Chapter 2
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.
Exeunt.
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.
Exeunt.
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.
Exeunt.
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. Enter.
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.