Page:Romeo and Juliet (The Illustrated Shakespeare, 1847).djvu/18



''La. Cap.'' Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of:—tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

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

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say, thou hadst sucked wisdom from thy teat.

''La. Cap.'' Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother, much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;— The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

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

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

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

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

Nurse. No less? nay, bigger: women grow by men.

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

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

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. Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

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

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

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

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Rom. Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes, With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead, So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

Mer. You are a lover: borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.

Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.— Give 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-brows shall blush for me.

Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, 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: The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word. If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this save-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.—Come, we burn day-light, ho.

Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer. We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.

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

Mer.

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night?

Mer.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer.

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

Mer. O! then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Over men's noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams: Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film: Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid. Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: