If the agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my confent, and fair according voice:
This night, I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love, and you among the store,

One more (most welcome!) makes my number more.
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 fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

And like her moft, whofe merit most shall be:
Which on more view of many, mine being one,
May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.
Come go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona, find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

[Exeunt Cap. and Par.

Ser. Find them out whofe names are written here? It is written, that the fhooe-maker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fifher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am sent to find those persons 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 leffen'd by another's anguish;

Turn giddy and be help'd by backward turning,
One defperate grief cure with another's languish:

Take

Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken shin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad man is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented; and--- Good-e'en, good fellow. [To the fer. Ser. God gi' good-e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.

Ser. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book: but, I pray,

can you read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

Ser. Ye fay honestly, reft you merry.

Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.

[He reads the letter.]

SIgnior Martino, and his wife and daughters: Count Anfelm

and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signor Placentino, and his lovely neices; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rofaline, Livio, fignior Valento, and his coufin Tibalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.

A fair affembly; whither fhould they come?

Ser. Up.

Rom. Whither? to fupper?

Ser. To our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Ser. My master's.

Rom. Indeed I fhould have askt you that before.

great

Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My mafter is the rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Reft you merry. [Exit. Ben.

Ben. At this fame ancient feast of Capulets,
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st;
With all th' 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 fwan a crow.
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains fuch falfehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these who often drown'd could never die,
Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars.
One fairer than my love! th' all-seeing fun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut, tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Her self pois'd with her self in either eye:
But in those chrystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid

That I will shew you, fhining at this feast,
And she will shew fcant well, that now fhews best.
Rom. I'll go along, no such fight to be shewn,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

SCENE IV.

Capulet's House.

Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

URSE, where's my daughter? call her forth

La. Cap. N
NUR

to me.

Nurse. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve years old) I bad her come; what lamb, what lady-bird, god forbid·

this girl what, Juliet?

where's

Enter

Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now, who calls?

Nurfe. 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 secret; nurse come back again, I have remembred me, thou shalt hear my counsel: thou know'ft my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurfe. Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

C

Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, and yet to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four, fhe's not four-teen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide ?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas‹ eve at night shall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and fhe (God rest all christian fouls) were of an age. Well, Sufan is with God, fhe was too good for me. But as I faid, on Lammas-eve at night ' shall she be fourreen, that shall she, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and fhe was wean'd, 'I never shall forget it, of all the days in the year, upon that day; for I had then laid worm-wood to 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 taste the worm-wood on the nipple of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to fee it teachy, 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 stand alone, nay, by th' rood fhe could have run, and 'wadled 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, doft thou fall upon VOL. VI. Kk.

thy

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 see now how a jest shall come • about. I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never 'fhould 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.

† Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to think it fhould 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'st upon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; wilt thou not, Julé? it stinted, and said, ay.

Jul. And ftint thee too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

Nurse. Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his grace, Thou waft the prettiest babe that e'er I nurst.

An I might live to see thee married once,

I have my wish.

d

La. Cap. And that same marriage is the very theam I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,

How ftands your difpofition to be married?

e

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour? were not I thine only nurse,

I'd say thou hadst 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

That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief,
The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady, lady, fuch a man
As all the world Why he's a man of wax.

This fpeech and tautology is not in the first edition. d Marry, that marry is the very theam.

• hour.

La.