The Same. A Hall in CAPULET'S House. |
|
Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen. |
First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher! |
Sec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. |
First 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! |
Sec. Serv. Ay, boy; ready. |
First Serv. You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for in the great chamber. |
Third Serv. We cannot be here and there too. |
Sec. Serv. Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire behind. |
|
Enter CAPULET and JULIET and Others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers. |
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes |
Unplagu'd with corns will walk 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 ye now? |
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. |
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 has 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? |
Sec. Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years. |
Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: |
'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, |
Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, |
Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. |
Sec. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his son is elder, sir. |
His son is thirty. |
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. O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright. |
It seems she 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 blessed 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 antick 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. |
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 solemnity this night. |
Cap. Young Romeo, is it? |
Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. |
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; |
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. |
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, 'tis a shame. |
Cap. Go to, go to; |
You are a saucy boy—is't so indeed?— |
This trick may chance to scathe you.—I know what: |
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. |
Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; 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. [To JULIET.] If I profane with my unworthiest hand |
This holy shrine, the gentle sin 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. |
Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take. |
Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her. |
Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. |
Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd! |
Give me my sin again. |
Jul. You kiss by the book. |
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. |
Rom. What is her mother? |
Nurse. Marry, bachelor, |
Her mother is the lady of the house, |
And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous: |
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal; |
I tell you he that can lay hold of her |
Shall have the chinks. |
Rom. Is she a Capulet? |
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. |
Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best. |
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. |
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; |
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. |
Is it e'en so? Why then, I thank you all; |
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good-night. |
More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. |
Ah! sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late; |
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all except JULIET and Nurse. |
Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? |
Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. |
Jul. What's he that now is going out of door? |
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. |
Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance? |
Nurse. I know not. |
Jul. Go, ask his name.—If he be married, |
My grave is like to be my wedding bed. |
Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague; |
The only son of your great enemy. |
Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate! |
Too early seen unknown, and known too late! |
Prodigious birth of love it is to me, |
That I must love a loathed enemy. |
Nurse. What's this, what's this? |
Jul. A rime I learn'd even now |
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, 'JULIET!' |
Nurse. Anon, anon!— |
Come, let's away; the strangers are all gone. [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.