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