I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel, Thou know'ft, my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurfe. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. La. Cap. She's not fourteen.

Nurfe.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,

And yet, to my teen be it fpoken, I have but

four,

She is not fourteen: How long is it now

To Lammas-tide?

La. Cap.

A fortnight, and odd days. Nurfe. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, fhall fhe be fourteen; Sufan and fhe,-God reft all Chriftian fouls!Were of an age.-Well, Sufan is with God; She was too good for me: But, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall fhe be fourteen; That fhall fhe, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis fince the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,-I never fhall forget it,Of all the days of the year, upon that day; For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the fun under the dove-houfe wall, My lord and you were then at Mantua :Nay, I do bear a brain :--but, as I faid, When it did tafte the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! To fee it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. Shake, quoth the dove-houfe: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge.

And fince that time it is eleven years:

For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brows:
And then my husband-God be with his foul
'A was a merry man;-took up the child :
Yea, quoth he, doft thou fall upon thy face?

Thou wilt fall backward, when thou haft more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and faid—Ay;
To fee now, how a jeft fhall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

I never fhould forget it; Wilt thou not Jule? quoth

he:

And, pretty fool, it ftinted, and faid—Ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy

peace.

Nurfe. Yes, madam; Yet I cannot choose bat

laugh,

To think it should leave crying, and fay-Ay:
And yet, I warrant it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's ftone;
A par'lous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'ft upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'ft to age;
Wilt thou not Jule? it ftinted, and faid—Ay.
ful. And ftint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurfe. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to
his grace!

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

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

ful. It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurfe. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou had'ft fuck'd 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 thefe years
That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;-

The valiant Paris feeks you for his love.

Nurfe. A man, young lady! lady, fuch a man, As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's fummer hath not fuch a flower. Nurfe. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

La. Cap. What fay you? can you love the gen

tleman ?

This night you fhall behold him at our feaft:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,

And fee how one another lends content;
And what obfcur'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 fea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many's eyes doth fhare the glory,
That in gold clafps locks in the golden ftory;
So fhall you fhare all that he doth poffefs,
By having him, making yourfelf no lefs.

Nurfe. No lefs? nay, bigger; women grow by

men.

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

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

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guefts are come fupper ferved up, you call'd, my young lady afk'd for, the nurfe curfed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I muft hence to wait; I befeech you, follow ftraight.

La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county

ftays.

Nurfe. Go, girl, feek happy nights to happy

days.

SCENE IV.

A Street.

[Exeunt.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or fix Mafkers, Torch-bearers, and others. Rom. What, fhall this fpeech be spoke for our excufe?

Or fhall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of fuch prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a fearf,
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 meafure us by what they will,
We'll meafure them a measure, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch,-I am not for this am
bling;

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 foles: I have a foul of lead, So ftakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

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

Rom. I am too fore enpierced with his shaft,
To foar with his light feathers; and fo bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love's heavy burden do I fink.

Mer. And to fink in it, fhould you burden love; Toe great oppreffion for a tender thing,

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boift'rous; 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 cafe to put my vifage in:

[Putting on a mask.

A vifor for a vifor!-what care I,

What curious eye doth quote deformities?

Here are the beetle-brows, fhall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no fooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of
heart,

Tickle the fenfelefs rufhes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandfire phrase,→→→
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.-
The game was ne'er fo fair, and I am done.
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the conitable's own
word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Of this (fave reverence) love, wherein thou stick'ft
Up to the ears.-Come, we burn day-light, ho.
Rom. Nay, that's not fo.

Mer.
I mean, fir, in delay
We wafte our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning; for our judgement fits
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.

Why, may one ask?

Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mer.

And fo did I.

That dreamers often lie.

Rom. Well, what was yours?

Mer.

Rom. In bed, afleep, while they do dream things

true,