And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd, That when she dies, with der dies Beauty's Store. Rom. She hath, and in that Sparing makes huge wafte. For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity, She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair, Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. 'Tis the way To call hers (exquifite) in queftion more; Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, [Exeunt. But But now, my lord, what fay you to my Suit? She hath not seen the Change of fourteen years; Par. Younger than fhe are happy mothers made. Such as I love; and you, among the ftore, And like her moft, whofe merit moft fhall be: [Exeunt Capulet and Paris. Ser. Find them out, whose names are written here?— It is written, that the Shoe maker fhould meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fisher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find thofe Perfons, whofe names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I must to the Learned. time, In good Enter Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning, Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for That. 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 prifon, kept without my food, Whipt and tormented: and low. Good-e'en, good fel- Ser. Perhaps, you have learn'd it without book: but, Can you read any thing you fee? Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language, Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read. [He reads the letter. Ignior Martine, and his wife and daughters: Count Anfelm and his beauteous fifters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio, and his lovely neices; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rofaline; Livia; Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. A fair affembly; whither should they come? (2) (2) A fair Aembly: Whither should they come? Serv. Up. Rom. Whither? to Supper? Serv. To our Houfe.] Romeo had read over the Lift of invited Guests; but he must be a Prophet, to know they were invited to Supper. This comes much more aptly from the Servant's Anfwer, than Romeo's Question; and must undoubtedly be placed to him, Mr. Warburton Ser. Up. Rom. Whither? Ser. To fupper, to our house. Rom. Whole house? Ser. My mafter's. Rom. Indeed, I should have askt you that before. Ser. Now I'll tell you without asking. My mafter is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the House of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Reft you merry. [Exit. Ben. At this fame antient Feaft of Capulet's Her felf pois'd with her felf, in either eye; (3) •Let there be weigh'd Tour Lady's Love against fome other Maid.] But the Comparifon was not betwixt the Love that Romeo's Mistress paid him, and the Perfon of any other young Woman: but betwixt Romea's Miftrefs herself, and fome other that should be match'd against her. The Poet therefore must certainly have wrote; Tour Lady-love against some other Maid. So the Comparison ftands right, and fenfibly. SCENE SCENE changes to Capulet's House. La. Cap. Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse. TURSE, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. N° Nurfe. Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve Years 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? Nurfe. Your mother. Jul. Madam, I am here, what is your will? La. Cap. This is the matter Nurfe, give leave a while, we must talk in fecret; Nurfe, come back again, I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our 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. Nurfe. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, (and yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four;) fhe's not fourteen; how long is it now to Lammas-tide? La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days. Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, come Lammas eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen. Sufan and fhe (God reft all chriftian 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 fourteen, that fhall fhe, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years, and she was wean'd; I never fhall 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 Sun 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 tafte the worm-woodon 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 |