Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.

5

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 't is, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world,

She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent 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, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel

5 Account, estimation.

When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female birds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me; Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [Gives a Paper.]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.

Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned: - In good time.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning ; One desperate grief cures with another's languish :

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom.

For your broken shin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare, is to possess.

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is:

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow.

Serv. Good e'en, sir. I pray, sir, 'can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you haye learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly: Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.

[Reads. Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither should they come?

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

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

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

[Exit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all the admired beauties of Verona. Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,

7 We still say in cant language - crack a bottle.

Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to
fires!

And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,-
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars!

One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid

That I will show you, shining at this feast,

9

And she shall scant show well, that now shows

best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room in Capulet's House.

Enter Lady CAPULET and Nurse.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse. What, lamb! what, lady-bird! what, Ju

La. Cap. This is the matter:- Nurse, give leave awhile,

We must talk in secret. Nurse,

again;

come back

I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our coun

sel.

Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. Yes, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,

And yet, to my teen' be it spoken, I have but

four,

She is not fourteen: How long is it now

To Lammas-tide?

La. Cap.

A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she were of an age, - but Susan's

dead;

She was too good for me: But as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
"Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,-
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my teat,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua:
Nay, I do bear a brain 2, — but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
And felt it bitter, O the pretty fool!

To see it tetchy, and fall out with the teat.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I
trow,.

To bid me trudge.

To my sorrow.

2 i.e. I have a perfect remembrance or recollection.