Romeo. Give me a torch,--I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

Mercutio. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Romeo. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

Mercutio. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.

Romeo. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

Mercutio. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Romeo. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it p.r.i.c.ks like thorn.

Mercutio. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; p.r.i.c.k love for p.r.i.c.king, and you beat love down.-- Give me a case to put my visage in: [Putting on a mask.] A visard for a visard! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.

Benvolio. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in But every man betake him to his legs.

Romeo. A torch for me: let 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 look on,-- The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Mercutio. Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this--sir-reverence--love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.--Come, we burn daylight, ho.

Romeo. Nay, that's not so.

Mercutio. I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits.

Romeo. And we mean well, in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go.

Mercutio. Why, may one ask?

Romeo. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mercutio. And so did I.

Romeo. Well, what was yours?

Mercutio. That dreamers often lie.

Romeo. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mercutio. 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 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of gra.s.shoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams; Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm p.r.i.c.k'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 o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,-- Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a t.i.the-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice: Sometime 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 s.l.u.ttish 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 is she,-- Romeo. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mercutio. 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.

Benvolio. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Romeo. 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 sail!--On, l.u.s.ty gentlemen!

Benvolio. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.]

Scene V. A Hall in Capulet's House.

[Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.]

1 Servant. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he sc.r.a.pe a trencher!

2 Servant. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Servant. Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:--good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.-- Antony! and Potpan!

2 Servant. Ay, boy, ready.

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

2 Servant. 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 the Maskers.]

Capulet. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.-- Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, I'll swear hath corns; am I come near you now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visard; 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, musicians, play. A hall--a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.-- [Music plays, and they dance.] More light, you 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 Capulet. By'r Lady, thirty years.

Capulet. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five-and-twenty years; and then we mask'd.

2 Capulet. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.

Capulet. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago.

Romeo. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Servant. I know not, sir.

Romeo. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she 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 hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tybalt. This, by his voice, should be a Montague.-- Fetch me my rapier, boy:--what, dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To 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.

Capulet. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

Tybalt. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain, that is. .h.i.ther come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Capulet. Young Romeo, is it?

Tybalt. 'Tis he, that villain, Romeo.

Capulet. 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 the 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.

Tybalt. It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him.

Capulet. He shall be endur'd: What, goodman boy!--I say he shall;--go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him!--G.o.d shall mend my soul, You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set c.o.c.k-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tybalt. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

Capulet. Go to, go to! You are a saucy boy. Is't so, indeed?-- This trick may chance to scathe you,--I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.-- Well said, my hearts!--You are a princ.o.x; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light!--For shame! I'll make you quiet. What!--cheerly, my hearts.

Tybalt. 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.]

Romeo. [To Juliet.] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,-- My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Juliet. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

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

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

Romeo. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Juliet. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Romeo. Then move not while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her.]

Juliet. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Romeo. Sin from my lips? O trespa.s.s sweetly urg'd! Give me my sin again.

Juliet. You kiss by the book.

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Romeo. 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 c.h.i.n.ks.

Romeo. Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

Benvolio. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.

Romeo. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

Capulet. 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 Capulet], by my fay, it waxes late; I'll to my rest.

[Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.]

Juliet. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.

Juliet. What's he that now is going out of door?

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.

Juliet. What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Juliet. 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.

Juliet. My only love sprung from my only hate! 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?

Juliet. 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.

[Exeunt.]

[Enter Chorus.]

Chorus. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young 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. 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 hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers us'd to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new beloved anywhere: But pa.s.sion lends them power, time means, to meet, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

[Exit.]

ACT II.