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BENVOLIO,

Friends of Romeo.

TYBALT, Kinsman to Capulet.

An old Man, bis Coufin.

Friar LAWRENCE, a Francifcan.

Friar Jous, of the fame Order.

ABRAM, Servant to Montague.
Three Maficians.

PETER.

Lady MONTAGUE, Wife to Montague.
Lady CAPULET, Wife to Capulet.

JULIET, Daughter to Capulet, in love with Romeo.
Nurse to Juliet.

CHORUS,-Page, Boy to Paris, an Officer, an Apothecary.

Citizens of Verona, several Men and Women, Relations to both Houfes; Maskers, Guards, Watch and other Attendants.

The SCENE, in the beginning of the fifth Act, is in Mantua; during all the rest of the Play, at Verona.

PROLOGUE.

TWO boyho'ds, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay cur Scene, From ancient grudge break to new matiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two for:

A pair of flar-croft lovers take their life; Wbsfe mifidventur'd piteous overthrotus

Do, with their death, bury their parents' ftrife.

1

The fearful paffage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their childrens' end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffick of our ftage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,

What bere fhall mifs, our toil fhall firive to mend,

SCENE I.

A STREET.

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Enter Sampson and Gregory, two fervants of Capulet. Sam. REGORY, o' my word, we'll not carry coals 2.

G

Greg. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
of the collar.

Sam. I ftrike quickly, being mov'd.

I.

Sam. A dog of the houfe of Montague moves me. Greg. To move, is-to ftir; and to be valiant, is-to ftand to it; therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'ft away.

Sam. A dog of that houfe fhall move, me to ftand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Greg. That fhews thee a weak flave; for the I weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker veffels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will pufh Montague's men from the

Greg. But thou art not quickly mov'd to strike. wall, and thruft his maids to the wall.

2 Dr. War

1 The story on which this play is founded, is related as a true one in Girolamo de la Corte's Hiftory of Verona, and was well known to the English poets before the time of Shakspeare. burton obferves, that this was a phrase formerly in ufe to fignify the bearing injuries.

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Greg. The quarrel is between our masters, and Down with the Capulets! down with the Most

us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew myself a tyrant. when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads.

Greg. The heads of the maids ?

gies!

Enter old Capulet, in bis gown; and Lady Gapu't. Cap. What noife is this?-Give me my kag (woru 2, ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden- for a fword? heads; take it in what fenfe thou wilt.

Greg. They must take it in fenfe, that feel it. Sam. Me they fhall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh,

Greg. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadft, thou hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the houfe of the Montagues.

Enter Abram and Balthafar.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Greg. How? turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.

Greg. No, marry; I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our fides; them begin.

let

Greg. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they lift.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb
at them; which is a difgrace to them, if they bear it.
Alr. Do you bite your thumb at us, fir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, fir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, fir?
Sam. Is the law on our fide, if I fay-ay?
Greg. No.

Cap. My fword, I fay !-old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Montague, and Lady Montagu. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet,Hold me not, let me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not ftir one foot to feck a foe.

Enter Prince, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious fubjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-ftained steel,-
Will they not hear what ho! you men, you
beafts,-

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains iffuing from your velas,—
On pain of torture, from thofe bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd3 weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved prince.—
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice difturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Caft by their grave befeeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred late:

Sam. No, fir, I do not bite my thumb at you, If ever you difturb our streets again,

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Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the reft depart away:
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;

Sam. If you do, fir, I am for you; I ferve as And, Montague, come you this afternoon,

good a man as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, fir.

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say-better; here comes one of my maf

ter's kinfmen.

Sam. Yes, better, fir.

Abr. You lye.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy fwashing blow. [They fight.

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Ben. Part, fools; put up your fwords; You know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart-
lefs hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword,
Or manage it to part thefe men with me.

To know our further pleasure in this cafe,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince, Cupulet, Et.

Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach?→
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it begin!

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary,
And yours, clofe fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the inftant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He fwung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcom:
While we were interchanging thrufts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and pr
'Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon. O, where is Romeo!-law you tam
to-day?

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate Right glad I am, he was not at this fray.

the word,

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.

Enter three or four Citizens, with clubs.
C. Clubs, hills, and partizans! ftrike! beat
them down!

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worthipp'd fun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
That weftward rooteth from the city' fide-
So early walking did I fee your fon :

To w Teems to have meant to be a bully, to be noifily valiant. fword ufed in way, which was fometimes wielded with both hands. angry weapons.

2 The long fword was the 3 Mis-temper' weapons are

Towar

Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And ftole into the covert of the wood:
1, meafuring his affections by my own,-
That most are bufied when they are moit alone,--
Purfa'd my humour, not purfuing his,
And gladly fhunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs:
But all fo foon as the all-chearing fun
Should in the furtheft eatt begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light fteals home my heavy fon,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night;
Black and portentous muit his humour prove,
Unleis good counfel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him. Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counfellor, Is to himfelf-I will not fay, how trueBut to himself fo fecret and so close, So far from founding and difcovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can ipread his fweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the fame. Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow, We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Ramso, at a distance.

Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, ftep
afide;

I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.
Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy ftay,
To hear true fhrift.-Come, madam, let's away.

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Rom. Out of her favour where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, fee path-ways to his will! Where shall we dine ?-O 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 firit created!
O heavy lightnefs! ferious vanity!
Mil-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!

1 That is, tell me in feriousness.

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is !--
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Doft thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

Rom. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion.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 haft fhown, Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs; Being purg'd, a fire parkling in lover's eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it elfe? a madness moft difcreet, A choaking gall, and a preferving sweet. Farewel, my coz.

[Going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along; An if you leave me fo, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have loft myfelf; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's fome other where. Ben. Tell me in fadnefs', who fhe is you love? Rom. What, fhall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why, no;

But fadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will:O word ill urg'd to one that is fo ill!In fadnefs, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd to near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd. Rom. A right good marks-man !-And he's

fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit, you mifs: fhe'll not be hit

With Cupid's arrow, the hath Dian's wit;
And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow the lives unharm’d.
She will not ftay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor bid the encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold:
O, the is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when he dies, with beauty dies her ftore 2.
Ben. Then the hath fworn, that he will fill
[wafte;

live chafte ?

Rom. She hath, and in that fparing makes huge
For beauty, ftarv'd with her feverity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.

She is too fair, too wife; wifely too fair,
To merit blifs by making me despair :
She hath forfworn to love; and, in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I thould forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers, exquifite, in question more:
Thefe happy malks 3, that kifs fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treature of his eye-fight loft:

2 Mr. Theobald reads, "With her dies beauty's flore."

3 i. e. the masks worn by female fpectators of the play.

Shew

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Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, think,
For men fo old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds fo long.
But now, my lord, what fay you to my fuit?

Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before:
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than the are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early"
made.

The earth hath fwallow'd all my hopes but the,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth 1 :
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her confent is but a part;
An the agree, within her fcope of choice
Lies my confent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accuftom'd fealt,
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 houfe, look to behold this night
Earth treading stars, that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort as do lufty young men feel
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even fuch delight
Among fresh female buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

One pain is leffen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One defperate grief cures with another's languth:
Take thou fome new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poifon of the old will die.

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

Rom. For your broken thin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a ma-mm
Shut up in prifon, kept without my food,
Whipt, and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good
fellow.
[real?
Serv. God gi' good e'en.—I pray, fir, can you
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without back:
But I pray, can you read any thing you fee?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Serv. Ye fay honeftly; Reft you merry!
Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.

[He reads the lift.}

"Signior Martino, and his wife, and daughters; County Aufelm, and his beauteous filters; 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 mece Rofaline; L2; "Signior Valentio, and his coufin Tybalt; Luce, and the lively Helena."

A fair affembly; Whither should they come ?
Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither to fupper?
Serv. To our house.

Rom. Whofe houfe?
Serv. My mafter's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Serv. Now I'll tell you without alking: My mafter is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the houfe of Montagues, I pray, come and crufh a cup of wine 2. Reft you merry.

Ben. At this fame ancient feaft of Capulet's And like her moft, whofe merit most shall be: Sups the fair Rofaline, whom thou fe lov'ft; Such, amongst view of many, mine being one, With all the admired beauties of Verona: May ftand in number, though in reckoning none. Go thither; and, with untainted eye, Come, go with me :-Go, firrah, trudge about Compare her face with some that I shall show," Through fair Verona, find those persons out, And I will make thee think thy fwan a crow. Whofe names are written there; and to them say, Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye My houfe and welcome on their pleasure stay. Maintains fuch falfhood, then turn tears to fires' [Exeunt Capulet and Paris. And these,—who, often drown'd,could neverdi,— Serv. Find them out, whofe names are written Transparent hereticks, be burnt for liars! here? It is written-that the fhoemaker fhould One fairer than my love! the all-feeing fun meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his latt,Ne'er faw her match, fince first the world began. the fifher 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 muft to the learned ::--- -In good time.

Enter Benvolio, and Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning.

Ben. Tut! tut! you faw her fair, none elie boug
Herfelf pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love 3 against fome other maid
That I will fhew you, fhining at this feast,
And she shall scant fhew well, that now thews brit.
Rom. I'll go along, no fuch fight to be shewn,
But to rejoice in fplendor of mine own. [Exant.

This is a Gallicifm: Fille de terre is the French phrafe for an heiress. 2 A cant expre which feems to have been once common among low people. We fill lay-to crack a bottle. 3 ar lady's love is the love you bear to your lady, which in our language is commonly used for the lady heifelf.

SCENE

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A Room in Capulet's Houfe.

Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurfe.

La. Cap. Nurfe,,where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurfe. 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?
Nurfe. Your mother.

Jul. Madam, I am here; what is your will?
La. Cap. This is the matter: Nurse, give leave
awhile,

We must talk in fecret.-Nurfe, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counfel.
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,

I

And yet, to my teen 1 be it spoken, I have but four,
She's not fourteen: How long is't now to Lam-

mas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days.
Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night, fhall the be fourteen.
Sufan and the,-God reft all Chriftian fouls!-
Were of an age.-Well, Sufan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I faid,
On Lammas-eve at night fhall fhe be fourteen;
That shall she, 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 of the year, upon that day :
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting i' 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. [trow,
Shake, quoth the dove-houfe: 'twas no need, 1
To bid me trudge.

And fince that time it is eleven years:

thy peace.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold
[laugh,
Nurfe. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot chufe but
To think it fhould leave crying, and say—' Ay :'
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A par'lous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea,' quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou com'ft to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it ftinted, and faid--Ay.
Jul. And ftint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, fay I.
Nurfe. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to
his grace!

Thou waft the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to fee thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of:-Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How ftands your difpofition to he married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurfe. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I'd fay, thou hadft fuck'd wisdom from thy teat.
La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now ;-
younger than you,

Here in Verona, ladies of efteem,
Are made already mothers: by my count,
these years
I was your mother much upon
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;--
The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.

Nurfe. A man, young lady! lady, fuch a man,
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower
Nurfe. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower
La. Cap. What fay you? can you love the gen
tleman ?

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 feveral lineament,
And fee how one another lends content;
And what obfcur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin 3 of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fifh lives in the fea; and 'tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many's eyes doth fhare the glory,

For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, That in gold clafps locks in the golden ftory.

She could have run and waddled 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 thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou haft more

• wit;

Wilt thou not, Jule ? and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and faid- Ay :'
To fee now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I fhould live a thousand years,
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule?'
quoth he:

And, pretty fool, it stinted 2, and said— Ay.’

So fhall you share all that he doth pofieis,
By having him, making yourfelf no lefs.
Nurfe. No lefs? nay, bigger; women grow by

men.

[love i La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris ful. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your confent gives frength to make it fly. Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, fupper ferv'd up, you call'd, my young lady afk'd for, the nurfe curs'd in the pantry, and every thing in ex tremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you follow ftraight.

21. e. it stopped, it forbore from weeping. Ii. e. to my forrow. cient books were always printed in the margin.

3 The comments on an

La. Cap

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