Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves,

And desperately are dead.
Lear.

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
[To Kent and Edgar.
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls, and I must not say, no.
Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath born most; we, that are young,
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
[Exeunt, with a dead March

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?

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 any thing, of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness, serious vanity!
Mishapen Chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire sick
health!

Still waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

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.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being urg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes:
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lover's tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Ben.
Soft, I will go along;
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other wbere.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, whom she is you love.
Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee?
Ben.
Groan? why, no;

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!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marksinan-And she's
fair I love.

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;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives

harm'd.

un

She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still
live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow
Do I ive dead, that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
'Tis the way

Rom.

To call hers, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt
[Exeunt.

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
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which, on more view of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none
Come, go with me ;-Go. sirrah; trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, gives a Paper,]
and to them soy,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris
Serv. Find them out, whose names are writtea
here? It is written-that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard,-and the tailor with his
last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter
with his nets; but I am sent to find those per
sons, whose names are here writ, and can never
find what names the writing person 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 lessen'd by another's anguish ; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward tnrning; One desperate grief cures with another's lan

guish ;

man is:

read ?

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.
Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse.
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
To Lammas-tide 7
La. Cap.

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 shall 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, 1
trow,

To bid me trudge.

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 !
Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse.

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 !
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
'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!
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said-Ay.
qnoth he:
La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy

peace.

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 cockerel's stone:
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
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 L.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to

his grace!

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;
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineainent,
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

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,
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.
Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.
Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft,
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull wo:
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love,
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

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:
[Putting on a Mask.
A visor for a visor !-what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.

Mer.

Mer.

Why, may one ask? Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mer.

And so did
That dreamers often lie.

Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.
Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things
true.

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,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep: and then anon
Drums in his ear; at which he starts, and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night:
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This, this is she-
Rom

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,