The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

*** Scanner’s Notes: What this is and isn’t. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare’s first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text. The elongated S’s have been changed to small s’s and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the
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Scanner’s Notes: What this is and isn’t. This was taken from a copy of Shakespeare’s first folio and it is as close as I can come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S’s have been changed to small s’s and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare’s First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo’s and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don’t like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer’s habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn’t thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is. The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions’ best pages.

If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best etext possible. My email address for right now are and I hope that you enjoy this.

David Reed

The Tragedie of Romeo and Juliet

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers, of the House of

Sampson. Gregory: A my word wee’l not carry coales

Greg. No, for then we should be Colliars

Samp. I mean, if we be in choller, wee’l draw

Greg. I, While you liue, draw your necke out o’th Collar

Samp. I strike quickly, being mou’d

Greg. But thou art not quickly mou’d to strike

Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague, moues me

Greg. To moue, is to stir: and to be valiant, is to stand: Therefore, if thou art mou’d, thou runst away

Samp. A dogge of that house shall moue me to stand. I will take the wall of any Man or Maid of Mountagues

Greg. That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakest goes to the wall

Samp. True, and therefore women being the weaker Vessels, are euer thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Mountagues men from the wall, and thrust his Maides to the wall

Greg. The Quarrell is betweene our Masters, and vs their men

Samp. ‘Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant: when I haue fought with the men, I will bee ciuill with the Maids, and cut off their heads

Greg. The heads of the Maids?
Sam. I, the heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what sence thou wilt

Greg. They must take it sence, that feele it

Samp. Me they shall feele while I am able to stand: And ’tis knowne I am a pretty peece of flesh

Greg. ‘Tis well thou art not Fish: If thou had’st, thou had’st beene poore Iohn. Draw thy Toole, here comes of the House of the Mountagues.
Enter two other Seruingmen.

Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I wil back thee Gre. How? Turne thy backe, and run

Sam. Feare me not

Gre. No marry: I feare thee

Sam. Let vs take the Law of our sides: let them begin

Gr. I wil frown as I passe by, & let the[m] take it as they list Sam. Nay, as they dare. I wil bite my Thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they beare it

Abra. Do you bite your Thumbe at vs sir? Samp. I do bite my Thumbe, sir

Abra. Do you bite your Thumb at vs, sir? Sam. Is the Law of our side, if I say I? Gre. No

Sam. No sir, I do not bite my Thumbe at you sir: but I bite my Thumbe sir

Greg. Do you quarrell sir?
Abra. Quarrell sir? no sir

Sam. If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a man as you Abra. No better?
Samp. Well sir.
Enter Benuolio.

Gr. Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen

Samp. Yes, better

Abra. You Lye

Samp. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.

They Fight.

Ben. Part Fooles, put vp your Swords, you know not what you do.
Enter Tibalt.

Tyb. What art thou drawne, among these heartlesse Hindes? Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death

Ben. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword, Or manage it to part these men with me

Tyb. What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee: Haue at thee Coward.


Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs.

Offi. Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them down Downe with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife.

Cap. What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho

Wife. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword? Cap. My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come, And flourishes his Blade in spight of me. Enter old Mountague, & his wife.

Moun. Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go 2.Wife. Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe. Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine.

Prince. Rebellious Subiects, Enemies to peace, Prophaners of this Neighbor-stained Steele, Will they not heare? What hoe, you Men, you Beasts, That quench the fire of your pernitious Rage, With purple Fountaines issuing from your Veines: On paine of Torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper’d Weapons to the ground, And heare the Sentence of your mooued Prince. Three ciuill Broyles, bred of an Ayery word, By thee old Capulet and Mountague,
Haue thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets, And made Verona’s ancient Citizens
Cast by their Graue beseeming Ornaments, To wield old Partizans, in hands as old, Cankred with peace, to part your Cankred hate, If euer you disturbe our streets againe, Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away:
You Capulet shall goe along with me, And Mountague come you this afternoone,
To know our Fathers pleasure in this case: To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place: Once more on paine of death, all men depart.


Moun. Who set this auncient quarrell new abroach? Speake Nephew, were you by, when it began: Ben. Heere were the seruants of your aduersarie, And yours close fighting ere I did approach, I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tibalt, with his sword prepar’d, Which as he breath’d defiance to my eares, He swong about his head, and cut the windes, Who nothing hurt withall, hist him in scorne. While we were enterchanging thrusts and blowes, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part

Wife. O where is Romeo, saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray

Ben. Madam, an houre before the worshipt Sun Peer’d forth the golden window of the East, A troubled mind draue me to walke abroad, Where vnderneath the groue of Sycamour,
That West-ward rooteth from this City side: So earely walking did I see your Sonne:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, And stole into the couert of the wood,
I measuring his affections by my owne, Which then most sought, wher most might not be found: Being one too many by my weary selfe,
Pursued my Honour, not pursuing his And gladly shunn’d, who gladly fled from me

Mount. Many a morning hath he there beene seene, With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deaw, Adding to cloudes, more cloudes with his deepe sighes, But all so soone as the all-cheering Sunne, Should in the farthest East begin to draw The shadie Curtaines from Auroras bed,
Away from light steales home my heauy Sonne, And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe, Shuts vp his windowes, lockes faire day-light out, And makes himselfe an artificiall night: Blacke and portendous must this humour proue, Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue

Ben. My Noble Vncle doe you know the cause? Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him

Ben. Haue you importun’d him by any meanes? Moun. Both by my selfe and many other Friends, But he his owne affections counseller,
Is to himselfe (I will not say how true) But to himselfe so secret and so close,
So farre from sounding and discouery, As is the bud bit with an enuious worme, Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre, Or dedicate his beauty to the same.
Could we but learne from whence his sorrowes grow, We would as willingly giue cure, as know. Enter Romeo.

Ben. See where he comes, so please you step aside, Ile know his greeuance, or be much denide

Moun. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To heare true shrift. Come Madam let’s away.


Ben. Good morrow Cousin

Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new strooke nine

Rom. Aye me, sad houres seeme long: Was that my Father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was: what sadnes lengthens Romeo’s houres? Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes them short Ben. In loue

Romeo. Out

Ben. Of loue

Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in loue

Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proofe

Rom. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes, see path-wayes to his will: Where shall we dine? O me: what fray was heere? Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all: Heere’s much to do with hate, but more with loue: Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, O any thing, of nothing first created:
O heauie lightnesse, serious vanity, Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes,
Feather of lead, bright smoake, cold fire, sicke health, Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this. Doest thou not laugh?
Ben. No Coze, I rather weepe

Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good hearts oppression

Rom. Why such is loues transgression. Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne, Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne. Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes, Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes, Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares, What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet, A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet:
Farewell my Coze

Ben. Soft I will goe along.
And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong

Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here, This is not Romeo, hee’s some other where

Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue? Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee?
Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who

Rom. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will: A word ill vrg’d to one that is so ill:
In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman

Ben. I aym’d so neare, when I suppos’d you lou’d

Rom. A right good marke man, and shee’s faire I loue Ben. A right faire marke, faire Coze, is soonest hit

Rom. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit:
And in strong proofe of chastity well arm’d: From loues weake childish Bow, she liues vncharm’d. Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes, Nor bid th’ encounter of assailing eyes. Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold: O she is rich in beautie, onely poore,
That when she dies, with beautie dies her store

Ben. Then she hath sworne, that she will still liue chast? Rom. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast? For beauty steru’d with her seuerity,
Cuts beauty off from all posteritie. She is too faire, too wise: wisely too faire, To merit blisse by making me dispaire:
She hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now

Ben. Be rul’d by me, forget to thinke of her

Rom. O teach me how I should forget to thinke

Ben. By giuing liberty vnto thine eyes, Examine other beauties,
Ro. ‘Tis the way to cal hers (exquisit) in question more, These happy maskes that kisse faire Ladies browes, Being blacke, puts vs in mind they hide the faire: He that is strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost: Shew me a Mistresse that is passing faire, What doth her beauty serue but as a note, Where I may read who past that passing faire. Farewell thou can’st not teach me to forget, Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.


Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.

Capu. Mountague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike, and ’tis not hard I thinke, For men so old as wee, to keepe the peace

Par. Of Honourable reckoning are you both, And pittie ’tis you liu’d at ods so long: But now my Lord, what say you to my sute? Capu. But saying ore what I haue said before, My Child is yet a stranger in the world, Shee hath not seene the change of fourteene yeares, Let two more Summers wither in their pride, Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a Bride

Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made

Capu. And too soone mar’d are those so early made: Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, Shee’s the hopefull Lady of my earth:
But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent, is but a part,
And shee agree, within her scope of choise, Lyes my consent, and faire according voice: This night I hold an old accustom’d Feast, Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest,
Such as I loue, and you among the store, One more, most welcome makes my number more: At my poore house, looke to behold this night, Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light, Such comfort as do lusty young men feele, When well apparrel’d Aprill on the heele Of limping Winter treads, euen such delight Among fresh Fennell buds shall you this night Inherit at my house: heare all, all see: And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckning none. Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about, Through faire Verona, find those persons out, Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay. Enter.

Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Heere it is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time.
Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.

Ben. Tut man, one fire burnes out anothers burning, One paine is lesned by anothers anguish: Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning: One desparate greefe, cures with anothers languish: Take thou some new infection to the eye, And the rank poyson of the old wil die

Rom. Your Plantan leafe 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 then a mad man is: Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode, Whipt and tormented: and Godden good fellow, Ser. Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read? Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie

Ser. Perhaps you haue learn’d it without booke: But I pray can you read any thing you see? Rom. I, if I know the Letters and the Language

Ser. Ye say honestly, rest you merry

Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.

He reades the Letter.

Seigneur Martino, and his wife and daughter: County Anselme and his beautious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his brother Valentine: mine vncle Capulet his wife and daughters: my faire Neece Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, & his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio and the liuely Helena. A faire assembly, whither should they come? Ser. Vp

Rom. Whither? to supper?
Ser. To our house

Rom. Whose house?
Ser. My Maisters

Rom. Indeed I should haue askt you that before

Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

Ben. At this same auncient Feast of Capulets Sups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues: With all the admired Beauties of Verona, Go thither and with vnattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow

Rom. When the deuout religion of mine eye Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire: And these who often drown’d could neuer die, Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers. One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing Sun Nere saw her match, since first the world begun

Ben. Tut, you saw her faire, none else being by, Herselfe poys’d with herselfe in either eye: But in that Christall scales, let there be waid, Your Ladies loue against some other Maid That I will show you, shining at this Feast, And she shew scant shell, well, that now shewes best

Rom. Ile goe along, no such sight to be showne, But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne. Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse.

Wife. Nurse wher’s my daughter? call her forth to me

Nurse. Now by my Maidenhead, at twelue yeare old I bad her come, what Lamb: what Ladi-bird, God forbid, Where’s this Girle? what Iuliet?
Enter Iuliet

Iuliet. How now, who calls?
Nur. Your Mother

Iuliet. Madam I am heere, what is your will? Wife. This is the matter: Nurse giue me leaue awhile, we must talke in secret. Nurse come backe againe, I haue remembred me, thou’se heare our counsell. Thou knowest my daughter’s of a prety age

Nurse. Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre

Wife. Shee’s not fourteene

Nurse. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth, And yet to my teene be it spoken,
I haue but foure, shee’s not fourteene. How long is it now to Lammas tide?
Wife. A fortnight and odde dayes

Nurse. Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare come Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene. Susan & she, God rest all Christian soules, were of an age. Well Susan is with God, she was too good for me. But as I said, on Lamas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall she marie, I remember it well. ‘Tis since the Earth-quake now eleuen yeares, and she was wean’d I neuer shall forget it, of all the daies of the yeare, vpon that day: for I had then laid Worme-wood to my Dug sitting in the Sunne vnder the Douehouse wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua, nay I doe beare a braine. But as I said, when it did tast the Worme-wood on the nipple of my Dugge, and felt it bitter, pretty foole, to see it teachie, and fall out with the Dugge, Shake quoth the Doue-house, ’twas no neede I trow to bid mee trudge, and since that time it is a eleuen yeares, for then she could stand alone, nay bi’th’ roode she could haue runne, & wadled all about: for euen the day before she broke her brow, & then my Husband God be with his soule, a was a merrie man, tooke vp the Child, yea quoth hee, doest thou fall vpon thy face? thou wilt fall backeward when thou hast more wit, wilt thou not Iule? And by my holy-dam, the pretty wretch lefte crying, & said I: to see now how a Iest shall come about. I warrant, & I shall liue a thousand yeares, I neuer should forget it: wilt thou not Iule quoth he? and pretty foole it stinted, and said I

Old La. Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace

Nurse. Yes Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to thinke it should leaue crying, & say I: and yet I warrant it had vpon it brow, a bumpe as big as a young Cockrels stone? A perilous knock, and it cryed bitterly. Yea quoth my husband, fall’st vpon thy face, thou wilt fall backward when thou commest to age: wilt thou not Iule? It stinted: and said I

Iule. And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I

Nur. Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace thou wast the prettiest Babe that ere I nurst, and I might liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish

Old La. Marry that marry is the very theame I came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet, How stands your disposition to be Married? Iuli. It is an houre that I dreame not of

Nur. An houre, were I not thine onely Nurse, I would say thou had’st suckt wisedome from thy teat

Old La. Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then you Heere in Verona, Ladies of esteeme,
Are made already Mothers. By my count I was your Mother, much vpon these yeares That you are now a Maide, thus then in briefe: The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue

Nurse. A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as all the world. Why hee’s a man of waxe

Old La. Veronas Summer hath not such a flower

Nurse. Nay hee’s a flower, infaith a very flower

Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our Feast, Read ore the volume of young Paris face, And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen: Examine euery seuerall liniament,
And see how one another lends content: And what obscur’d in this faire volume lies, Find written in the Margent of his eyes. This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer, To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer.
The fish liues in the Sea, and ’tis much pride For faire without, the faire within to hide: That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie, That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie: So shall you share all that he doth possesse, By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse

Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men

Old La. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue? Iuli. Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue. But no more deepe will I endart mine eye, Then your consent giues strength to make flye. Enter a Seruing man.

Ser. Madam, the guests are come, supper seru’d vp, you cal’d, my young Lady askt for, the Nurse cur’st in the Pantery, and euery thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.

Mo. We follow thee, Iuliet, the Countie staies

Nurse. Goe Gyrle, seeke happie nights to happy daies.


Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers, Torch-bearers.

Rom. What shall this spech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without Apologie?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie, Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe, Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath,
Skaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper. But let them measure vs by what they will, Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone

Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heauy I will beare the light

Mer. Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance

Rom. Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue

Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings, And soare with them aboue a common bound

Rom. I am too sore enpearced with his shaft, To soare with his light feathers, and to bound: I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe,
Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke

Hora. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue, Too great oppression for a tender thing

Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne

Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue, Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe, Giue me a Case to put my visage in,
A Visor for a Visor, what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities: Here are the Beetle-browes shall blush for me

Ben. Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in, But euery man betake him to his legs

Rom. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles: For I am prouerb’d with a Grandsier Phrase, Ile be a Candle-holder and looke on,
The game was nere so faire, and I am done

Mer. Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word, If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire. Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest Vp to the eares, come we burne day-light ho

Rom. Nay that’s not so

Mer. I meane sir I delay,
We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day; Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits Fiue times in that, ere once in our fiue wits

Rom. And we meane well in going to this Maske, But ’tis no wit to go

Mer. Why may one aske?
Rom. I dreampt a dreame to night

Mer. And so did I

Rom. Well what was yours?
Mer. That dreamers often lye

Ro. In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true

Mer. O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you: She is the Fairies Midwife, & she comes in shape no bigger then Agat-stone, on the fore-finger of an Alderman, drawne with a teeme of little Atomies, ouer mens noses as they lie asleepe: her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners legs: the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers, her Traces of the smallest Spiders web, her coullers of the Moonshines watry Beames, her Whip of Crickets bone, the Lash of Philome, her Waggoner, a small gray-coated Gnat, not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme, prickt from the Lazie-finger of a man. Her Chariot is an emptie Haselnut, made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub, time out a mind, the Faries Coach-makers: & in this state she gallops night by night, through Louers braines: and then they dreame of Loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame on Cursies strait: ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreampt on Fees, ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame, which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their breath with Sweet meats tainted are. Sometime she gallops ore a Courtiers nose, & then dreames he of smelling out a sute: & somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale, tickling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe, then he dreames of another Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers necke, & then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats, of Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades: Of Healths fiue Fadome deepe, and then anon drums in his eares, at which he startes and wakes; and being thus frighted, sweares a prayer or two & sleepes againe: this is that very Mab that plats the manes of Horses in the night: & bakes the Elklocks in foule sluttish haires, which once vntangled, much misfortune bodes,
This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs, That presses them, and learnes them first to beare, Making them women of good carriage:
This is she

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio peace,
Thou talk’st of nothing

Mer. True, I talke of dreames:
Which are the children of an idle braine, Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie,
Which is as thin of substance as the ayre, And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes Euen now the frozen bosome of the North: And being anger’d, puffes away from thence, Turning his side to the dew dropping South

Ben. This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues, Supper is done, and we shall come too late

Rom. I feare too early, for my mind misgiues, Some consequence yet hanging in the starres, Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date
With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme Of a despised life clos’d in my brest:
By some vile forfeit of vntimely death. But he that hath the stirrage of my course, Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen

Ben. Strike Drum.

They march about the Stage, and Seruingmen come forth with their napkins.

Enter Seruant.

Ser. Where’s Potpan, that he helpes not to take away? He shift a Trencher? he scrape a Trencher? 1. When good manners, shall lie in one or two mens hands, and they vnwasht too, ’tis a foule thing

Ser. Away with the Ioynstooles, remoue the Courtcubbord, looke to the Plate: good thou, saue mee a piece of Marchpane, and as thou louest me, let the Porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthonie and Potpan

2. I Boy readie

Ser. You are lookt for, and cal’d for, askt for, & sought for, in the great Chamber

1. We cannot be here and there too, chearly Boyes, Be brisk awhile, and the longer liuer take all.


Enter all the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.

1. Capu. Welcome Gentlemen,
Ladies that haue their toes
Vnplagu’d with Cornes, will walke about with you: Ah my Mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She Ile sweare hath Cornes: am I come neare ye now? Welcome Gentlemen, I haue seene the day
That I haue worne a Visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a faire Ladies eare: Such as would please: ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone, You are welcome Gentlemen, come Musitians play:

Musicke plaies: and they dance.

A Hall, Hall, giue roome, and foote it Girles, More light you knaues, and turne the Tables vp: And quench the fire, the Roome is growne too hot. Ah sirrah, this vnlookt for sport comes well: Nay sit, nay sit, good Cozin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dauncing daies: How long ‘ist now since last your selfe and I Were in a Maske?
2. Capu. Berlady thirty yeares

1. Capu. What man: ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much, ‘Tis since the Nuptiall of Lucentio,
Come Pentycost as quickely as it will, Some fiue and twenty yeares, and then we Maskt

2. Cap. ‘Tis more, ’tis more, his Sonne is elder sir: His Sonne is thirty

3. Cap. Will you tell me that?
His Sonne was but a Ward two yeares agoe

Rom. What Ladie is that which doth inrich the hand Of yonder Knight?
Ser. I know not sir

Rom. O she doth teach the Torches to burne bright: It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night, As a rich Iewel in an aethiops eare:
Beauty too rich for vse, for earth too deare: So shewes a Snowy Doue trooping with Crowes, As yonder Lady ore her fellowes showes;
The measure done, Ile watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart loue till now, forsweare it sight, For I neuer saw true Beauty till this night

Tib. This by his voice, should be a Mountague. Fetch me my Rapier Boy, what dares the slaue Come hither couer’d with an antique face, To fleere and scorne at our Solemnitie?
Now by the stocke and Honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin

Cap. Why how now kinsman,
Wherefore storme you so?
Tib. Vncle this is a Mountague, our foe: A Villaine that is hither come in spight, To scorne at our Solemnitie this night

Cap. Young Romeo is it?
Tib. ‘Tis he, that Villaine Romeo

Cap. Content thee gentle Coz, let him alone, A beares him like a portly Gentleman:
And to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a vertuous and well gouern’d youth: I would not for the wealth of all the towne, Here in my house do him disparagement:
Therfore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will, the which if thou respect, Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes, An ill beseeming semblance for a Feast
Tib. It fits when such a Villaine is a guest, Ile not endure him

Cap. He shall be endur’d.
What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too, Am I the Maister here or you? go too,
Youle not endure him, God shall mend my soule, Youle make a Mutinie among the Guests:
You will set cocke a hoope, youle be the man

Tib. Why Vncle, ’tis a shame

Cap. Go too, go too,
You are a sawcy Boy, ‘ist so indeed? This tricke may chance to scath you, I know what, You must contrary me, marry ’tis time.
Well said my hearts, you are a Princox, goe, Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame, Ile make you quiet. What, chearely my hearts

Tib. Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall. Enter.

Rom. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips to blushing Pilgrims did ready stand, To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kisse

Iul. Good Pilgrime,
You do wrong your hand too much.
Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this, For Saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch, And palme to palme, is holy Palmers kisse

Rom. Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too? Iul. I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in prayer

Rom. O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do, They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire

Iul. Saints do not moue,
Though grant for prayers sake

Rom. Then moue not while my prayers effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d

Iul. Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke

Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespasse sweetly vrg’d: Giue me my sin againe

Iul. You kisse by’th’ booke

Nur. Madam your Mother craues a word with you

Rom. What is her Mother?
Nurs. Marrie Batcheler,
Her Mother is the Lady of the house, And a good Lady, and a wise, and Vertuous, I Nur’st her Daughter that you talkt withall: I tell you, he that can lay hold of her, Shall haue the chincks

Rom. Is she a Capulet?
O deare account! My life is my foes debt

Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best

Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest

Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone, We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards: Is it e’ne so? why then I thanke you all. I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night: More Torches here: come on, then let’s to bed. Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest

Iuli. Come hither Nurse,
What is yond Gentleman:
Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio

Iuli. What’s he that now is going out of doore? Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio

Iul. What’s he that follows here that would not dance? Nur. I know not

Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married, My graue is like to be my wedded bed

Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague, The onely Sonne of your great Enemie

Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate, Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late, Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me,
That I must loue a loathed Enemie

Nur. What’s this? whats this?
Iul. A rime, I learne euen now
Of one I dan’st withall.

One cals within, Iuliet.

Nur. Anon, anon:
Come let’s away, the strangers all are gone.


Chorus. Now old desire doth in his death bed lie, And yong affection gapes to be his Heire, That faire, for which Loue gron’d for and would die, With tender Iuliet matcht, is now not faire. Now Romeo is beloued, and Loues againe,
A like bewitched by the charme of lookes: But to his foe suppos’d he must complaine, And she steale Loues sweet bait from fearefull hookes: Being held a foe, he may not haue accesse To breath such vowes as Louers vse to sweare, And she as much in Loue, her meanes much lesse, To meete her new Beloued any where:
But passion lends them Power, time, meanes to meete, Temp’ring extremities with extreame sweete. Enter Romeo alone.

Rom. Can I goe forward when my heart is here? Turne backe dull earth, and find thy Center out. Enter Benuolio, with Mercutio.

Ben. Romeo, my Cozen Romeo, Romeo

Merc. He is wise,
And on my life hath stolne him home to bed

Ben. He ran this way and leapt this Orchard wall. Call good Mercutio:
Nay, Ile coniure too

Mer. Romeo, Humours, Madman, Passion, Louer, Appeare thou in the likenesse of a sigh, Speake but one time, and I am satisfied: Cry me but ay me, Prouant, but Loue and day, Speake to my goship Venus one faire word, One Nickname for her purblind Sonne and her, Young Abraham Cupid he that shot so true, When King Cophetua lou’d the begger Maid, He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not, The Ape is dead, I must coniure him,
I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes, By her High forehead, and her Scarlet lip, By her Fine foote, Straight leg, and Quiuering thigh, And the Demeanes, that there Adiacent lie, That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs

Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him

Mer. This cannot anger him, t’would anger him To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle, Of some strange nature, letting it stand Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe, That were some spight.
My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name, I coniure onely but to raise vp him

Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees To be consorted with the Humerous night: Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke

Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree,
And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite, As Maides cal Medlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that she were, O that she were
An open, or thou a Poprin Peare,
Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe, Come shall we go?
Ben. Go then, for ’tis in vaine to seeke him here That meanes not to be found.


Rom. He ieasts at Scarres that neuer felt a wound, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone, Who is already sicke and pale with griefe, That thou her Maid art far more faire then she: Be not her Maid since she is enuious,
Her Vestal liuery is but sicke and greene, And none but fooles do weare it, cast it off: It is my Lady, O it is my Loue, O that she knew she were, She speakes, yet she sayes nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answere it:
I am too bold ’tis not to me she speakes: Two of the fairest starres in all the Heauen, Hauing some businesse do entreat her eyes, To twinckle in their Spheres till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, The brightnesse of her cheeke would shame those starres, As day-light doth a Lampe, her eye in heauen, Would through the ayrie Region streame so bright, That Birds would sing, and thinke it were not night: See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand. O that I were a Gloue vpon that hand,
That I might touch that cheeke

Iul. Ay me

Rom. She speakes.
Oh speake againe bright Angell, for thou art As glorious to this night being ore my head, As is a winged messenger of heauen
Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the ayre

Iul. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father and refuse thy name:
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne to my Loue, And Ile no longer be a Capulet

Rom. Shall I heare more, or shall I speake at this? Iu. ‘Tis but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague, What’s Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, O be some other name Belonging to a man.
What? in a names that which we call a Rose, By any other word would smell as sweete, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cal’d, Retaine that deare perfection which he owes, Without that title Romeo, doffe thy name, And for thy name which is no part of thee, Take all my selfe

Rom. I take thee at thy word:
Call me but Loue, and Ile be new baptiz’d, Hence foorth I neuer will be Romeo

Iuli. What man art thou, that thus bescreen’d in night So stumblest on my counsell?
Rom. By a name,
I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name deare Saint, is hatefull to my selfe, Because it is an Enemy to thee,
Had I it written, I would teare the word

Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunke a hundred words Of thy tongues vttering, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Rom. Neither faire Maid, if either thee dislike

Iul. How cam’st thou hither.
Tell me, and wherefore?
The Orchard walls are high, and hard to climbe, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here,
Rom. With Loues light wings
Did I ore-perch these Walls,
For stony limits cannot hold Loue out, And what Loue can do, that dares Loue attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me

Iul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee

Rom. Alacke there lies more perill in thine eye, Then twenty of their Swords, looke thou but sweete, And I am proofe against their enmity

Iul. I would not for the world they saw thee here

Rom. I haue nights cloake to hide me from their eyes And but thou loue me, let them finde me here, My life were better ended by their hate, Then death proroged wanting of thy Loue

Iul. By whose direction found’st thou out this place? Rom. By Loue that first did prompt me to enquire, He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes, I am no Pylot, yet wert thou as far
As that vast-shore-washet with the farthest Sea, I should aduenture for such Marchandise

Iul. Thou knowest the maske of night is on my face, Else would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeke, For that which thou hast heard me speake to night, Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie What I haue spoke, but farewell Complement, Doest thou Loue? I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word, yet if thou swear’st, Thou maiest proue false: at Louers periuries They say Ioue laught, oh gentle Romeo,
If thou dost Loue, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly wonne, Ile frowne and be peruerse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt wooe: But else not for the world. In truth faire Mountague I am too fond:
And therefore thou maiest thinke my behauiour light, But trust me Gentleman, Ile proue more true, Then those that haue coying to be strange, I should haue beene more strange, I must confesse, But that thou ouer heard’st ere I was ware My true Loues passion, therefore pardon me, And not impute this yeelding to light Loue, Which the darke night hath so discouered

Rom. Lady, by yonder Moone I vow,
That tips with siluer all these Fruite tree tops

Iul. O sweare not by the Moone, th’ inconstant Moone, That monethly changes in her circled Orbe, Least that thy Loue proue likewise variable

Rom. What shall I sweare by?
Iul. Do not sweare at all:
Or if thou wilt sweare by thy gratious selfe, Which is the God of my Idolatry,
And Ile beleeue thee

Rom. If my hearts deare loue

Iuli. Well do not sweare, although I ioy in thee: I haue no ioy of this contract to night, It is too rash, too vnaduis’d, too sudden, Too like the lightning which doth cease to be Ere, one can say, it lightens, Sweete good night: This bud of Loue by Summers ripening breath, May proue a beautious Flower when next we meete: Goodnight, goodnight, as sweete repose and rest, Come to thy heart, as that within my brest

Rom. O wilt thou leaue me so vnsatisfied? Iuli. What satisfaction can’st thou haue to night? Ro. Th’ exchange of thy Loues faithfull vow for mine

Iul. I gaue thee mine before thou did’st request it: And yet I would it were to giue againe

Rom. Would’st thou withdraw it,
For what purpose Loue?
Iul. But to be franke and giue it thee againe, And yet I wish but for the thing I haue, My bounty is as boundlesse as the Sea,
My Loue as deepe, the more I giue to thee The more I haue, for both are Infinite:
I heare some noyse within deare Loue adue:

Cals within.

Anon good Nurse, sweet Mountague be true: Stay but a little, I will come againe

Rom. O blessed blessed night, I am afear’d Being in night, all this is but a dreame, Too flattering sweet to be substantiall

Iul. Three words deare Romeo,
And goodnight indeed,
If that thy bent of Loue be Honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow, By one that Ile procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt performe the right, And all my Fortunes at thy foote Ile lay, And follow thee my Lord throughout the world

Within: Madam.
I come, anon: but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee
Within: Madam.
(By and by I come)
To cease thy strife, and leaue me to my griefe, To morrow will I send

Rom. So thriue my soule

Iu. A thousand times goodnight.

Rome. A thousand times the worse to want thy light, Loue goes toward Loue as school-boyes fro[m] their books But Loue fro[m] Loue, towards schoole with heauie lookes. Enter Iuliet againe.

Iul. Hist Romeo hist: O for a Falkners voice, To lure this Tassell gentle backe againe, Bondage is hoarse, and may not speake aloud, Else would I teare the Caue where Eccho lies, And make her ayrie tongue more hoarse, then With repetition of my Romeo

Rom. It is my soule that calls vpon my name. How siluer sweet, sound Louers tongues by night, Like softest Musicke to attending eares

Iul. Romeo

Rom. My Neece

Iul. What a clock to morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Rom. By the houre of nine

Iul. I will not faile, ’tis twenty yeares till then, I haue forgot why I did call thee backe

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it

Iul. I shall forget, to haue thee still stand there, Remembring how I Loue thy company

Rom. And Ile still stay, to haue thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this

Iul. ‘Tis almost morning, I would haue thee gone, And yet no further then a wantons Bird,
That let’s it hop a little from his hand, Like a poore prisoner in his twisted Gyues, And with a silken thred plucks it backe againe, So louing Iealous of his liberty

Rom. I would I were thy Bird

Iul. Sweet so would I,
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing: Good night, good night

Rom. Parting is such sweete sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow

Iul. Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace in thy brest

Rom. Would I were sleepe and peace so sweet to rest, The gray ey’d morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Clouds with streakes of light, And darkenesse fleckel’d like a drunkard reeles, From forth dayes pathway, made by Titans wheeles. Hence will I to my ghostly Friers close Cell, His helpe to craue, and my deare hap to tell. Enter.

Enter Frier alone with a basket.

Fri. The gray ey’d morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Cloudes with streaks of light: And fleckled darknesse like a drunkard reeles, From forth daies path, and Titans burning wheeles: Now ere the Sun aduance his burning eye, The day to cheere, and nights danke dew to dry, I must vpfill this Osier Cage of ours,
With balefull weedes, and precious Iuiced flowers, The earth that’s Natures mother, is her Tombe, What is her burying graue that is her wombe: And from her wombe children of diuers kind We sucking on her naturall bosome find:
Many for many vertues excellent:
None but for some, and yet all different. O mickle is the powerfull grace that lies In Plants, Hearbs, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile, that on earth doth liue, But to the earth some speciall good doth giue. Nor ought so good, but strain’d from that faire vse, Reuolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Vertue it selfe turnes vice being misapplied, And vice sometime by action dignified.
Enter Romeo.

Within the infant rind of this weake flower, Poyson hath residence, and medicine power: For this being smelt, with that part cheares each part, Being tasted stayes all sences with the heart. Two such opposed Kings encampe them still, In man as well as Hearbes, grace and rude will: And where the worser is predominant,
Full soone the Canker death eates vp that Plant

Rom. Good morrow Father

Fri. Benedecite.
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young Sonne, it argues a distempered head, So soone to bid goodmorrow to thy bed;
Care keepes his watch in euery old mans eye, And where Care lodges, sleepe will neuer lye: But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braine Doth couch his lims, there, golden sleepe doth raigne; Therefore thy earlinesse doth me assure, Thou art vprous’d with some distemprature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right.
Our Romeo hath not beene in bed to night

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine

Fri. God pardon sin: wast thou with Rosaline? Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly Father? No, I haue forgot that name, and that names woe

Fri. That’s my good Son, but wher hast thou bin then? Rom. Ile tell thee ere thou aske it me agen: I haue beene feasting with mine enemie,
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That’s by me wounded: both our remedies
Within thy helpe and holy phisicke lies: I beare no hatred, blessed man: for loe
My intercession likewise steads my foe

Fri. Be plaine good Son, rest homely in thy drift, Ridling confession, findes but ridling shrift

Rom. Then plainly know my hearts deare Loue is set, On the faire daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combin’d, saue what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where, and how, We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow: Ile tell thee as we passe, but this I pray, That thou consent to marrie vs to day

Fri. Holy S[aint]. Francis, what a change is heere? Is Rosaline that thou didst Loue so deare So soone forsaken? young mens Loue then lies Not truely in their hearts, but in their eyes. Iesu Maria, what a deale of brine
Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for Rosaline? How much salt water throwne away in wast, To season Loue that of it doth not tast. The Sun not yet thy sighes, from heauen cleares, Thy old grones yet ringing in my auncient eares: Lo here vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit, Of an old teare that is not washt off yet. If ere thou wast thy selfe, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes, were all for Rosaline. And art thou chang’d? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men

Rom. Thou chid’st me oft for louing Rosaline

Fri. For doting, not for louing pupill mine

Rom. And bad’st me bury Loue

Fri. Not in a graue,
To lay one in, another out to haue

Rom. I pray thee chide me not, her I Loue now Doth grace for grace, and Loue for Loue allow: The other did not so

Fri. O she knew well,
Thy Loue did read by rote, that could not spell: But come young wauerer, come goe with me, In one respect, Ile thy assistant be:
For this alliance may so happy proue, To turne your houshould rancor to pure Loue

Rom. O let vs hence, I stand on sudden hast

Fri. Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast.


Enter Benuolio and Mercutio.

Mer. Where the deule should this Romeo be? came he not home to night?
Ben. Not to his Fathers, I spoke with his man

Mer. Why that same pale hard-harted wench, that Rosaline torments him so, that he will sure run mad

Ben. Tibalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a Letter to his Fathers house

Mer. A challenge on my life

Ben. Romeo will answere it

Mer. Any man that can write, may answere a Letter

Ben. Nay, he will answere the Letters Maister how he dares, being dared

Mer. Alas poore Romeo, he is already dead stab’d with a white wenches blacke eye, runne through the eare with a Loue song, the very pinne of his heart, cleft with the blind Bowe-boyes but-shaft, and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Ben. Why what is Tibalt?
Mer. More then Prince of Cats. Oh hee’s the Couragious Captaine of Complements: he fights as you sing pricksong, keeps time, distance, and proportion, he rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a Dualist, a Dualist: a Gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause: ah the immortall Passado, the Punto reuerso, the Hay

Ben. The what?
Mer. The Pox of such antique lisping affecting phantacies, these new tuners of accent: Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whore. Why is not this a lamentable thing Grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies: these fashion Mongers, these pardon-mee’s,
who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench. O their bones, their bones.
Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo

Mer. Without his Roe, like a dryed Hering. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified? Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his Lady, was a kitchen wench, marrie she had a better Loue to berime her: Dido a dowdie, Cleopatra a Gipsie, Hellen and Hero, hildings and Harlots: Thisbie a gray eie or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, Bon iour, there’s a French salutation to your French slop: you gaue vs the counterfait fairely last night

Romeo. Good morrow to you both, what counterfeit did I giue you?
Mer. The slip sir, the slip, can you not conceiue? Rom. Pardon Mercutio, my businesse was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie

Mer. That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams

Rom. Meaning to cursie

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it

Rom. A most curteous exposition

Mer. Nay, I am the very pinck of curtesie

Rom. Pinke for flower

Mer. Right

Rom. Why then is my Pump well flowr’d

Mer. Sure wit, follow me this ieast, now till thou hast worne out thy Pump, that when the single sole of it is worne, the ieast may remaine after the wearing, sole-singular

Rom. O single sol’d ieast,
Soly singular for the singlenesse

Mer. Come betweene vs good Benuolio, my wits faints

Rom. Swits and spurs,
Swits and spurs, or Ile crie a match

Mer. Nay, if our wits run the Wild-Goose chase, I am done: For thou hast more of the Wild-Goose in one of thy wits, then I am sure I haue in my whole fiue. Was I with you there for the Goose?
Rom. Thou wast neuer with mee for any thing, when thou wast not there for the Goose

Mer. I will bite thee by the eare for that iest

Rom. Nay, good Goose bite not

Mer. Thy wit is a very Bitter-sweeting, It is a most sharpe sawce

Rom. And is it not well seru’d into a Sweet-Goose? Mer. Oh here’s a wit of Cheuerell, that stretches from an ynch narrow, to an ell broad

Rom. I stretch it out for that word, broad, which added to the Goose, proues thee farre and wide, abroad Goose

Mer. Why is not this better now, then groning for Loue, now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo: now art thou what thou art, by Art as well as by Nature, for this driueling Loue is like a great Naturall, that runs lolling vp and downe to hid his bable in a hole

Ben. Stop there, stop there

Mer. Thou desir’st me to stop in my tale against the haire

Ben. Thou would’st else haue made thy tale large

Mer. O thou art deceiu’d, I would haue made it short, or I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer. Enter Nurse and her man.

Rom. Here’s a goodly geare.
A sayle, a sayle

Mer. Two, two: a Shirt and a Smocke

Nur. Peter?
Peter. Anon

Nur. My Fan Peter?
Mer. Good Peter to hide her face?
For her Fans the fairer face?
Nur. God ye good morrow Gentlemen

Mer. God ye gooden faire Gentlewoman

Nur. Is it gooden?
Mer. ‘Tis no lesse I tell you: for the bawdy hand of the Dyall is now vpon the pricke of Noone

Nur. Out vpon you: what a man are you? Rom. One Gentlewoman,
That God hath made, himselfe to mar

Nur. By my troth it is said, for himselfe to, mar quatha: Gentlemen, can any of you tel me where I may find the young Romeo?
Romeo. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you haue found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse

Nur. You say well

Mer. Yea is the worst well,
Very well tooke: Ifaith, wisely, wisely

Nur. If you be he sir,
I desire some confidence with you?
Ben. She will endite him to some Supper

Mer. A baud, a baud, a baud. So ho

Rom. What hast thou found?
Mer. No Hare sir, vnlesse a Hare sir in a Lenten pie, that is something stale and hoare ere it be spent. An old Hare hoare, and an old Hare hoare is very good meat in Lent.
But a Hare that is hoare is too much for a score, when it hoares ere it be spent,
Romeo will you come to your Fathers? Weele to dinner thither

Rom. I will follow you

Mer. Farewell auncient Lady:
Farewell Lady, Lady, Lady.

Exit. Mercutio, Benuolio.

Nur. I pray you sir, what sawcie Merchant was this that was so full of his roperie?
Rom. A Gentleman Nurse, that loues to heare himselfe talke, and will speake more in a minute, then he will stand to in a Moneth

Nur. And a speake any thing against me, Ile take him downe, z a were lustier then he is, and twentie such Iacks: and if I cannot, Ile finde those that shall: scuruie knaue, I am none of his flurt-gils, I am none of his skaines mates, and thou must stand by too and suffer euery knaue to vse me at his pleasure

Pet. I saw no man vse you at his pleasure: if I had, my weapon should quickly haue beene out, I warrant you, I dare draw assoone as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrell, and the law on my side

Nur. Now afore God, I am so vext, that euery part about me quiuers, skuruy knaue: pray you sir a word: and as I told you, my young Lady bid me enquire you out, what she bid me say, I will keepe to my selfe: but first let me tell ye, if ye should leade her in a fooles paradise, as they say, it were a very grosse kind of behauiour, as they say: for the Gentlewoman is yong: & therefore, if you should deale double with her, truely it were an ill thing to be offered to any Gentlewoman, and very weake dealing

Nur. Nurse commend me to thy Lady and Mistresse, I protest vnto thee

Nur. Good heart, and yfaith I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord she will be a ioyfull woman

Rom. What wilt thou tell her Nurse? thou doest not marke me?
Nur. I will tell her sir, that you do protest, which as I take it, is a Gentleman-like offer

Rom. Bid her deuise some meanes to come to shrift this afternoone,
And there she shall at Frier Lawrence Cell Be shriu’d and married: here is for thy paines

Nur. No truly sir not a penny

Rom. Go too, I say you shall

Nur. This afternoone sir? well she shall be there

Ro. And stay thou good Nurse behind the Abbey wall, Within this houre my man shall be with thee, And bring thee Cords made like a tackled staire, Which to the high top gallant of my ioy, Must be my conuoy in the secret night.
Farewell, be trustie and Ile quite thy paines: Farewell, commend me to thy Mistresse

Nur. Now God in heauen blesse thee: harke you sir, Rom. What saist thou my deare Nurse?
Nurse. Is your man secret, did you nere heare say two may keepe counsell putting one away

Ro. Warrant thee my man is true as steele

Nur. Well sir, my Mistresse is the sweetest Lady, Lord, Lord, when ’twas a little prating thing. O there is a Noble man in Towne one Paris, that would faine lay knife aboard: but she good soule had as leeue see a Toade, a very Toade as see him: I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but Ile warrant you, when I say so, shee lookes as pale as any clout in the versall world. Doth not Rosemarie and Romeo begin both with a letter? Rom. I Nurse, what of that? Both with an R Nur. A mocker that’s the dogs name. R. is for the no, I know it begins with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and Rosemary, that it would do you good to heare it

Rom. Commend me to thy Lady

Nur. I a thousand times. Peter?
Pet. Anon

Nur. Before and apace.

Exit Nurse and Peter.

Enter Iuliet.

Iul. The clocke strook nine, when I did send the Nurse, In halfe an houre she promised to returne, Perchance she cannot meete him: that’s not so: Oh she is lame, Loues Herauld should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides then the Sunnes beames, Driuing backe shadowes ouer lowring hils. Therefore do nimble Pinion’d Doues draw Loue, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings: Now is the Sun vpon the highmost hill
Of this daies iourney, and from nine till twelue, Is three long houres, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warme youthfull blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball, My words would bandy her to my sweete Loue, And his to me, but old folkes,
Many faine as they were dead,
Vnwieldie, slow, heauy, and pale as lead. Enter Nurse.

O God she comes, O hony Nurse what newes? Hast thou met with him? send thy man away

Nur. Peter stay at the gate

Iul. Now good sweet Nurse:
O Lord, why lookest thou sad?
Though newes, be sad, yet tell them merrily. If good thou sham’st the musicke of sweet newes, By playing it to me, with so sower a face

Nur. I am a weary, giue me leaue awhile, Fie how my bones ake, what a iaunt haue I had? Iul. I would thou had’st my bones, and I thy newes: Nay come I pray thee speake, good good Nurse speake

Nur. Iesu what hast? can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am out of breath?
Iul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breth To say to me, that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay, Is longer then the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy newes good or bad? answere to that, Say either, and Ile stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, ist good or bad?
Nur. Well, you haue made a simple choice, you know not how to chuse a man: Romeo, no not he though his face be better then any mans, yet his legs excels all mens, and for a hand, and a foote, and a body, though they be not to be talkt on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of curtesie, but Ile warrant him as gentle a Lambe: go thy waies wench, serue God. What haue you din’d at home? Iul. No no: but all this did I know before What saies he of our marriage? what of that? Nur. Lord how my head akes, what a head haue I? It beates as it would fall in twenty peeces. My backe a tother side: o my backe, my backe: Beshrew your heart for sending me about
To catch my death with iaunting vp and downe

Iul. Ifaith: I am sorrie that thou art so well. Sweet sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what saies my Loue? Nur. Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And I warrant a vertuous: where is your Mother? Iul. Where is my Mother?
Why she is within, where should she be? How odly thou repli’st:
Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman: Where is your Mother?
Nur. O Gods Lady deare,
Are you so hot? marrie come vp I trow, Is this the Poultis for my aking bones?
Henceforward do your messages your selfe

Iul. Heere’s such a coile, come what saies Romeo? Nur. Haue you got leaue to go to shift to day? Iul. I haue

Nur. Then high you hence to Frier Lawrence Cell, There staies a Husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton bloud vp in your cheekes, Thei’le be in Scarlet straight at any newes: Hie you to Church, I must an other way,
To fetch a Ladder by the which your Loue Must climde a birds nest Soone when it is darke: I am the drudge, and toile in your delight: But you shall beare the burthen soone at night. Go Ile to dinner, hie you to the Cell

Iul. Hie to high Fortune, honest Nurse, farewell.


Enter Frier and Romeo.

Fri. So smile the heauens vpon this holy act, That after houres, with sorrow chide vs not

Rom. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can, It cannot counteruaile the exchange of ioy That one short minute giues me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words. Then Loue-deuouring death do what he dare, It is inough. I may call her mine

Fri. These violent delights haue violent endes, And in their triumph: die like fire and powder; Which as they kisse consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his owne deliciousnesse, And in the taste confoundes the appetite. Therefore Loue moderately, long Loue doth so, Too swift arriues as tardie as too slow. Enter Iuliet.

Here comes the Lady. Oh so light a foot Will nere weare out the euerlasting flint, A Louer may bestride the Gossamours,
That ydles in the wanton Summer ayre, And yet not fall, so light is vanitie

Iul. Good euen to my ghostly Confessor

Fri. Romeo shall thanke thee Daughter for vs both

Iul. As much to him, else in his thanks too much

Fri. Ah Iuliet, if the measure of thy ioy Be heapt like mine, and that thy skill be more To blason it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour ayre, and let rich musickes tongue, Vnfold the imagin’d happinesse that both Receiue in either, by this deere encounter

Iul. Conceit more rich in matter then in words, Brags of his substance, not of Ornament: They are but beggers that can count their worth, But my true Loue is growne to such excesse, I cannot sum vp some of halfe my wealth

Fri. Come, come with me, & we will make short worke, For by your leaues, you shall not stay alone, Till holy Church incorporate two in one. Enter Mercutio, Benuolio, and men.

Ben. I pray thee good Mercutio lets retire, The day is hot, the Capulets abroad:
And if we meet, we shal not scape a brawle, for now these hot dayes, is the mad blood stirring

Mer. Thou art like one of these fellowes, that when he enters the confines of a Tauerne, claps me his Sword vpon the Table, and sayes, God send me no need of thee: and by the operation of the second cup, drawes him on the Drawer, when indeed there is no need

Ben. Am I like such a Fellow?
Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Iacke in thy mood, as any in Italie: and assoone moued to be moodie, and assoone moodie to be mou’d

Ben. And what too?
Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should haue none shortly, for one would kill the other: thou, why thou wilt quarrell with a man that hath a haire more, or a haire lesse in his beard, then thou hast: thou wilt quarrell with a man for cracking Nuts, hauing no other reason, but because thou hast hasell eyes: what eye, but such an eye, would spie out such a quarrell? thy head is full of quarrels, as an egge is full of meat, and yet thy head hath bin beaten as addle as an egge for quarreling: thou hast quarrel’d with a man for coffing in the street, because he hath wakened thy Dog that hath laine asleepe in the Sun. Did’st thou not fall out with a Tailor for wearing his new Doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shooes with old Riband, and yet thou wilt Tutor me from quarrelling? Ben. And I were so apt to quarell as thou art, any man should buy the Fee-simple of my life, for an houre and a quarter

Mer. The Fee-simple? O simple.
Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.

Ben. By my head here comes the Capulets

Mer. By my heele I care not

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speake to them. Gentlemen, Good den, a word with one of you

Mer. And but one word with one of vs? couple it with something, make it a word and a blow

Tib. You shall find me apt inough to that sir, and you will giue me occasion

Mercu. Could you not take some occasion without giuing?
Tib. Mercutio thou consort’st with Romeo

Mer. Consort? what dost thou make vs Minstrels? & thou make Minstrels of vs, looke to heare nothing but discords: heere’s my fiddlesticke, heere’s that shall make you daunce. Come consort

Ben. We talke here in the publike haunt of men, Either withdraw vnto some priuate place, Or reason coldly of your greeuances:
Or else depart, here all eies gaze on vs

Mer. Mens eyes were made to looke, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no mans pleasure I. Enter Romeo.

Tib. Well peace be with you sir, here comes my man

Mer. But Ile be hang’d sir if he weare your Liuery. Marry go before to field, heele be your follower, Your worship in that sense, may call him man

Tib. Romeo, the loue I beare thee, can affoord No better terme then this: Thou art a Villaine

Rom. Tibalt, the reason that I haue to loue thee, Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting: Villaine am I none; Therefore farewell, I see thou know’st me not

Tib. Boy, this shall not excuse the iniuries That thou hast done me, therefore turne and draw

Rom. I do protest I neuer iniur’d thee, But lou’d thee better then thou can’st deuise: Till thou shalt know the reason of my loue, And so good Capulet, which name I tender As dearely as my owne, be satisfied

Mer. O calme, dishonourable, vile submission: Alla stucatho carries it away.
Tybalt, you Rat-catcher, will you walke? Tib. What wouldst thou haue with me?
Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine liues, that I meane to make bold withall, and as you shall vse me hereafter dry beate the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your Sword out of his Pilcher by the eares? Make hast, least mine be about your eares ere it be out

Tib. I am for you

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier vp

Mer. Come sir, your Passado

Rom. Draw Benuolio, beat downe their weapons: Gentlemen, for shame forbeare this outrage, Tibalt, Mercutio, the Prince expresly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streetes.
Hold Tybalt, good Mercutio.

Exit Tybalt.

Mer. I am hurt.
A plague a both the Houses, I am sped: Is he gone and hath nothing?
Ben. What art thou hurt?
Mer. I, I, a scratch, a scratch, marry ’tis inough, Where is my Page? go Villaine fetch a Surgeon

Rom. Courage man, the hurt cannot be much

Mer. No: ’tis not so deepe as a well, nor so wide as a Church doore, but ’tis inough, ’twill serue: aske for me to morrow, and you shall find me a graue man. I am pepper’d I warrant, for this world: a plague a both your houses. What, a Dog, a Rat, a Mouse, a Cat to scratch a man to death: a Braggart, a Rogue, a Villaine, that fights by the booke of Arithmeticke, why the deu’le came you betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme

Rom. I thought all for the best

Mer. Helpe me into some house Benuolio, Or I shall faint: a plague a both your houses. They haue made wormesmeat of me,