J

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?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad

mau is:

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipp'd, and tormented, and → Good e'en, good

Serv. God gi' good e'en.

fellow.

I pray, Sir, can

you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learnt 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 Placentip, 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 ask'd 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 honse of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

[Exit, A 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, 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,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows best.
Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown.
Lut 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. Now, by my maiden-head,

year old,

at twelve

I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady bird!

God forbid!·

where's this girl?

what, Juliet!

Enter JULIET,

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here.

What is your will?

La. Cap. This is the matter:

We must talk in secret.

leave awhile,

- Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thon know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. Play 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 fortuiglit, aud odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen; Susan and she God rest all Christian souls! Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; 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; An 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 dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua: Nay, I do hear a brain: - but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I

To bid me trudge..

trow,

And since that time it is eleven years:

For then she could stand alone; uay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband God be with his soul!
A was a merry man: took up the child:
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou hast more
wit;

Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said
Ay
To see now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not Jule?
quoth he:

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said

Ay:

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold

thy peace.

Nurse. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot choose but

laugh,

Ay:

To think it should leave crying, and say
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump, as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A par❜lous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to

age;

Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said- Ay Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,

say I.

Nurse. Peace I have done. God mark thee to

his grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married ouce,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of: Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage pow; younger

than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

क

Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, As all the world Why, he's a man of wax. 1 La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a

flower.