Begot of nothing, but vain phantafy;
Which is as thin of fubftance as the air,

And more unconftant than the wind; who wooes
Ev'n now the frozen bofom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping fouth.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind mifgives,
Some confequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a defpifed life clos'd in my breaft,

By fome vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he, that hath the fteerage of my course,
Direct my fuit! On, lufty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[They march about the Stage, and Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Hall in Capulet's House.

1 Serv. WE

trencher!

7 Here's Potpan, that he helps not to take away; he shift a trencher! he scrape a

2 Serv. When good manners fhall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwafh'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Serv. Away with the joint ftools, remove the courtcup-board, look to the plate: good thou, fave me a piece of march pane; and, as thou loveft me, let the porter let in Sujan Grindstone, and Nell. Antony, and Petpan

2 Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

1 Serv. You are look'd for, call'd for, afk'd for, and fought for, in the great chamber.

z Serv. We cannot be here and there too; cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all.

[Exeunt.

VOL. VIII.

Enter

Enter all the Guefts and Ladies, with the mafkers.

1 Cap. Welcome, gentlemen. Ladies, that have your

feet

Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you.
Ah me, my mistreffes, which of you all

Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
I'll fwear, hath corns; am I come near you now?
Welcome, all gentlemen; I have feen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please: 'tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone!
[Mufick plays, and they dance,
More light, ye knaves, and turn the tables up;
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd for fport comes well
Nay, fit; nay, fit, good coufin Capulet,
For you and I are paft our dancing days:
How long is't now fince laft yourself and
Were in a mask?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not so much; "Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecoft as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years, and then we mafk’d.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his fon is elder, Sir: His fon is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?

His fon was but a ward two years ago,

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Sery. I know not, Sir.

Rom. O, fhe doth teach the torches to burn bright; Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,

Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So fhews a fnowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows fhows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of ftand,
And, touching her's, make happy my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now? forfwear it, fight;
I never faw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This by his voice fhould be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy: what! dares the flave
Come hither cover'd with an antick face,
To fleer and scorn at our folemnity?
Now by the stock and honour of my kin,
To ftrike him dead I hold it not a fin.

Cap. Why how now, kinfman, wherefore ftorm you fot
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe:

A villain, that is hither come in fpight,

To fcorn at our folemnity this night.
Cap. Young Romeo, is't?

Tyb. That villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
He bears him like a portly gentleman:
And, to fay truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well govern'd youth.
I would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house, do him difparagement.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him;
It is my will, the which if thou refpect,
Shew a fair prefence, and put off thefe frowns,
An ill befeeming femblance for a fealt.

Tyb. It fits, when fuch a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap. He shall be endur'd.

What, goodman boy-I fay, he fhall.
Am I the mafter here, or you? go to

Go to f

You'll not endure him! God fhall mend my foul,
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will fet cock-a-hoop? you'll be the man ?
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a fhame.

Cap. Go to, go to,

You are a faucy boy-is't fo, indeed ?

This trick may chance to fcathe you ; I know what,
You must contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.

Well faid, my hearts: : -You are a princox, go:
Be quiet, or (more light, more light, for shame)
I'll make you quiet-What? cheerly, my hearts.

B 2

Tybi

Tyb. Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw; but this intrufion fhall, Now feeming fweet, convert to bitter gall.

Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand (12) [To Juliet. This holy fhrine, the gentle fine is this;

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready ftand,

To fmooth that rough touch with a tender kifs. Jul Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion fhews in this;

For faints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kifs.
Rom. Have got faints lips, and holy palmers too?
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they muft ufe in prayer.
Rom. O then, dear faint, let lips do what hands do:

They pray, (grant thou) left faith turn to defpair. Jul. Saints do not move, yet grant for prayers' fake. Rom. Then move not, while my prayers' effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine, the fin is purg'd.

[Kifing her. Jul. Then have my lips the fin that late they took. Rom. Sin from my lips! O trefpafs, fweetly urg'd! Give me my fin again.

Jul You kifs by the book.

Nurfe. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Rom. What is her mother?

Nurfe. Marry, bachelor,

(12) If I profane with my unworthy hand

This holy fhrine, the gentle fin is this,

[To her Nurse.

My lips, two blufhing pilgrims, &c.] All profanations are fuppos'd to be expiated eiter by fome meritorious action, or by fome penance undergone and punishment fubmitted to. So, Romeo would here fay, If I have been profane in the rude touch of my hand, my lips ftand ready, as two bluthing pilgrims, to take off that offence, to atone for it, by a fweet penance. Our Poet therefore must have wrote

the gentle fine is this. So, in Two Gentlemen of Verona.

My penance is to call Lucetta back,
And afk remiffion for my folly paft.

Mr. Warburton.

Her

Her mother is the lady of the house,

And a good lady, and a wife and virtuous,
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talkt withal:
I tell you, he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chink.

Rom. Is the a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt,
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, fo I fear, the more is my unrest.
Cap. Nay, genlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it e'en fo? why, then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honeft gentlemen, good night:
More torches here come on, then let's to bed,
Ah, firrah, by my fay, it waxes late,
I'll to my reft.

[Exeunt. Jul. Come hither, nurfe. What is yon gentleman ? Narfe. The fon and heir of old Tiberio.

Jul. What's he that now is going out of door?
Nurfe. That, as I think, is young Petruchio.

Jul. What's he, that follows here, that would not
Nurfe. I know not.

Jul. Go, afk his name. If he be married,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed..
Nurfe. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,.
The only fon of your great enemy.

T

[dance?

Jul. My only love fprung from my only hate
Too early feen, unknown; and known too late;
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I muft love a loathed enemy.
Nurfe. What's this? What's this?
Jul. A rhyme I learn'd e'en now
Of one I danc'd withal.

Nurse. Anon, anon

[One calls within, Juliet,

Come, let's away, the ftrangers all are gone. [Exeunt.

Enter CHORUS.

Now old Defire doth on his death-bed lie,

And young Affection gapes to be his heir: That fair, for which love groan'd fore, and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

B 3

Now