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.

I 'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet to my teen'a 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 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. 'T is since the earthquake now eleven years ; And 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 bear a brain : b-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 : ’t was 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, 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 be, dost thou fall upon thy face?

a Teen-sorrow. h Bear a brain-have a memory-a common expression.

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,a 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: And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; A parlous b 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

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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 honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say, thou hadst 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 a mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

& It stinted-it stopped.
b Parlous a corruption of the word perilous.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, As all the world—Why, he's a man of wax.

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 gentle-

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 several lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscurd 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 't is 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 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 everything 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.
Enter Romeo, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with Five or

Six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, 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 hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
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, 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 enpierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and to 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 ; 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 quote a 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, sir reverence, love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears.—Come, we burn daylight, ho.

Rom. Nay, that's not so.

I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, lights, lights, 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 't is no wit to go.

Why, may one ask ?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

And so did I.
Rom. Well, what was yours?

That dreamers often lie. Rom. In bed, asleen, 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 atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs, The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; Her traces of the smallest spider's web;

a Quote-observe.

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