Kent. That from your first of difference and Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, decay, Aud thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come Have follow'd your sad steps. no more, Lear. You are welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man else; all's cheerless, dark, and deadly. Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves, And desperately are dead. Alb. He knows not what Ay, so I think. he says; and vain it is That we present us to him. Edg. Very bootless. Enter an Officer. Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. Alb. That's but a trifle here. You lords, and noble friends know our intent. What conifort to this great decay may come, Shall be applied; for us, we will resign, During the life of this old majesty, To him our absolute power:-You, to your rights; [To Edgar and Kent. With boot, and such addition as your honours Have more than merited ;-All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.-O, see, see! Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life: Never, never, never, never, never!'Pray you, undo this button: Thank you, sir,Do you see this 7-Look on her,-look,-her lips,Look there, look there! [He dies. Edg. He faints!-My lord, my lord,Kent. Break, heart; i pr'ythee, break! Edg. Look up, my lord. Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him, That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer. Edg. O, he is gone indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath eudur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life. Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present business Is general wo. Friends of my soul, you twain SCENE-during the greater Part of the Play, in Verona: once, in the Fifth Act, at Mantua. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar. Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is-to stand to it :-therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou run'st away. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. us their men. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and Sam 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be crus with the maids; I will cut off their heads. Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I'am a pretty piece of flesh. Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. Enter Abram and Balthazar. Will they not hear 7-what ho! you men, you That quench the fire of your pernicious rage. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? Gre. No, marry; I fear thee ! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list. Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir ? Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. To wield old partisans, in hands as old, [Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, La. Cap. Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants. Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. Enter Benvolio, at a distance. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my mas- Right glad 1 am, he was not at this fray. Sam. Yes, better, sir. Abr. You lie. Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Down with the Capulets! down with the Mon- Enter Capulet,in his Gown; and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you for a sword? Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter Montague and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villian Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek Enter Prince, with Attendants. Ben. Madam, an hour before the worship'd sun Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift-Come, madam, let's away. [Exeunt Montague and Lady. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Rom. Is the day so young? Ben. But new struck nine. Rom. Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which having makes them short. Ben. In love? Rom. OutBen. Of love? Rom Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!' Where shall we dine 1-0 me !-What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate: O heavy lightness, serious vanity! Still waking sleep, that is not what it is!- Ben. No, coz, I rather weep. Rom. Good heart, at what? 'Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown. [Going. Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. But sadly tell me who. Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill! Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; harm'd. un She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, Rom. To call hers, exquisite, in question more. SCENE II. A Street. Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? Cap. By saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world, She hath not seen the change of fourteen years; Let two more summers whither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made. At my poor house, look to behold this night Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light; Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward tnrning; One desperate grief cures with another's lan guish ; fake thou some new infection to the eye, For your broken shin. man is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow. Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, sir, can you read ? Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: But, I pray, can you read any thing you see ? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Serv. Ye say honestly; Rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. (Reads. Signior Martino, and his wife and daughters; County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine Mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; My fair niece, Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither should they coine? Serv. Up. Rom. Whither? Serv. To supper: to our house. Rom. Whose house? Serv. My master's. 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. She is not fourteen: How long is it now A fortnight, and odd days. To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years: Rom. Indeed, I should have asked you that be-She could have run and waddled all about. fore. Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. 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 heretics, 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. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Room in Capulet's House. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me, Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead,-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? Jul. Your mother. Madam, I am here, What is your will? La Cap. This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile, And then my husband-God be with his soul ! Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam, peace. Nurse. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay: Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said—Ay. his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme Are made already mothers: by my count, La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; men. 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. Enter a Servant. Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait: I beseech you, follow straight. La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet the county stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Street. Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and Others. Rom. What shall this speech be spoke for our excise? Or shall we on without apology? Ben. The date is out of such prolixity. We'll have no cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But, let them measure us by what they will, We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. Rom. Give me a torch,-I am not for this ambling; Being heavy, I will bear the light. Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, Wich nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: Ben. Come, knock, and enter: and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,→→ I'll be a candle-holder, and look on, The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so. Mer. I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask. But 'tis no wit to go. Mer. Why, may one ask? Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. Mer. And so did Rom. Well, what was yours? you. Mer. O, then, I see queen Mab hath been with She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams: Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film Her waggoner a small gray-coated gnat, Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Not half so big as a round little worm Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight: O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees: O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops o'e: a courtier's nose, Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace Thou talk'st of nothing. Mer. True, I talk of dreams Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; Which is as thin of substance as the air; And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, |