Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'ft of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain phantafie ;
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more unconftant than the wind; who wooes
Ev'n now the frozen bofom 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 our felves;

Supper is done, and we fhall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind mifgives,
Some confequence, 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 fome vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he, that hath the fteerage of my course,
Direct my fuit! On, lufty Gentlemen.

Ben. Strike, drum.

[They march about the Stage, and Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Hall in Capulet's House.

1 Ser.

WH

trencher !

Enter Servants, with Napkins.

HERE'S Potpan, that he helps not to take away; he shift a trencher! he scrape a

2 Ser. When good manners fhall lye all in one or two mens hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing. I Ser. Away with the joint-ftools, remove the courtcup-board, look to the plate: good thou, fave me a piece of march-pane; and, as thou loveft me, let the porter let in Sufan Grindstone, and Nell, Antony, and Potpan,

2 Ser. Ay, boy, ready.

VOL. VII.

K

1 Ser.

1 Ser. You are look'd for, call'd for, ask'd for, and fought for, in the great chamber.

2 Ser. We cannot be here and there too; chearly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.

Enter all the Guests and Ladies, with the maskers. 1 Cap. Welcome, Gentlemen. Ladies, that have your feet Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you. Ah me, my mistreffes, which of you all

Will now deny to dance? fhe that makes dainty,
I'll fwear, hath corns; am I come near you now?
Welcome, all, Gentlemen; I've seen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would pleafe: 'tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone!
[Mufick 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 fport comes well,
Nay, fit; nay, fit, good coufin Capulet,
For you and I are paft our dancing days:
How long is't now fince last your self and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not fo much; 'Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecoft as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years, and then we mask'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his fon is elder, Sir:

His fon is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?

His fon was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's That, which doth enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Ser. I know not, Sir.

Rom. O, fhe doth teach the torches to burn bright s

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for ufe, for earth too dear!
So fhews a fnowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows fhows.

The meafure done, I'll watch her place of Stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love 'till now? forfwear it, fight;
I never faw true beauty 'till this night.

Tyb. This by his voice fhould be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy: what! dares the flave
Come hither cover'd with an antick face,

To fleer and fcorn at our folemnity?

Now by the stock and honour of my kin,
To ftrike him dead I hold it not a fin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinfman, wherefore ftorm you fa?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe:
A villain, that is hither come in fpight,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't?

Tyb. That villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
He bears him like a portly Gentleman:
And, to fay 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 difparagement.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him;
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a fair prefence, and put off these frowns,
An ill-befeeming femblance for a feast.

Tyb. It fits, when fuch a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap. He fhall be endur'd.

What, goodman boy I fay, he fhall. Go to
Am I the mafter here, or you? go to-

You'll not endure him! God fhall mend my foul,
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will fet cock-a-hoop? you'll be the man?
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fhame.

K 2

Cap.

Cap. Go to, go tỏ,

You are a fawcy boy-is't fo, indeed?

This trick may chance to fcathe you; I know what.
You must contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.
Well faid, my hearts: You are a Princox, go:-
Be quiet, or (more light, more light, for fhame)
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 intrufion fhall,
Now feeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand (12)

[To Juliet. This holy, fhrine, the gentle Fine is this;

My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, ready stand,

To smooth that rough Touch with a tender kifs. Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion fhews in this;

For Saints have hands that pilgrims hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss.
Rom. Have not faints lips, and holy palmers too?
ful. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands do.

They pray, (grant thou) left faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers fake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayers effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine, my fin is purg'd.

(12) If I profane with my unworthy hand This holy Shrine, the gentle Sin is this,

[Kiffing her.

My Lips, two blushing Pilgrims, &c.] All Profanations are fuppos'd to be expiated either by fome meritorious Action, or by fome Penance undergone and Punishment fubmitted to. So, Romeo would here fay, if I have been profane in the rude Touch of my Hand, my Lips ftand ready, as two blushing Pilgrims, to take off that Offence, to atone for it, by a fweet Penance. Our Poet therefore must have wrote

-the gentle Fine is this.

So, in Trub Gent. of Verona.

My Penance is to call Lucetta back,
And ask Remiffion for my Folly past.

A

Mr. Warburton.

Ful.

Jul. Then have my lips the fin that late they took. Rom. Sin from my lips! O trefpafs, fweetly urg'd! Give me my fin again.

Jul. You kifs by th' book.

Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Rom. What is her mother?

Nurse. Marry, batchelor,

[To ber Nurfe.

Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wife and virtuous.
I nurs❜d her daughter, that you talkt withal:
I tell you, he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is the a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone, the fport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear, the more is my unrest.
Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it e'en fo? why, then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honeft Gentlemen, good night:
More torches here come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, firrah, by my fay, it waxes late.

I'll to my Reft.

[Exeunt. Jul. Come hither, nurfe, What is yon gentleman? Nurfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.

Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nurfe, That, as I think, is young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he that follows here, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Jul. Go ask his name. If he be married,

My Grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,

The only fon of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate!
Too early feen, unknown; and known too late
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? what's this?