manes of Horses in the night: & bakes the Elklocks in foule sluttish haires, which once vntangled, much misfortune bodes, This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs, That presses them, and learnes them first to beare, Making them women of good carriage: This is she
Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio peace,
Thou talk'st of nothing
Mer. True, I talke of dreames:
Which are the children of an idle braine,
Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie,
Which is as thin of substance as the ayre,
And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes
Euen now the frozen bosome of the North:
And being anger'd, puffes away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew dropping South
Ben. This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues,
Supper is done, and we shall come too late
Rom. I feare too early, for my mind misgiues,
Some consequence yet hanging in the starres,
Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date
With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme
Of a despised life clos'd in my brest:
By some vile forfeit of vntimely death.
But he that hath the stirrage of my course,
Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen
Ben. Strike Drum.
They march about the Stage, and Seruingmen come forth with their napkins.
Enter Seruant.
Ser. Where's Potpan, that he helpes not to take away?
He shift a Trencher? he scrape a Trencher?
1. When good manners, shall lie in one or two mens
hands, and they vnwasht too, 'tis a foule thing
Ser. Away with the Ioynstooles, remoue the Courtcubbord, looke to the Plate: good thou, saue mee a piece of Marchpane, and as thou louest me, let the Porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthonie and Potpan
2. I Boy readie
Ser. You are lookt for, and cal'd for, askt for, & sought
for, in the great Chamber
1. We cannot be here and there too, chearly Boyes,
Be brisk awhile, and the longer liuer take all.
Exeunt.
Enter all the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.
1. Capu. Welcome Gentlemen,
Ladies that haue their toes
Vnplagu'd with Cornes, will walke about with you:
Ah my Mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
She Ile sweare hath Cornes: am I come neare ye now?
Welcome Gentlemen, I haue seene the day
That I haue worne a Visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a faire Ladies eare:
Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone,
You are welcome Gentlemen, come Musitians play:
Musicke plaies: and they dance.
A Hall, Hall, giue roome, and foote it Girles,
More light you knaues, and turne the Tables vp:
And quench the fire, the Roome is growne too hot.
Ah sirrah, this vnlookt for sport comes well:
Nay sit, nay sit, good Cozin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dauncing daies:
How long 'ist now since last your selfe and I
Were in a Maske?
2. Capu. Berlady thirty yeares
1. Capu. What man: 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much,
'Tis since the Nuptiall of Lucentio,
Come Pentycost as quickely as it will,
Some fiue and twenty yeares, and then we Maskt
2. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his Sonne is elder sir:
His Sonne is thirty
3. Cap. Will you tell me that?
His Sonne was but a Ward two yeares agoe
Rom. What Ladie is that which doth inrich the hand
Of yonder Knight?
Ser. I know not sir
Rom. O she doth teach the Torches to burne bright:
It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night,
As a rich Iewel in an aethiops eare:
Beauty too rich for vse, for earth too deare:
So shewes a Snowy Doue trooping with Crowes,
As yonder Lady ore her fellowes showes;
The measure done, Ile watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart loue till now, forsweare it sight,
For I neuer saw true Beauty till this night
Tib. This by his voice, should be a Mountague.
Fetch me my Rapier Boy, what dares the slaue
Come hither couer'd with an antique face,
To fleere and scorne at our Solemnitie?
Now by the stocke and Honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin
Cap. Why how now kinsman,
Wherefore storme you so?
Tib. Vncle this is a Mountague, our foe:
A Villaine that is hither come in spight,
To scorne at our Solemnitie this night
Cap. Young Romeo is it?
Tib. 'Tis he, that Villaine Romeo
Cap. Content thee gentle Coz, let him alone,
A beares him like a portly Gentleman:
And to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a vertuous and well gouern'd youth:
I would not for the wealth of all the towne,
Here in my house do him disparagement:
Therfore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes,
An ill beseeming semblance for a Feast
Tib. It fits when such a Villaine is a guest,
Ile not endure him
Cap. He shall be endur'd.
What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too,
Am I the Maister here or you? go too,
Youle not endure him, God shall mend my soule,
Youle make a Mutinie among the Guests:
You will set cocke a hoope, youle be the man
Tib. Why Vncle, 'tis a shame
Cap. Go too, go too,
You are a sawcy Boy, 'ist so indeed?
This tricke may chance to scath you, I know what,
You must contrary me, marry 'tis time.
Well said my hearts, you are a Princox, goe,
Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame,
Ile make you quiet. What, chearely my hearts
Tib. Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting,
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting:
I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall
Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall.
Enter.
Rom. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips to blushing Pilgrims did ready stand,
To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kisse
Iul. Good Pilgrime,
You do wrong your hand too much.
Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this,
For Saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch,
And palme to palme, is holy Palmers kisse
Rom. Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too?
Iul. I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer
Rom. O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do,
They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire
Iul. Saints do not moue,
Though grant for prayers sake
Rom. Then moue not while my prayers effect I take:
Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd
Iul. Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke
Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg'd:
Giue me my sin againe
Iul. You kisse by'th' booke
Nur. Madam your Mother craues a word with you
Rom. What is her Mother?
Nurs. Marrie Batcheler,
Her Mother is the Lady of the house,
And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous,
I Nur'st her Daughter that you talkt withall:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall haue the chincks
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
O deare account! My life is my foes debt
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best
Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest
Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards:
Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all.
I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night:
More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed.
Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest
Iuli. Come hither Nurse,
What is yond Gentleman:
Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio
Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore?
Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio
Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance?
Nur. I know not
Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married,
My graue is like to be my wedded bed
Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The onely Sonne of your great Enemie
Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,
Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me,
That I must loue a loathed Enemie
Nur. What's this? whats this?
Iul. A rime, I learne euen now
Of one I dan'st withall.
One cals within, Iuliet.
Nur. Anon, anon:
Come let's away, the strangers all are gone.
Exeunt.
Chorus. Now old desire doth in his death bed lie,
And yong affection gapes to be his Heire,
That faire, for which Loue gron'd for and would die,
With tender Iuliet matcht, is now not faire.
Now Romeo is beloued, and Loues againe,
A like bewitched by the charme of lookes:
But to his foe suppos'd he must complaine,
And she steale Loues sweet bait from fearefull hookes:
Being held a foe, he may not haue accesse
To breath such vowes as Louers vse to sweare,
And she as much in Loue, her meanes much lesse,
To meete her new Beloued any where:
But passion lends them Power, time, meanes to meete,
Temp'ring extremities with extreame sweete.
Enter Romeo alone.
Rom. Can I goe forward when my heart is here?
Turne backe dull earth, and find thy Center out.
Enter Benuolio, with Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo, my Cozen Romeo, Romeo
Merc. He is wise,
And on my life hath stolne him home to bed
Ben. He ran this way and leapt this Orchard wall.
Call good Mercutio:
Nay, Ile coniure too
Mer. Romeo, Humours, Madman, Passion, Louer,
Appeare thou in the likenesse of a sigh,
Speake but one time, and I am satisfied:
Cry me but ay me, Prouant, but Loue and day,
Speake to my goship Venus one faire word,
One Nickname for her purblind Sonne and her,
Young Abraham Cupid he that shot so true,
When King Cophetua lou'd the begger Maid,
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not,
The Ape is dead, I must coniure him,
I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes,
By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip,
By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh,
And the Demeanes, that there Adiacent lie,
That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs
Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him
Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him
To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it stand
Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe,
That were some spight.
My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name,
I coniure onely but to raise vp him
Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees
To be consorted with the Humerous night:
Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke
Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke,
Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree,
And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite,
As Maides cal Medlers when they laugh alone,
O Romeo that she were, O that she were
An open, or thou a Poprin Peare,
Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed,
This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe,
Come shall we go?
Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vaine to seeke him here
That meanes not to be found.
Exeunt.
Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound,
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne,
Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone,
Who is already sicke and pale with griefe,
That thou her Maid art far more faire then she:
Be not her Maid since she is enuious,
Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene,
And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off:
It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were,
She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answere it:
I am too bold 'tis not to me she speakes:
Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen,
Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes,
To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head,
The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres,
As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen,
Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright,
That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night:
See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand.
O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand,
That I might touch that cheeke
Iul. Ay me
Rom. She speakes.
Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art
As glorious to this night being ore my head,
As is a winged messenger of heauen
Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes
Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes,
And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre
Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Denie thy Father and refuse thy name:
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue,
And Ile no longer be a Capulet
Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this?
Iu. 'Tis but thy name that is my Enemy:
Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague,
What's Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote,
Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name
Belonging to a man.
What? in a names that which we call a Rose,
By any other word would smell as sweete,
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal'd,
Retaine that deare perfection which he owes,
Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name,
And for thy name which is no part of thee,
Take all my selfe
Rom. I take thee at thy word:
Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz'd,
Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo
Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsell?
Rom. By a name,
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name deare Saint, is hatefull to my selfe,
Because it is an Enemy to thee,
Had I it written, I would teare the word
Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunke a hundred words
Of thy tongues vttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Rom. Neither faire Maid, if either thee dislike
Iul. How cam'st thou hither.
Tell me, and wherefore?
The Orchard walls are high, and hard to climbe,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here,
Rom. With Loues light wings
Did I ore-perch these Walls,
For stony limits cannot hold Loue out,
And what Loue can do, that dares Loue attempt:
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me
Iul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee
Rom. Alacke there lies more perill in thine eye,
Then twenty of their Swords, looke thou but sweete,
And I am proofe against their enmity
Iul. I would not for the world they saw thee here
Rom. I haue nights cloake to hide me from their eyes
And but thou loue me, let them finde me here,
My life were better ended by their hate,
Then death proroged wanting of thy Loue
Iul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
Rom. By Loue that first did prompt me to enquire,
He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes,
I am no Pylot, yet wert thou as far
As that vast-shore-washet with the farthest Sea,
I should aduenture for such Marchandise
Iul. Thou knowest the maske of night is on my face,
Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeke,
For that which thou hast heard me speake to night,
Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie
What I haue spoke, but farewell Complement,
Doest thou Loue? I know thou wilt say I,
And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear'st,
Thou maiest proue false: at Louers periuries
They say Ioue laught, oh gentle Romeo,
If thou dost Loue, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly wonne,
Ile frowne and be peruerse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt wooe: But else not for the world.
In truth faire Mountague I am too fond:
And therefore thou maiest thinke my behauiour light,
But trust me Gentleman, Ile proue more true,
Then those that haue coying to be strange,
I should haue beene more strange, I must confesse,
But that thou ouer heard'st ere I was ware
My true Loues passion, therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yeelding to light Loue,
Which the darke night hath so discouered
Rom. Lady, by yonder Moone I vow,
That tips with siluer all these Fruite tree tops
Iul. O sweare not by the Moone, th' inconstant Moone,
That monethly changes in her circled Orbe,
Least that thy Loue proue likewise variable
Rom. What shall I sweare by?
Iul. Do not sweare at all:
Or if thou wilt sweare by thy gratious selfe,
Which is the God of my Idolatry,
And Ile beleeue thee
Rom. If my hearts deare loue
Iuli. Well do not sweare, although I ioy in thee:
I haue no ioy of this contract to night,
It is too rash, too vnaduis'd, too sudden,
Too like the lightning which doth cease to be
Ere, one can say, it lightens, Sweete good night:
This bud of Loue by Summers ripening breath,
May proue a beautious Flower when next we meete:
Goodnight, goodnight, as sweete repose and rest,
Come to thy heart, as that within my brest
Rom. O wilt thou leaue me so vnsatisfied?
Iuli. What satisfaction can'st thou haue to night?
Ro. Th' exchange of thy Loues faithfull vow for mine
Iul. I gaue thee mine before thou did'st request it:
And yet I would it were to giue againe
Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it,
For what purpose Loue?
Iul. But to be franke and giue it thee againe,
And yet I wish but for the thing I haue,
My bounty is as boundlesse as the Sea,
My Loue as deepe, the more I giue to thee
The more I haue, for both are Infinite:
I heare some noyse within deare Loue adue:
Cals within.
Anon good Nurse, sweet Mountague be true:
Stay but a little, I will come againe
Rom. O blessed blessed night, I am afear'd
Being in night, all this is but a dreame,
Too flattering sweet to be substantiall
Iul. Three words deare Romeo,
And goodnight indeed,
If that thy bent of Loue be Honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow,
By one that Ile procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt performe the right,
And all my Fortunes at thy foote Ile lay,
And follow thee my Lord throughout the world
