The Same. A Room in CAPULET'S House. |
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Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse. |
Lady 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, ladybird! |
God forbid! where's this girl? what, Juliet! |
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Enter JULIET. |
Jul. How now! who calls? |
Nurse. Your mother. |
Jul. Madam, I am here. |
What is your will? |
Lady Cap. This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile. |
We must talk in secret: nurse, come back again; |
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. |
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. |
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. |
Lady Cap. She's not fourteen. |
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth— |
And yet to my teen be it spoken I have but four— |
She is not fourteen. How long is it now |
To Lammas-tide? |
Lady 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. |
'Tis 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:—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 high lone; 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 he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? |
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; |
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my halidom, |
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.' |
Lady 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 cockerel's stone; |
A parlous 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 grace! |
Thou wast the prettiest babe that o'er I nursed: |
An I might live to see thee married once, |
I have my wish. |
Lady 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 would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. |
Lady 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. |
Lady Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. |
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. |
Lady 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 obscur'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 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. |
Lady 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. |
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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. |
Lady Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays. |
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. |
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