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Rom. Well, what was yours?

That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mer. 0! then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Over men's noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams : Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film: Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid. Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On courtiers' knees, that dream on court’sies straight: O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : O’er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as ’a lies asleep, Then he dreams of another benefice. Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts, and wakes;

And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, is she

Rom. Peace, peace! Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.

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 ourselves ;
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, lusty 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, 't is 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 marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, 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 awhile, and the longer liver take all.

[They retire behind.

Enter CAPULET, &c. with the Guests, and the Maskers.

Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies, that have their toes
Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she,
I'll swear, hath corns. Am I come near you now?
You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day,
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please: 't is gone, 't is gone, 't is gone.
You are welcome, gentlemen! - Come, musicians, play.
A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.

[Music plays, and they dance.
More light, ye knaves! and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. -
Ah! sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dancing days:
How long is 't now, since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By ’r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 't is not so much, 't is not so much. 'T is since the nuptial of Lucentio,


Come pentecost as quickly as it will,
Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

2 Cap. 'T is more, 't is more: his son is elder, Sir;
His son is thirty.
1 Cap.

Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, Sir.

Rom. 0! she doth teach the torches to burn bright,
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
I never saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What! dares the slave
Cume hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solempity this night.

1 Cap. Young Romeo is it?

'T is 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;

1 Cap.

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,
An 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 not endure him! God shall mend

my soul
You 'll make a mutiny among my guests.
You will set cock-a-hoop! you 'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 't is 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 contrary me! marry, 't is time -
Well said, my hearts ! You are a pripcox; go : -
Be quiet, or 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 Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest 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 do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

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