Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge reak to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
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 remove,

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.

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, is— to 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.

Sam. 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 men.

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?
Sam. Fear me not.

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 them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say-ay? Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir; I do not bite my thumb at you, sir: but I bite my thumb, sir.

a Poor John is hake, dried and salted.

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him to

day?

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: 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.

1,

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace?
the word,

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee;
Have at thee, coward.

I hate

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
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd' weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.-
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Attendants; CAPULET,
LADY CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and

Servants.

Mon. Whoset 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 strects, as we now call Watch!

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 impórtuned him by any means!
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own aflections' counsellor,
Is to himself,-I will not say, how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
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.
Mon. I would, thou wert o happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.

Ben. Good-morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.

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 Romeo's

hours?

Rom. Not having that, which having, makes them short.

Ben. In love? Rom. OutBen. Of 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 love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:-
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

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 hast

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' fears'

• Appeared.

[Going.

What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Ben.
Soft, I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rem. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness who she is you love.
Kom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee?
Ben.
Groan? why no;

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 hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit

With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor hide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,

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, stary'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:

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 her. 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.

Inherits at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none,
Come, go with me:-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there,[Gives a Paper.]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.
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 cure with another's lan

Serv. God gi' good-e'cn.-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 language.

[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, 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 asked you that be

fore.

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
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 heretics, 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,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. [Exeunt.
To inherit, in the language of Shakspeare, is to possess.
We still say, in cant language, crack a bottle.
Weighed.
Scarcely, hardly,

What is your will?

Your mother.

Madam, I am here,

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
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.6
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

laugh,

To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay:
And yet I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou will 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 once,
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 honor that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honor! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger
than you,

Here, in Verona, ladies of esteem,
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.8
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a
flower.

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:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,

And see how one another lends content:
And what obscured in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin 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's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six 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;

Well made, as if he had been modelled in wax.

• The comments on ancient books were always printed in the margin.

i.e. Is not yet caught, whose skin was wanted to bind him.

a A scare-crow, a figure made up to frighten crows. A dance.

A torch bearer was a constant appendage to every troop of maskers.

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in;

[Putting on a Mask.

A visor for a visor!-what care I,
What curious eye doth quotes deformities?
Here are the beetle brows, shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,

Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,-
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,-

The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done..

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn daylight, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer.
I mean, sir, in delay.
We waste our lights in vain. like lamps by day."
Take our good meaning: for our judgment sits
Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.
Mer.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer.

And so did I.
Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.
That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things
true.

Mer. O, 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 atomies7
Athwart 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 enipty 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 breath 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 dreams he 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 bakesf the elf-locks9 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, this is she-
Rom.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mer.
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;

• Observe.

It was anciently the custom to strew rooms with rushes. 1 Atoms. A place in court.

i.e. Fairy-locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night.

And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
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, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.-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 foul thing. or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a

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 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 a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind.

Enter CAPULET, &c., with the Guests and Maskers. Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have

their toes

Unplagued 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;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone.
You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians,

play,

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop'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 happy my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:Fetch me my rapier, boy-What! dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

A sideboard on which the plate was placed.

2 Almond-cake. 3 i. e. Make room.

The dance.