The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE WORKS
OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

THE WORKS
OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

EDITED BY

WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK, M.A.

FELLOW AND TUTOR OF TRINITY COLLEGE, AND PUBLIC ORATOR IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE;

AND WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT, M.A.

LIBRARIAN OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.

VOLUME VII.

Cambridge and London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1865.

CONTENTS.

PREFACE.

1. The first edition of Romeo and Juliet was published in 1597, with the following title:

An | Excellent | conceited Tragedie | OF | Romeo and Iuliet, | As it hath been often (with great applause) | plaid publiquely, by the right Ho-|nourable the L. of Hunsdon | his Seruants. | London, | Printed by Iohn Danter. | 1597. |

After Sig. D, a smaller type is used for the rest of the play, and the running title is changed from 'The most excellent Tragedie, of Romeo and Iuliet' to 'The excellent Tragedie of Romeo and Iuliet.'

The text of this first Quarto differs so widely from that of later and more perfect editions, that it is impossible to record the results of a collation in footnotes: we have therefore reprinted it. When we refer to it in the notes, it is designated as (Q₁), the marks of parenthesis being used as in similar cases previously.

An opinion has been entertained by some critics that in this earliest Quarto we have a fairly accurate version of the play as it was at first written; and that in the interval between the publication of the first and second Quartos, the play was revised and recast by its author into the form in which it appears in the edition of 1599. A careful examination of the earlier text will, we think, prove this notion to be untenable. Not to speak of minor errors, it is impossible that Shakespeare should ever have given to the world a composition containing so many instances of imperfect sense, halting metre, bad grammar, and abrupt dialogue. We believe that the play, as at first written, was substantially the same as that given in the later editions; and that the defects of the first impression are due, not to the author, but to the writer of the manuscript from which that first impression was printed. That manuscript was, in all probability, obtained from notes taken in short-hand during the representation: a practice which we know to have been common in those days. It is true that the text of (Q₁) is more accurate on the whole than might have been expected from such an origin; but the short-hand writer may have been a man of unusual intelligence and skill, and may have been present at many representations in order to correct his work; or possibly some of the players may have helped him either from memory, or by lending their parts in manuscript. But the examples of omission and conjectural insertion are too frequent and too palpable to allow of the supposition that the earliest text is derived from a bona fide transcript of the author's MS. The unusual precision of some stage directions in (Q₁) tends to confirm our view of its origin; a view which is supported by the high authority of M. Tycho Mommsen. The portions of the play omitted in (Q₁), though necessary to its artistic completeness and to its effect as a poem, are for the most part passages which might be spared without disturbing the consecutive and intelligible developement of the action. It is possible therefore that the play as seen by the short-hand writer was curtailed in the representation.

The second Quarto was in all likelihood an edition authorized by Shakespeare and his 'fellows,' and intended to supersede the surreptitious and imperfect edition of 1597. The play so published, we believe, as we have said, to be substantially identical with the play as at first composed; it seems however to have been revised by the author. Here and there a passage appears to have been rewritten. Compare, for example, (Q₁) Sc. 10, lines 11-30 (p. [169] of the reprint) with the corresponding passages of the later editions, Act II. Sc. 6, lines 16-36. In this place assuredly the change must be attributed to the author; but we know of no other passage of equal length where the same can be affirmed with certainty. The words 'newly corrected, augmented, and amended,' found on the title-page of the second Quarto, may be accepted as the statement of a fact, when thus confirmed by internal evidence. Otherwise we know that the assertions in titlepages or prefaces of that time are not to be relied on, nor in this case would the words necessarily mean more than that this second edition was more correct and more complete than the first. In fact, the added matter amounts nearly to a quarter of the whole.

The title-page of the second Quarto, Q₂, is as follows:

The | most ex-| cellent and lamentable | Tragedie, of Romeo | and Iuliet. | Newly corrected, augmented, and | amended: | As it hath bene sundry times publiquely acted, by the | right Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine | his Seruants | LONDON. | Printed by Thomas Creede, for Cuthbert Burby, and are to | be sold at his shop neare the Exchange. | 1599. |

This is unquestionably our best authority; nevertheless in determining the text, (Q₁) must in many places be taken into account. For it is certain that Q₂ was not printed from the author's MS., but from a transcript, the writer of which was not only careless, but thought fit to take unwarrantable liberties with the text. In passing through his hands, many passages were thus transmuted from poetry to prose. Pope felt this strongly, too strongly indeed, for he adopted the text of the first Quarto in many places where Capell and all subsequent editors have judiciously recurred to the second. Nevertheless there is no editor who has not felt it necessary occasionally to call in the aid of the first. We think that M. Tycho Mommsen rates the authority of the second Quarto too highly. Any rare form of word or strange construction found in this edition alone, and corrected in all that follow, may more probably be assigned to the transcriber (or in some cases to the printer) than to Shakespeare, whose language is singularly free from archaisms and provincialisms.

The third Quarto, Q₃, was published in 1609, with the following title-page:

The | most ex-cellent and | Lamentable Tragedie, of | Romeo and Juliet. | As it hath beene sundrie times publiquely Acted, | by the Kings Maiesties Seruants | at the Globe. | Newly corrected, augmented, and | amended: | London | Printed for Iohn Smethvvick, and are to be sold | at his Shop in Saint Dunstanes Church-yard, | in Fleetestreete vnder the Dyall | 1609 |.

It was printed from Q₂, from which it differs by a few corrections, and more frequently by additional errors.

The next Quarto has no date.

Its title-page bears for the first time the name of the author. After the word 'GLOBE' and in a separate line we find the words: 'Written by W. Shake-speare.' Otherwise, except in some slight variations of type and spelling, the title-page of the undated Quarto does not differ from that of Q₃. It was also printed 'for Iohn Smethwicke,' without the mention of the printer's name.

Though this edition has no date, internal evidence conclusively proves that it was printed from Q₃ and that the Quarto of 1637 was printed from it. We therefore call it Q₄.

It contains some very important corrections of the text, none however that an intelligent reader might not make conjecturally and without reference to any other authority. Indeed had the corrector been able to refer to any such authority, he would not have left so many obviously corrupt passages untouched.

The title-page of the fifth Quarto, our Q₅, is substantially identical with that of Q₄, except that it is said to be printed 'by R. Young for John Smethwicke,' and dated, 1637.

It is printed, as we have said, from Q₄. The punctuation has been carefully regulated throughout, and the spelling in many cases made uniform.

The symbol Qq signifies the agreement of Q₂, Q₃, Q₄, and Q₅.

The text of the first Folio is taken from that of the third Quarto. As usual there are a number of changes, some accidental, some deliberate, but all generally for the worse, excepting the changes in punctuation and in the stage-directions. The punctuation, as a rule, is more correct, and the stage-directions are more complete, in the Folio.

The text of the second Folio is printed of course from the first. In this play there are found in it a considerable number of conjectural emendations, not generally happy, and perhaps more than the usual number of errors.

A careful study of the text of Romeo and Juliet will show how little we can rely upon having the true text, as Shakespeare wrote it, in those plays for which the Folio is our earliest authority.

M. Tycho Mommsen published in 1859 a reprint of the first and second Quartos on opposite pages, and in the footnotes a collation of the remaining Quartos (not quite complete in the case of the fourth and fifth), the four Folios, Rowe's first edition, and the new readings of Mr Collier's MS. corrector. The volume is preceded by learned and valuable 'Prolegomena,' and the collation, which we have tested, is done with great care and accuracy. If our collation, so far as it occupies the same ground, may claim to be not less accurate, it must be remembered, first, that we have not endeavoured to record every minute variation of typography, but only such as were in our judgement significant or otherwise noteworthy; secondly, that we have had in all cases the original editions to refer to; and thirdly, that we have had the advantage of comparing our collation with his, and, wherever we found a discrepancy, verifying by a reference to the old copies.

Of the many alterations of Romeo and Juliet we have only had occasion to quote Otway's Caius Marius.

2. Timon of Athens was printed for the first time in the Folio of 1623. It is called The Life of Tymon of Athens; in the running titles, Timon of Athens; and occupies twenty-one pages, from 80 to 98 inclusive, 81 and 82 being numbered twice over. After 98 the next page is filled with The Actors Names, and the following page is blank. The next page, the first of Julius Cæsar, is numbered 109, and instead of beginning as it should signature ii, the signature is kk. From this it may be inferred that for some reason the printing of Julius Cæsar was commenced before that of Timon was finished. It may be that the manuscript of Timon was imperfect, and that the printing was stayed till it could be completed by some playwright engaged for the purpose. This would account for the manifest imperfections at the close of the play. But it is difficult to conceive how the printer came to miscalculate so widely the space required to be left.

The well-known carelessness of the printers of the Folio in respect of metre will not suffice to account for the deficiencies of Timon. The original play, on which Shakespeare worked, must have been written, for the most part, either in prose or in very irregular verse.

3. Julius Cæsar was published for the first time in the Folio of 1623. It is more correctly printed than any other play, and may perhaps have been (as the preface falsely implied that all were) printed from the original manuscript of the author.

The references to Jennens in the notes are to his edition of Julius Cæsar, 'collated with the old and modern editions', and published in 1774.

4. Macbeth, which follows next in order, was also printed for the first time in that volume. Except that it is divided into scenes as well as acts, it is one of the worst printed of all the plays, especially as regards the metre, and not a few passages are hopelessly corrupt.

'Davenant's version,' quoted in our notes, was published in 1673. Jennen's edition was printed in 1773. The edition of Macbeth by Harry Rowe is attributed to Dr A. Hunter, and as such we have quoted it. Of this we may remark that it is not always quite certain whether the editor is in jest or earnest. 'Shakespeare restored' by Mr Hastings Elwin is an edition of Macbeth with introduction and notes, which was anonymously and privately printed at Norwich in 1853.

W. G. C.
W. A. W.

ADDENDA.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1].

Scene: Verona: Mantua.

THE TRAGEDY OF
ROMEO AND JULIET.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Dramatis Personæ. First given, imperfectly, by Rowe.

PROLOGUE.

Enter Chorus.[2]

Chor. Two households, both alike in dignity,[3]
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,[3]
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,[3]
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.[3]
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes[3] 5
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;[3]
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows[3]
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.[3][4]
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,[3]
And the continuance of their parents' rage,[3] 10
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,[3]
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;[3]
The which if you with patient ears attend,[3]
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.[3][5]

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Prologue. Enter Chorus. Chor.] (Q₁). The Prologue. Corus. Q₂. The Prologue. Chorus. Q₃ Q₄ Q₅. om. Ff.

[3] Two ... mend.] Omitted in Ff and Rowe.

[4] Do] Pope. Doth Q₂ Q₃ Q₄ Q₅.

[5] here] heare Q₂.

ACT I.

Scene I. Verona. A public place.[6]

Enter Sampson and Gregory, of the house of Capulet, with swords and bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.[7]

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.

Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.[8][9]

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the[8][10]
collar.[8] 5

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

Gre. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand:[11]
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.[11] 10

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I[12][13]
will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.[13]

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest[14]
goes to the wall.

Sam. 'Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker[15][16]15
vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push[16]
Montague's men from the wall and thrust his maids to
the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and us their[17]
men. 20

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I
have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids;[18]
I will cut off their heads.[19]

Gre. The heads of the maids?[20]

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;[21] 25
take it in what sense thou wilt.

Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it.[22]

Sam. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and[23]
'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.[23]

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou 30
hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of[24]
the house of Montagues.[25]

Enter Abraham and Balthasar.

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

Gre. How! turn thy back and run?[26] 35

Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry; I fear thee![27]

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

Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as
they list. 40

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at
them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.[28]

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 45

Sam. [Aside to Gre.] Is the law of our side, if I say ay?[29]

Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but
I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 50

Abr. Quarrel, sir! no, sir.[30]

Sam. But if you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good[31]
a man as you.

Abr. No better.[32]

Sam. Well, sir.[33] 55

Enter Benvolio.

Gre. [Aside to Sam.] Say 'better': here comes one of[34]
my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.[35]

Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy 60
swashing blow.[36] [They fight.

Ben. Part, fools![37][38] [Beating down their weapons.
Put up your swords; you know not what you do.[37]

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?[39]
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.[39] 65

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,[40]
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward![41] [They fight. 70

Enter several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens and Peace-officers, with clubs.

First Off. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down![42]
Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues![43]

Enter old Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.

Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?[44]

Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,[45] 75
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.[46]

Enter old Montague and Lady Montague.

Mon. Thou villain Capulet!—Hold me not, let me go.[47]

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.[48]

Enter Prince Escalus, with his train.

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—[49] 80
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands[50]
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,[51] 85
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,[52]
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens[53] 90
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,[54]
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,[55]
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:[55][56]
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 95
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,[57]
To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. 100
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.[58]

[Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Montague, and Benvolio.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?[59]
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours close fighting ere I did approach: 105
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared;
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,[60]
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:[61] 110
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,[62]
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.[63]

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?[64]
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.[65] 115

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad:[66]
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore[67]
That westward rooteth from the city's side,[68] 120
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
Which then most sought where most might not be found,[69] 125
Being one too many by my weary self,[70]
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,[71]
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.[72]

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,[73] 130
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:[74]
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw[75]
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son, 135
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,[76]
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 140

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?[77]

Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him.

Ben. Have you importuned him by any means?[78]

Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,[79] 145
Is to himself—I will not say how true—
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,[80]
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 150
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.[81]
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.[82]

Enter Romeo.

Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. 155

Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.[83]

[Exeunt Montague and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.

Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new struck nine.

Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long.[84]
Was that my father that went hence so fast?[85] 160

Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Rom. Not having that which, having, makes them short.

Ben. In love?[86]

Rom. Out—[87]

Ben. Of love?[88] 165

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.

Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see pathways to his will![89] 170
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 first create![90] 175
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms![91]
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 180
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?[92]

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;[93]
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest[94] 185
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.[95]
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;[96]
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;[97]
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:[98] 190
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

Ben. Soft! I will go along:[99]
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.[100]

Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;[101] 195
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.[102]

Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee?[103]

Ben. Groan! why, no;[103]
But sadly tell me who.[104]

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:[105] 200
Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill![106]
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near when I supposed you loved.

Rom. A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.[107]

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 205

Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit[108]
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit,
And in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.[109]
She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 210
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,[110]
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:[111]
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.[112]

Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? 215

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;[113]
For beauty, starved with her severity,[114]
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,[115]
To merit bliss by making me despair: 220
She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.

Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;[116] 225
Examine other beauties.[117]

Rom. 'Tis the way[117][118]
To call hers, exquisite, in question more:[119]
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,[120]
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget[121] 230
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note[122]
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?[123]
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. 235

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt.

Scene II. A street.[124]

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.[125]

Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,[126][127]
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,[127][128]
For men so old as we to keep the peace.[129]

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. 5
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world;
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years:
Let two more summers wither in their pride 10
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.[130]

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.[131]
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,[132]
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:[133] 15
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice[134]
Lies my consent and fair according voice.[135]
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, 20
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.[136]
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:[137] 25
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel[138]
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night[139]
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, 30
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view, of many mine being one[140]
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.[141]
Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out 35
Whose names are written there and to them say,[142]
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.[143]

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Serv. Find them out whose names are written here![144]
It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his[144]
yard and the tailer with his last, the fisher with his pencil 40
and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those
persons whose names are here writ, and can never find[145]
what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to[146]
the learned. In good time.[146]

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,[147] 45
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;[148]
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;[149]
One desperate grief cures with another's languish:[150]
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,[151]
And the rank poison of the old will die. 50

Rom. Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that.

Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken shin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;
Shut up in prison, kept without my food, 55
Whipt and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.[152]

Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?[153]

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book: but,[154][155]
I pray, can you read any thing you see?[154] 60

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

Serv. Ye say honestly: rest you merry!

Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read.[156] [Reads.

'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County[157][158]
Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of[157][159] 65
Vitruvio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio[157]
and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife,[157]
and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior[157][160]
Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively[157][161]
Helena.'[157] 70

A fair assembly: whither should they come?[162]

Serv. Up.[163]

Rom. Whither?[164]

Serv. To supper; to our house.[164][165]

Rom. Whose house? 75

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is
the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of
Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest[166] 80
you merry![167] [Exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's[168]
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,[169]
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither, and with unattainted eye 85
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.[170]

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;[171]
And these, who, often drown'd, could never die,[172] 90
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun[173]
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,[174]
Herself poised with herself in either eye: 95
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd[175]
Your lady's love against some other maid[176]
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well that now seems best.[177]

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,[178] 100
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.[179] [Exeunt.

Scene III. A room in Capulet's house.[180]

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.[181]

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.[182]

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,[183][184]
I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady-bird!—[183][185]
God forbid!—Where's this girl? What, Juliet![183]

Enter Juliet.

Jul. How now! who calls?[186] 5

Nurse. Your mother.[186]

Jul. Madam, I am here. What is your will?[186][187]

La. Cap. This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,[182][188]
We must talk in secret:—nurse, come back again;[188]
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.[188][189] 10
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.[188][190]

Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

La. Cap. She's not fourteen.[182]

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,—[191][192]
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,—[191][193]
She is not fourteen. How long is it now[191][194] 15
To Lammas-tide?[191]

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days.[182][195][196]

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,[195][197]
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.[195]
Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!—[195]
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;[195] 20
She was too good for me:—but, as I said,[195]
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;[195]
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.[195][198]
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;[195]
And she was wean'd,—I never shall forget it—[195] 25
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:[195][199]
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,[195]
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;[195][196]
My lord and you were then at Mantua:—[195]
Nay, I do bear a brain:—but, as I said,[195] 30
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple[195]
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool,[195]
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug![195][200]
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,[195]
To bid me trudge.[195] 35
And since that time it is eleven years;[195][201]
For then she could stand high-lone; nay, by the rood,[195][202]
She could have run and waddled all about;[195]
For even the day before, she broke her brow:[195]
And then my husband,—God be with his soul![195][203] 40
A' was a merry man—took up the child:[195]
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?[195]
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;[195]
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,[195][204]
The pretty wretch left crying, and said 'Ay.'[195] 45
To see now how a jest shall come about![195]
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,[195][205]
I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;[195][206]
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'Ay.'[195]

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.[207] 50

Nurse. Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,[208]
To think it should leave crying, and say 'Ay:'[208]
And yet, I warrant, it had upon it brow[208][209]
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;[208]
A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly:[208][210] 55
'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face?[208]
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;[208]
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted, and said 'Ay.'[208][211]

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.[212]

Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace![213][214]60
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:[213][215]
An I might live to see thee married once,[213][216]
I have my wish.[213]

La. Cap. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme[207][217]
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,[218] 65
How stands your disposition to be married?[219]

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.[220][221]

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,[221][222][223]
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.[222][224]

La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you[207] 70
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,[225]
Are made already mothers. By my count,[226]
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief;
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 75

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man[227]
As all the world—why, he's a man of wax.[227][228]

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.[207]

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman?[207][229]80
This night you shall behold him at our feast:[229]
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,[229][230]
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;[229]
Examine every married lineament,[229][231]
And see how one another lends content;[229] 85
And what obscured in this fair volume lies[229]
Find written in the margent of his eyes.[229]
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,[229]
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:[229]
The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride[229][232] 90
For fair without the fair within to hide:[229][233]
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,[229][234]
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story:[229]
So shall you share all that he doth possess,[229]
By having him making yourself no less.[229] 95

Nurse. No less! nay, bigger: women grow by men.[229][235]

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?[207]

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye[236]
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.[237] 100

Enter a Servingman.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up,
you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in
the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to
wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

La. Cap. We follow thee. [Exit Servingman.] Juliet,[238]
the county stays.[239][240] 105

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.[239]

[Exeunt.

Scene IV. A street.

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers, and Torch-bearers.[241]

Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?[242]
Or shall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity:[243]
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, 5
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;[244]
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke[245][246]
After the prompter, for our entrance:[245][247]
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. 10

Rom. Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.[248]

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.[249]

Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes
With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead[250] 15
So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,[251]
And soar with them above a common bound.[251]

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft[251][252]
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,[251][253] 20
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:[251]
Under love's heavy burthen do I sink.[251][254]

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen love;[251][255]
Too great oppression for a tender thing.[251]

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,[251] 25
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.[251][256]

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love;[251]
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.[251][257]
Give me a case to put my visage in:[258]
A visor for a visor! what care I[259] 30
What curious eye doth quote deformities?[260]
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.

Ben. Come, knock and enter, and no sooner in[261]
But every man betake him to his legs.[261][262]

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons light of heart 35
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.[263]
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.[264][265]

Mer. Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:[264] 40
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire[264][266]
Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st[264][267]
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.[264][268]

Rom. Nay, that's not so.[264]

Mer. I mean, sir, in delay[264][269]
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.[264][270] 45
Take our good meaning, for our judgement sits[264][271]
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.[264][272]

Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask;[264]
But 'tis no wit to go.[264]

Mer. Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mer. And so did I. 50

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer. That dreamers often lie.

Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.[273]

Mer. O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.[274]
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes[275]
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone[274][276] 55
On the fore-finger of an alderman,[274]
Drawn with a team of little atomies[274][277]
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:[274][278]
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;[274][279]
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;[274] 60
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;[274][280]
Her collars, of the moonshine's watery beams;[274][281]
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;[274][282]
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,[274][283]
Not half so big as a round little worm[274] 65
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:[274][284]
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,[274][285]
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,[274][285]
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.[274][285][286]
And in this state she gallops night by night[274] 70
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;[274]
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight;[274][287]
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;[274][288]
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,[274][289]
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,[274] 75
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:[274][290]
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,[274][291]
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;[274][292]
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail[274][293][294]
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,[274][295] 80
Then he dreams of another benefice:[274][296]
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,[274][293]
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,[274]
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,[274]
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon[274][297] 85
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,[274][298]
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two,[274]
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab[274]
That plats the manes of horses in the night[274]
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,[274][299] 90
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes:[274][300]
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she—

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace![301] 95
Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes[302] 100
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.[303]

Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves;
Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 105

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,[304]
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels, and expire the term
Of a despised life closed in my breast,[305] 110
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,[306][307]
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.[307][308]

Ben. Strike, drum.[309] [Exeunt.

Scene V. A hall in Capulet's house.[310]

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen, with napkins.[311]

First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take[312][313]
away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher![313]

Sec. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or[314][315][316]
two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.[315]

First Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the[312][317] 5
court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a[318]
piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter[319]
let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan![320]

Sec. Serv. Ay, boy, ready.[321]

First Serv. You are looked for and called for, asked[312][322]10
for and sought for, in the great chamber.

Third Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly,[323][324]
boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.[324][325]

[They retire behind.