Page 1 of 9

Part 3

Rom. What shall this spech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without Apologie? Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie, Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe, Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath, Skaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper. But let them measure vs by what they will, Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone

Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heauy I will beare the light

Mer. Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance

Rom. Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue

Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings, And soare with them aboue a common bound

Rom. I am too sore enpearced with his shaft, To soare with his light feathers, and to bound: I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe, Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke

Hora. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue, Too great oppression for a tender thing

Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne

Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue, Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe, Giue me a Case to put my visage in, A Visor for a Visor, what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities: Here are the Beetle-browes shall blush for me

Ben. Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in, But euery man betake him to his legs

Rom. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles: For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase, Ile be a Candle-holder and looke on, The game was nere so faire, and I am done

Mer. Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word, If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire. Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest Vp to the eares, come we burne day-light ho

Rom. Nay that's not so

Mer. I meane sir I delay, We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day; Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits Fiue times in that, ere once in our fiue wits

Rom. And we meane well in going to this Maske, But 'tis no wit to go

Mer. Why may one aske? Rom. I dreampt a dreame to night

Mer. And so did I

Rom. Well what was yours? Mer. That dreamers often lye

Ro. In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true

Mer. O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you: She is the Fairies Midwife, & she comes in shape no bigger then Agat-stone, on the fore-finger of an Alderman, drawne with a teeme of little Atomies, ouer mens noses as they lie asleepe: her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners legs: the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers, her Traces of the smallest Spiders web, her coullers of the Moonshines watry Beames, her Whip of Crickets bone, the Lash of Philome, her Waggoner, a small gray-coated Gnat, not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme, prickt from the Lazie-finger of a man. Her Chariot is an emptie Haselnut, made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub, time out a mind, the Faries Coach-makers: & in this state she gallops night by night, through Louers braines: and then they dreame of Loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame on Cursies strait: ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreampt on Fees, ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame, which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their breath with Sweet meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops ore a Courtiers nose, & then dreames he of smelling out a sute: & somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale, tickling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe, then he dreames of another Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers necke, & then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats, of Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades: Of Healths fiue Fadome deepe, and then anon drums in his eares, at which he startes and wakes; and being thus frighted, sweares a prayer or two & sleepes againe: this is that very Mab that plats the manes of Horses in the night: & bakes the Elklocks in foule sluttish haires, which once vntangled, much misfortune bodes, This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs, That presses them, and learnes them first to beare, Making them women of good carriage: This is she

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio peace, Thou talk'st of nothing

Mer. True, I talke of dreames: Which are the children of an idle braine, Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie, Which is as thin of substance as the ayre, And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes Euen now the frozen bosome of the North: And being anger'd, puffes away from thence, Turning his side to the dew dropping South

Ben. This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues, Supper is done, and we shall come too late

Rom. I feare too early, for my mind misgiues, Some consequence yet hanging in the starres, Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme Of a despised life clos'd in my brest: By some vile forfeit of vntimely death. But he that hath the stirrage of my course, Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen

Ben. Strike Drum.

They march about the Stage, and Seruingmen come forth with their napkins.

Enter Seruant.

Ser. Where's Potpan, that he helpes not to take away? He shift a Trencher? he scrape a Trencher?

When good manners, shall lie in one or two mens hands, and they vnwasht too, 'tis a foule thing

Ser. Away with the Ioynstooles, remoue the Courtcubbord, looke to the Plate: good thou, saue mee a piece of Marchpane, and as thou louest me, let the Porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthonie and Potpan

I Boy readie

Ser. You are lookt for, and cal'd for, askt for, & sought for, in the great Chamber

We cannot be here and there too, chearly Boyes, Be brisk awhile, and the longer liuer take all.

Exeunt.

Enter all the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.

Capu. Welcome Gentlemen, Ladies that haue their toes Vnplagu'd with Cornes, will walke about with you: Ah my Mistresses, which of you all Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She Ile sweare hath Cornes: am I come neare ye now? Welcome Gentlemen, I haue seene the day That I haue worne a Visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a faire Ladies eare: Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone, You are welcome Gentlemen, come Musitians play:

Musicke plaies: and they dance.

A Hall, Hall, giue roome, and foote it Girles, More light you knaues, and turne the Tables vp: And quench the fire, the Roome is growne too hot. Ah sirrah, this vnlookt for sport comes well: Nay sit, nay sit, good Cozin Capulet, For you and I are past our dauncing daies: How long 'ist now since last your selfe and I Were in a Maske? 2. Capu. Berlady thirty yeares

Capu. What man: 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much, 'Tis since the Nuptiall of Lucentio, Come Pentycost as quickely as it will, Some fiue and twenty yeares, and then we Maskt
Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his Sonne is elder sir: His Sonne is thirty
Cap. Will you tell me that? His Sonne was but a Ward two yeares agoe

Rom. What Ladie is that which doth inrich the hand Of yonder Knight? Ser. I know not sir

Rom. O she doth teach the Torches to burne bright: It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night, As a rich Iewel in an aethiops eare: Beauty too rich for vse, for earth too deare: So shewes a Snowy Doue trooping with Crowes, As yonder Lady ore her fellowes showes; The measure done, Ile watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart loue till now, forsweare it sight, For I neuer saw true Beauty till this night

Tib. This by his voice, should be a Mountague. Fetch me my Rapier Boy, what dares the slaue Come hither couer'd with an antique face, To fleere and scorne at our Solemnitie? Now by the stocke and Honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin

Cap. Why how now kinsman, Wherefore storme you so? Tib. Vncle this is a Mountague, our foe: A Villaine that is hither come in spight, To scorne at our Solemnitie this night

Cap. Young Romeo is it? Tib. 'Tis he, that Villaine Romeo

Cap. Content thee gentle Coz, let him alone, A beares him like a portly Gentleman: And to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a vertuous and well gouern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the towne, Here in my house do him disparagement: Therfore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will, the which if thou respect, Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes, An ill beseeming semblance for a Feast Tib. It fits when such a Villaine is a guest, Ile not endure him

Cap. He shall be endur'd. What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too, Am I the Maister here or you? go too, Youle not endure him, God shall mend my soule, Youle make a Mutinie among the Guests: You will set cocke a hoope, youle be the man

Tib. Why Vncle, 'tis a shame

Cap. Go too, go too, You are a sawcy Boy, 'ist so indeed? This tricke may chance to scath you, I know what, You must contrary me, marry 'tis time. Well said my hearts, you are a Princox, goe, Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame, Ile make you quiet. What, chearely my hearts

Tib. Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall. Enter.

Rom. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips to blushing Pilgrims did ready stand, To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kisse

Iul. Good Pilgrime, You do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this, For Saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch, And palme to palme, is holy Palmers kisse

Rom. Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too? Iul. I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer

Rom. O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do, They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire

Iul. Saints do not moue, Though grant for prayers sake

Rom. Then moue not while my prayers effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd

Iul. Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg'd: Giue me my sin againe

Iul. You kisse by'th' booke

Nur. Madam your Mother craues a word with you

Rom. What is her Mother? Nurs. Marrie Batcheler, Her Mother is the Lady of the house, And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous, I Nur'st her Daughter that you talkt withall: I tell you, he that can lay hold of her, Shall haue the chincks

Rom. Is she a Capulet? O deare account! My life is my foes debt

Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best

Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest

Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone, We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards: Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all. I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night: More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed. Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late, Ile to my rest

Iuli. Come hither Nurse, What is yond Gentleman: Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio

Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore? Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio

Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance? Nur. I know not

Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married, My graue is like to be my wedded bed

Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague, The onely Sonne of your great Enemie

Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate, Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late, Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me, That I must loue a loathed Enemie

Nur. What's this? whats this? Iul. A rime, I learne euen now Of one I dan'st withall.

One cals within, Iuliet.

Nur. Anon, anon: Come let's away, the strangers all are gone.

Exeunt.

Domínio Público

Public Books·—

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Start the conversation.