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(5) A fair affembly; whither should they come? Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither? to fupper?

Serv. To our house.

Rom. Whofe houfe ?

Serv. My mafter's.

Rom. Indeed, I fhould have afk'd you that before. Serv. 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. Reft you merry. [Exit.

Ben. At this fame ancient feaft of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou fo lov’st;
With all th' admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with fome that I fhall fhew,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfhoods, 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 firft the world begun.

Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none elfe being by, Herself pois'd with herself, in either eye;

But in thofe chryftal fcales, (6) let there be weigh'd
Your lady-love against fome other maid,

(5) A fair affembly; whither should they come ?
Serv. Up.-

Rom. Whitber? to fupper?

Serv. To our boufe.] Romeo had read over the lift of invited guests; but how should he know they were invited to fupper? This comes much more aptly from the Servant's answer, than Ro meo's queftion; and muft undoubtedly be placed to him.


When a man reads a lift of guefts, he knows they are invited to fomething, and, without any extraordinary good fortune, may guess, to a fupper.

(6) let there be weigb'd

Your lady's love against fome other maid,] But the comparison was not 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 fhould be match'd against her. The poet therefore muft certainly have wrote; Your lady-love against fome other maid.



That I will fhew you, fhining at this feaft,
And she will shew scant well, that now fhews best.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be fhewn;
But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own.


Changes to Capulet's House.

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurfe.


La. Cap. Nurfe, where's my daughter? Call her forth

to me.

Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve years old)

I bad her come; what lamb! what, lady-bird!
God forbid!where's this girl? what, Jutet?

Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now, who calls?

Nurfe. Your mother.

Juliet. Madam, I am here, what is your will?"

La. Cap. This is the matter

while, we muft talk in fecret

Nurfe, give leave a

Nurse, 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 (7) to my teen be it spoken, I have but four ;) fhe's not fourteen; how long is it now to Lamas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas-eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and the (God rest 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 shall fhe, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and she 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 fun under the Dove-houfe wall, my Lord (7) to my then- -] To my forrow.


and you were then at Mantua. Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I faid, when it did taste the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to see it techy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the Dove-houfetwas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then she could ftand alone; nay, by th' rood, he could have run, and waddled all about; for even the day before the 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 shall come about.I warrant, an' I should live a thousand years, I fhould not forget it: Wilt thou not, Jéz quoth he? and, pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid, ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this I pray thee hold thy peace. (8) Nurfe. Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it should leave crying, and fay, ay; and yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone; a perilous knock, and it cried. bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'it upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comeft to age, Wilt thou not, Fulé ? it ftinted, and faid, ay.

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

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

An' I might live to fee thee married once,

I have my wifh.

La. Cap. And that fame marriage is the very theam I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How ftands your difpofition to be married? Jul (9) It is an hour that I dream not of. Nurfe. An hour? Were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadft fuck'd wisdom from thy teat. (8) Nurfe.] Yes, Madam; yet I cannot chufe, &c.] This speech and tautology is not in the first edition.


(9) It is an bour-] The modern editors all give it as an honour. I have restored the genuine word, which is more feemly from a girl to her mother. Your, fire, and fuch words as are vulgarly uttered in two fyllables, are ufed as diffyllables by Shakespeare.

La. Cap.

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than


Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers. By my count,

I was your

mother much upon thefe years That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief ;The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.

Nurfe. A man, young lady, lady, fuch a man
As all the world- Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower.
Nurfe. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
(1) La. Cap. What fay you, can you like the Gentle--

This night you fhall behold him at our Feast,

Read o'er the Volume of


Paris' Face,
And find Delight writ there with Beauty's pen;
Examine ev'ry fev'ral Lineament,

And fee how one another lends Content:
And what obfcur'd in this fair Volume lies,
Find written in the Margent of his Eyes.

This precious book of Love, this unbound Lover, .
To beautify him only lacks a Cover,

The fish lives in the Sea, and 'tis much pride,
For Fair without the Fair within to hide.
That Book in many Eyes doth fhare the glory,
(2) That in gold clafps locks in the golden ftory..
So, fhall you fhare all that he doth poffefs,
By having him, making yourself no lefs.

Nurfe. No lefs? Nay, bigger; Women grow by Men.
La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
Juliet. I'll look to like, if looking liking move.
But no more deep will I indart mine eye,
Than your confent gives ftrength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guefts are come, fupper ferv'd (1) La. Cap. What fay you, &c.] This ridiculous fpeech is entirely added fince the first edition.


(2) That in gold clafps locks in the golden ftory.] The golden story is perhaps the golden legend, a book in the darker ages of popery much read, and doubtlefs often exquifitely embellished, but of which Canus, one of the popish doctors, proclaims the authour to have been bomo ferrei oris, plumbei cordis.


up, you call'd, my young lady afk'd for, the nurfe curft in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I befeech you, follow ftrait.

La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the County ftays. Nurfs, Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.


A Street before Capulet's Houfe.


Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or fix other mafkers, torch-bearers, and drums.

Rom. What, fhall this fpeech be fpoke for our excufe?

Or fhall we on without apology?

Ben. (3) The date is out of fuch prolixity.
We'll have no Cupid, hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies (4) like a crow-keeper:
(5) Nor a without-book prologue faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our enterance.
But let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the Light.



Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have
Rom. Not I, believe me; you have dancing fhoes
With nimble foles; I have a foul of lead,
So ftakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

Mer. (6) You are a lover; borrow Cupid's Wings,

(3) The date is out of fuch prolixity.] i. e. Moks are now out of fashion. That Shakespeare was an enemy to these fooleries, appears from his writing none: and that his plays difcredit fuch entertainments is more than probable. But in James's time, that reign of falfe tafte, as well as falfe politics, they came again in fashion and a deluge of this affected nonfenfe overflowed the court and country. WARBURTON.

(4)-like a crow-keeper :] The word crow-keeper is explained in Lear.

(5) Nor a without-book prologue, &c.] The two following lines are inferted from the first edition.


(6) Mer. You are a Lower, &c.] The twelve following lines are

not to be found in the first edition.



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