thofe perfons, whofe names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I must to the learned.- In good time, Enter Benvolio and Romeo. BEN. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is leffen'd by another's anguish: Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning, One desperate grief cure with another's languish ; Take thou fome new infection to the eye, And the rank poifon of the old will die. ROM. Your plantane leaf is excellent for that. BEN. For what, I pray thee? Roм. For your broken shin. BEN. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? Roм. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is ; Shut up in prifon, kept without my food, Whipt and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow. [To the Servant. SERV. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, fir, can you read? SERV. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book. But, I pray, Can you read any thing you fee? Roм. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. ROM. Stay, fellow, I can read. [He reads the list.] Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; Count Anfelm, and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercu tio and his brother Valentine: mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his ccufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. -A fair affembly; whither should they come? SERV. UP. ROM. Whither? to fupper? SERV. To our house. ROM. Who's house? SERV. My master's. ROM. Indeed, I fhould have ask'd you that before. SERV. Now I'll tell you without asking. My mafter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Reft you merry. BEN. At this fame ancient feaft of Capulet's One fairer than my love! th' all-feeing fun Ne'r faw her match, fince first the world begun. [Exit BEN. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none elfe being by, Herfelf pois'd with herfelf, in either eye; But in those chryftal fcales, let there be weigh'd Your lady-love against fome other maid, That I will fhew you, fhining at this feast, And she will shew fcant well, that now fhews best. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to Lady Capulet's House. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. LA. CAP. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. NUR. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve years old) I bad her come; what lamb! what lady-bird! God forbid !-where's this girl? what, Juliet? Enter Juliet. JUL. How now, who calls? NUR. Your mother. JUL. Madam, I am here, what is your will? LA. CAP. This is the matter) -Nurse, give leave a while, we must talk in fecret-Nurfe, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. Thou know'ft my daughter's of a pretty age. NUR. 'Faith I can tell her age unto an hour. LA. CAP. She's not fourteen. NUR. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four;) fhe's not fourteen; how long it now to Lammas-tide ? LA. CAP. A fortnight and odd days. NUR. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Sufan and the (God rest all christian souls!) were of an age. Well, Susan is with God, fhe was too good for me. But as I faid, on Lam mas-eve at night shall she be fourteen, that shall she, marry I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and she was wean'd; I never shall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid wormwood on my dug, fitting in the fun under the dove-house wall, my lord and you were then at Mantua.Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I faid, when it did tafte the wormwood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it techy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-house-'twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge; and fince that time it is eleven years, for then she could ftand alone; nay, by th' rood, fhe could have run, and waddled all about; for even the day before the broke her brow, and then my husband, (God be with his foul, a' was a merry man ;) took up the child; yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou haft more wit, wilt thou not, Julé? and by my holy dam, the pretty wretch left crying, and faid, ay; to fee now, how a jeft fhall come about.- I warrant, an' I fhould live a thou fand years, I fhould not forget it: wilt thou not, Julé, quoth he? and, pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid, ay. LA. CAP. Enough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace. NUR. Yes, madam; yet, I cannot chufe but laugh, to think it should leave crying, and fay, ay; and yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow a bump as big as a young cockrel's stone; a perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou com'ft to age, wilt thou not, Julé? it ftinted, and faid, ay. JUL. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. NUR. Peace, I have done : God mark thee to his grace! Thou waft the prettieft babe, that e'er I nurst. An' I might live to fee thee married once, I'd have my wish. LA. CAP. And that same marriage is the very theam JUL It is an hour that I dream not of. NUR. An hour? were I not thine only nurse, I'd fay, thou hadft fuck'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 your mother much upon these years NUR. A man, young lady, such a man As all the world—why, he's a man of wax. Read o'er the volume of young Paris face, And fee how one another lends content : And what obfcur'd in this fair volume lies, That book in many eyes doth share the glory, |