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Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
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. Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our
selves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. 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, gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.
A Hall in Capulet's House.
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants. 1 Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.
1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard", look to the plate:--good thou, save me a piece of march-pane"; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan and Nell. - Antony ! and Potpan!
2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.
1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber.
2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.
[They retire behind.
Enter CAPULET, 8c. with the Guests and the
12 Be 8o HE TH
Cap. Gentlemen, welcome ! ladies, that have their
[Music plays, and they dance.
s A sideboard on which the plate was placed.
13. e. Make room.
For you and I are past our dancing days :
By ’r lady, thirty years.
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 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir :
tell me that ?
Serv. I know not, sir.
heart love till now ? forswear it, sight!
Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:-
storm you so?
8 The dance.
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
1 Cap. Young Romeo is 't?
'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 1 Cap. 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 this 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, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest ; I'll not endure him. 1 Cap.
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 make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man ! Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Go to, go to, You are a saucy boy: - Is 't so, indeed ? This trick may chance to scath' you; - I know.
what. You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time Well said, my hearts: -- You are a princox'; go :Be quiet,
· More light, more light, for shame! 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 intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.
• Do you an injury.
' A coxcomb.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
[TO JULIET. This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Jul. 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. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant
prayers' sake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I
take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd.
[Kissing her. Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have
took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly
urg'd! Give me my sin again. Jul.
You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with
Is she a Capulet?