To call hers (exquifite) in queftion more:
Those happy masks, that kifs fair ladies brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft.
Shew me a mistress that is paffing fair;
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pafs'd that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt.

Enter Capulet, Paris, and fervant.

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men fo old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reck'ning are you Both,
And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds fo long:
But now, my lord, what fay you to my Suit?
Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before :
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen the Change of fourteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

[Exeunt.

Par. Younger than fhe are happy mothers made. Cap. And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early made: The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but fhe. She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her confent is but a part; If the agree, within her fcope of choice Lies my confent, and fair according voice : This night, I hold an old-accustom❜d Feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, moft welcome, makes my number more. At my poor houfe, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven's light. Such comfort as do lufty young men feel, When well-apparel'd April on the heel

Of limping Winter treads, even fuch delight
Among fresh female-buds fhall
this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

you

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, tho in reck❜ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona, find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure ftay.

[Exeunt Cap. and Par.

Ser. Find them out, whofe names are written here? It is written, that the Shooe-maker fhould meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find those perfons, whofe names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I muft to the Learned in good time.

Enter Benvolio aud Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is leffen'd by another's Anguish; Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning; One defperate grief cure with another's Languish:

Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf 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 than a mad man is:

Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented; and-Good-e'en, good fellow. [To the fervant. Ser. God gi' good-e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.

Ser. Perhaps, you have learn'd it without book: but,

I pray,

Can you read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

Ser.

Ser. Ye fay honestly, reft you merry.
Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.
[He reads the letter.

Ignior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count Anfelm and bis beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, bis wife and daughters; my fair neice Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tibalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair affembly; whither should they come? (6) Ser. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Ser. To Supper, to our house.

Rom. Whofe house?

Ser. My mafter's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have askt you that before.

Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My mafter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the House of Montagues, I pray, come and crufh a cup of wine.

you merry.

Reft

[Exit.

Ben. At this fame antient Feaft of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all th' admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I fhall fhow,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfehoods, then turn tears to fires;
And thefe, who, often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! th' all-feeing Sun
Ne'er faw her match, fince first the world begun.

Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none elfe being by;

Her felf pois'd with her felf, in either

(6) A fair Affembly: Whither should they come? Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither? to Supper?

eye:

Serv. To our House.] Romeo had read over the Lift of invited Guests; but he must be a Prophet, to know they were invited to Supper. This comes much more aptly from the Servant's Anfwer, than Romeo's Queftion; and muft undoubtedly be placed to him.

Mr. Warburton.

But

(7)

But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your Lady-love against some other maid,
That I will fhew you, fhining at this feast,
And she will shew fcant well, that now fhews beft.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be fhewn,
But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Capulet's House.

Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

TURSE, where's my daughter? call her

NUR

La. Cap. forth to me.

Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years old) I bad her come; what, lamb, what, lady-bird, where's this girl? what, Juliet?

god forbid !

Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now, who calls?

Nurfe. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here, what is

La. Cap. This is the matter

-

your will?

Nurfe, give leave a

while, we must talk in fecret; Nurfe, come back again,

I have remember'd me, thou fhalt hear our counfel: thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurfe. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four ;) fhe's not fourteen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

(7)

let there be weigh'd

Your Lady's Love against fome other Maid.] But the Comparison was not to be betwixt the Love that Romeo's Miftrefs paid him, and the Perfon of any other young Woman: but betwixt Romeo's Mistress herself, and fome other that should be match'd against her. The Poet therefore must certainly have wrote;

Your Lady-love against fome other Maid. So the Comparison ftands right, and fenfibly.

Nurfe.

Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas-eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and the (God reft all chriftian fouls!) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God, fhe was too good for me. But as I

faid, on Lammas-eve at night fhall fhe be fourteen, that fhall fhe, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and fhe was wean'd, I never fhall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid worm-wood to my dug, fitting in the Sun under the Dove-house wall, my lord and you were then at Mantua - nay, I do bear a brain. But as I said, when it did tafte the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-house

'twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then she could stand alone; nay, by th' rood, fhe could have run, and waddled all about; for even the day before fhe broke her brow, and then my husband, (God be with his foul, a 'was a merry man;) took up the child; yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou haft more wit, wilt thou not, Julé? and, by my holy dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and faid, ay; To fee now, how a jeft fhall come about.-I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I fhould not forget it: Wilt thou not, Julé, quoth he? and pretty fool, it stinted, and Said, ay. La. Cap. Enough of this, I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurfe. Yes, madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it fhould leave crying, and fay, ay; and yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's stone: a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comeft to age? wilt thou not, Julé? it ftinted, and faid, ay.

ful. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, fay I. Nurse. Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his grace!

Thou waft the prettieft Babe, that e'er I nurft.

An I might live to see thee married once,

I have my wifh.

La.