f tuat her breath will mist or stain the stone, Is this the promis'd end? Kent What is't thou say'st?-Her voice was ever soft, Did I not, fellow? Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, One of them we behold. Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? Kent. The same; Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too:-He's dead and rotten. Kent. No, my good lord: I am the very man ;Lear. I'll see that straight. Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, Have follow'd your sad steps. Lear. You are welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man else; All's cheerless, dark, and deadly.Your eldest daughters have foredoom'd themselves, And desperately are dead. Lear. Ay, so I think. Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is That we present us to him. Edg. • Useless. Very bootless.7 Enter an Officer. Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. Alb. That's but a trifle here.You lords and noble friends, know our intent: What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be applied: For us, we will resign, During the life of this old majesty, To him our absolute power:-You to your rights; [To EDGAR and KEST. Have more than merited.-All friends shall taste With boot, and such addition as your honors The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.-O, see, see! Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life: Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, Never, never, never, never, never!— Edg. Edg. That would upon the rack of this tough world Edg. He but usurp'd his life. business from hence.-Our present SCENE, during the greater Part of the Play, in Verona; once, in the fifth Act, at Mantua. PROLOGUE. Two households, both alike in dignity, Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, naught could re move, Is now the two-hours' traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I-A Public Place. ACT I. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with Swords and Bucklers. Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar. Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, isto stand to it: therefore, if thou art moved thou runn'st away. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sum. True; and therefore women, being the Weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:-therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their meni. Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads. A phrase formerly in use, to signify the bearing injuries. Gre. The heads of the maids? heads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst. thou hadst been poor John.2 Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. Enter ABRAM and BALTHAZAR. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee. Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gre. I will frown as I pass by; and let them take it as they list. Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. No, sir; I do not bite my thumb at you sir: but 1 bite my thumb, sir. Poor John is hake, dried and salted. Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. Enter TYBALT. Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. I hate As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee; Have at thee, coward. [They fight. Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who join the Fray; then enter Citizens with Clubs. Cit. Clubs,3 bills, and partizans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET in his Gown, and LADY CAPULET. Cap. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you for a sword? Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go! La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. Enter Prince, with Attendants. Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel,Will they not hear?-what, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage Servants. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began? Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them; in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrust and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. Clubs was the usual exclamation at an affray in the streets, as we D w call Watch! La. Mon. O, where is Romeo!--saw you him today? Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city's side,So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own,That most are busied when they are most alone,Pursued my humor, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sight But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself; Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humor prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause' Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you importuned him by any means? Mon. Both by myself and many other friends But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself,-I will not say, how trueBut to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow We would as willingly give cure, as know. Enter ROMEO, at a distance. Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. Ben. But new struck nine. Is the day so young! Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast! Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romer's hours? Rom. Not having that, which having, mal.s them short. Ben. In love? Rom. Out of her favor, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that iove, whose view is muffled still. Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray wa here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what?" Ben. At thy good heart's oppression Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love, that thou nast shown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears* • Appear d. [Going. What is it else? a madness most discreet, But sadly tell me, who. Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:Ah, word ill-urged to one that is so ill!In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marksman!-And she's fair I love. Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest bit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live chaste! Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow, Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of he.. Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. Rom. "Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more: These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget. Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt. SCENE II-A Street. Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. 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 honorable reckoning? are you both; And pity 'tis, 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, more. At my poor house, look to behold this night Inherits at my house; hear all, all see, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Take thou some new infection to thy eye, For your broken shin. Shut up. in prison, kept without my food, fellow. Serv. God gi' good-e'en.-I pray, sir, can you read? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But I pray, can you read any thing you see? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the lan guage. Reads. Serv. Ye say honestly: Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. 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, ant his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; [Gires back the Note.] Whither should they come? Serv. Up. Rom. Whither? 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.9 Rest you merry. [Exit. Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 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,- 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 maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird! God forbid!-where's this girl?-what, Juliet! Enter JULIEt. Your mother. Madam, I am here, Jul. How now, who calls? What is your will? La. Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou 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. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,And yet, to my teen3 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,-God rest all Christain 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; And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,Of all the days in 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 bear 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 trow, To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years: For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,5 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, To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay: A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; 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: La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme Here, in Verona, ladies of esteem, Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast: And see how one another lends content: men. La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love! Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant. Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. SCENE IV-A Street. [Exeunt. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with fire or siz Maskers, Torchbearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without apology? Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;2 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But, let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure,3 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 you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead. So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover: borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. Rom. I am too sore impierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; |