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house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of winelo. 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 hereticks, 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 splendour of mine own, [Ereunt.
A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.
La. Cap.' Nurse, where's my daughter? call her
Nurse. Now, by my maiden-head,-at twelve year
old,I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady-bird !God forbid !-where's this girl?—what, Juliet!
Jul. How now, who calls ?
Madam, I am here. What is
will ? La. Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave
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.
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
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 shal} 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 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 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,
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 stipted, and said-Ay.
La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy
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 par’lous 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
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursid :
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. 13 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
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers : by my count,
I was your
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.
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. 14 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;
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd 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
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.
Sero. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you callid, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech follow straight.
La. Cap. We follow thee.--Juliet, the county stays.
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.