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. |
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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. |
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