SCENE 1. _Garden in front of CAPULET’S house. Door, C.

Balcony (the balcony is a shed with poles and lines filled with clothes drying), R. C. Set bushes or trees, L. C. Enter CAPULET, C., in dressing-gown, carrying a lantern._

_Cap._ Now is the winter of my discontent Made glorious summer by this dark night sent, And all the troubles gathering o’er my house In inky darkness I may bid _varmouse_. Now on my brows my night-cap sets at ease; My bruised arms no more my _fire_-arms seize; No stern alarms to wake me from a nap, To spring wild rattles, and revolvers snap; Stern visaged war--Why, what am I about? I did not come out, Richard III. to spout. I am the father of a daughter dear,-- Dear! yes, she costs a thousand pounds a year. They call her fair, they praise her auburn tresses, And go in raptures o’er her handsome dresses. Her hats outdo Verona’s richest lasses-- So small they can’t be seen without opera glasses. She sports in silks and satins of the best That can be made by Madam Demor_est_. Verona’s gallants seek to flirt and flout With this dear _gal_, when’er her _aunt_ is out. They’d like to catch her with a wedding-ring; And so they come at night to spout and sing. But I won’t have it: under lock and key, This floating _belle_ shall _ring_ for none but me. I am her father; and my lawyer knows, Paying for her dresses, I can keep her _close_. All’s safe to-night, and so I’ll tramp to bed--

(_Moon rises._)[1]

What’s that? the moon is rising overhead, And coming up in such a smashing way, It rivals the Museum’s famous Peep o’ Day. So I’ll to bed, and should marauders roam, Let them beware; for Capulet’s at home.

(_Exit, C._)

_JULIET appears on balcony with a jar of pickled limes._

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “No one to Love.”_

No one to woo, none to address A tender young maid in the greatest distress. Hard is my lot; beaux I have none; On this piazza I’m sitting alone. No gentle man, no tender lad, Comes here to woo: ’tis really too bad. No one to woo, none to address A tender young maid in the greatest distress. Hard is my lot, beaux I have none; On this piazza I’m sitting alone.

_Jul._ Ah, me! Ah, me! Ah, me! Oh, my! I cannot sleep, nor tell the reason why. ’Tis now the very _witching_ hour of night, _Which_ is to say, it would be if ’twas light. Why, there’s the moon, quite dear to me, I’m sure: I never felt she was so _near_ before. O beauteous queen! descend from thy high sphere, And taste a pickled lime with me, my dear. I’ll tell thee lots of scandal and of fashion, And whisper in thine ear my tale of passion; For I’m in love; in love with a dear feller I met one night while seeing Cinderella. Oh, such a dear! dear me, I’m in a flutter. He’s young and rich, and sweet as fresh June butter: His name is Romeo; he’s the idol of the town; I’ll sing his praise. Prythee, dear, come down.

_ROMEO (outside), L. sings._

We won’t go home till morning, We won’t go home till morning, We won’t go home till morning, Till Juliet doth appear.

_Enter ROMEO and MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Shut up, old chap, this strain will never do: ’Twill get us both locked up in Station Two.

_Rom._ Mercut_h_, old chap, I’ll own I’m rather airy, And feel as limber as a Black-Crook fairy. ’S all right, old fel’, I’m deuced glad you’re here: Fact is, I hardly know which way to steer.

_Mer._ Oh, ho! I see King Lager’s been with you, And on his beer you’re settled fast and true. He is the Dutchman’s idol, and he puffs In shape as monstrous as Jack Falstaff’s stuffs. His throne’s a monstrous cask of his own brew, With courtiers drawing him by two and two. His crown Dutch cheese, his sceptre’s a Bologna. His subjects--well, they’re _mustered_ in Verona. His drink is Bock, his food is sour krout, Pretzels his lunch, his night-cap, gin, without. And in this guise he keeps a jolly pace, Shaking his sides, a grin upon his face. Great in our land as is our famous eagle, He sings in opera, and he fights mit Sigel.

_Rom._ Steady, my boy, you’re really getting dry. My stars! old fellow, what’s that in the sky?

_Mer._ The moon, of course--

_Rom._ But I see two, I’ll swear.

_Mer._ Then you see double.

_Rom._ There’s the other there (_points to Juliet_).

_Mer._ Another? Bless me! ’tis too brilliant far. Call that a moon? It is a glorious star.

_Rom._ Call that a star? by what arrangement, pray?

_Mer._ Why, don’t you know? The star of our new play.

_Rom._ You speak in _meteor_-phor, now pray have done. What is’t o’clock?

_Mer._ Four-quarters after one.

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “Five o’clock in the Morning.”_

My father is snugly in his bed, Taking his morning nap; My aunt has stuffed her waterfall Under her snow-white cap; The crickets are singing merrily; While I, all danger scorning, Sit quietly eating pickled limes, At two o’clock in the morning.

Then what care I for costly gems, Or silks and satins fine? I know full well when daylight comes That those will all be mine. Alone on my father’s balcony, Far, far, from fashion’s warning, I’m happier far with my pickled limes, At two o’clock in the morning.

_Rom._ Mercutio, it’s really getting late: You know that your mamma for you will wait; You’d better go.

_Mer._ Oh, no! I thank you, chum! My ma will look for me when I’m to _hum_. I’ll stay a while.

_Rom._ Mercutio, listen now, ’Tis not the time of night to pick a row. There’s an old proverb, really ’tis well done, That two is company, and three is none. Now, pray consider--

_Mer._ You are right, ’tis so: As two is company, you’d better go.

_Rom._ Oh, pshaw! Mercutio have no more such fun.

_Mer._ He’s scared at jests who never made a pun.

_Rom._ But, soft! what light in yonder window lies? It is the (_y_)east.

_Mer._ There’s something on the rise.

_Rom._ It is the east, and Juliet is the sun-- Arise! fair sun.

_Mer._ Oh, murder! do have done; Of grammar you are making fearful slaughter. What gender makes a son of Capulet’s daughter?

_Rom._ Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon--

_Mer._ You are getting to the killing part too soon.

_Rom._ Who is already sick and pale with grief--

_Mer._ Then give it a dose of Radway’s Ready Relief.

_Rom._ She speaks, yet she says nothing--

_Mer._ Nary word; Upon my life, such silence ne’er was heard.

_Rom._ See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

_Mer._ Because she’s tired: can’t you understand?

_Rom._ Oh! would I were some gloves upon thy--

_Mer._ _Pause!_ Or else old Capulet’ll have us in his claws.

_Rom._ That I might print a kiss upon that cheek!

_Mer._ Hold on a moment ere you further speak: You’re getting cheeky with your warm address. If you must print, go try the printing-press.

_Jul._ Ah, me! ah, me! ah, me! oh, my!

_Rom._ She speaks.

_Mer._ She’s got a meteor in her eye.

_Rom._ Oh, speak again, bright angel!

_Mer._ So I will: You’ll catch the rheumatism by standing still.

_Rom._ Shut up; she speaks.

_Jul._ O Romeo! Romeo, say Wherefore, oh, wherefore art thou Romeo, pray?

_Rom._ Well, really, madam, that’s a poser, rather: I really think you’d better ask my father.

_Song, “Romeo.” Air, “Pat Molloy.”_

At fourteen years of age I was a tall and strapping lad: My father had the oil-fever, and had it awful bad. “I’m hard up, Romeo,” says he, “and cannot raise the tin: My copper stocks are getting low; I really must give in.” He put my best clothes in a bag, and put it on my back, And, with his knotty walking-stick, gave me a parting whack. “Get out of this, my boy,” says he, “and remember, as you go, Old Montague’s your daddy, and your name is Romeo.”

_Jul._ Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, Call thyself Smith or Jones, ’tis all the same; Or, if thou art inclined to give it me, I’ll pack my trunk and go along with thee.

_Rom._ Shall I hear more, or had I better--

_Mer._ Wait, Give her a chance, she’ll pop the question straight.

_Jul._ What’s in a name?

_Mer._ Why, often there’s a letter.

_Jul._ Pickles by any other name taste all the better, And so would Romeo--

_Mer._ Oh, dear! here’s a row: She’s got you in a precious pickle now.

_Jul._ Romeo, doff thy name now, that’s a dear; For Mrs. Montague would sound so queer: I do not like it; for thy name mine take; A better bargain you did never make.

_Rom._ I’ll take thee at thy word: I’ll change my nature, And get my name changed by the legislature.

_Mer._ Not in _our_ General Court can you, I’ll swear: They change not names, but only color, there.

_Jul._ What lads art thou beneath my window met?

_Mer._ Lads! With a ladder we’d be nearer yet.

_Rom._ I know not how, dear saint, to tell you that, Because my name is written in my hat, And you don’t like it. I would rub it out, If there was any rubber here about.

_Jul._ Whist! how came you here, and why? My father’s fence is very sharp and high, And should he find you here--

_Mer._ The ugly cuss Would straight salute us with a blunderbuss.

_Rom._ With love’s light wings did I the fence o’erleap On sounding pinions--

_Mer._ Ain’t you getting steep?

_Jul._ I cannot hear you; pray come nearer, love.

_Rom._ Oh! that I had wings to mount above.

_Mer._ Wings? Pshaw! a stouter platform you will need If that fond purpose in your eye I read.

(_Rolls in barrel of flour from L.; places it beneath balcony, and assists ROMEO to mount it._)

Here is the article, and just the size, Placed in your east, ’twill help you to _arise_. Now mount, my hero, spread your softest talk, And, while you’re busy, I’ll go take a walk. Be careful of your feet, or, by the powers, Our next tableau’ll be “love among the _flours_.” _Exit, L._

_Jul._ By whose direction found you out this spot?

_Rom._ ’Tis put down in the Directory, is it not?

_Jul._ If you are found here, you’ll be murdered straight, So pray begone--

_Rom._ I think I’d rather wait. Fear not for me my jewel, on my word, Your eyes cut deeper than the sharpest sword. Oh! beauteous Juliet, fairest of the fair, Within my heart a roaring flame I bear. I’m over ears in love within this hour. (_Stumbles on barrel._)

_Jul._ Be careful, you’ll be over ears in flour.

_Rom._ If thou wouldst have me paint the home To which I’d bear thee when our nuptials come, Listen. In a deep vale where huckleberries grow, And modest sun-flowers blossom in a row, Where blooming cabbage rears its lofty head, And fragrant onion spreads its lowly bed, A yellow cottage, with a chimney tall, Lifts to eternal summer its shingled wall. From out a bower made musical with frogs, Who chant their wild lays in the neighboring bogs, At noon we’d sit beneath the arching vine, And gather grapes to make our winter wine; And when night came we’d guess what star Should next attract us to the op--era; And then--

_Jul._ Oh, pshaw! give o’er, Your yellow-covered cottage is a bore; For cabbages and onions find new names: I mean to have rooms at the new St. James. And if you love me it is surely fair--

_Rom._ Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear--

_Jul._ Oh! swear not by the moon.

_Rom._ Well, then, I won’t. What shall I swear by?

_Jul._ Swear not at all, my dear.

_Rom._ What! not a swear? Oh, this ain’t love, ’tis clear!

_Cap._ (_outside_). Ho, Juliet! Juliet, are you there? I cannot find my night-cap anywhere.

_Rom._ Who’s that?

_Jul._ My father. Oh, the deuse’s to pay!

_Rom._ I wish the old man was _farther_ any way.

_Cap._ (_outside_). Juliet!

_Jul._ Coming, coming soon.

_Rom._ I wish old Capulet was the man in the moon.

_Jul._ Good night, dear Romy; tie your ears up tight.

_Rom._ And wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? ’taint right.

_Jul._ What satisfaction canst thou have, my blade?

_Rom._ Why, that of giving you a serenade.

(_“Mocking Bird,” Whistling serenade, by ROMEO._)

_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “Listen to the Mocking Bird.”_

My father now has spoken, has spoken, has spoken, My father now has spoken, And the whistling lad is ringing in my ear. I feel like one heart-broken, heart-broken, heart-broken, I feel like one heart-broken, For my Romey can no longer linger here. Listen to the whistling lad, Listen to the whistling lad, The whistling lad who pipes his merry lay. Listen to the whistling lad, Listen to the whistling lad, Who whistles where the yellow moonbeams play.

I’m dreaming now of Romey, of Romey, of Romey, I’m dreaming now of Romey, And the tender, tender words he spake to me. To the opera he shall beau me, shall beau me, shall beau me, To the opera he shall beau me, And I the happiest maid in town will be. Listen to the whistling lad, &c.

_Cap._ (_without_). Juliet, I say, ho! Juliet, do you hear?

_Jul._ Coming, papa; and now good-night, my dear. _Exit._

_Rom._ Good-night, good-night; parting were such sweet sorrow, I’ll come again and try it on to-morrow.

_Exit, L._

_Enter MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Is this a bottle which I see before me? The nozzle towards my mouth. Come, let me pour thee. I have thee not; and yet I’ll swear I saw Thee just as plain as this which now I draw.

(_Draws bottle from his pocket._)

_Song, “Mercutio.” Air, “Rootle tum, tootle tum ta.”_

Mercutio, you have been told, Was a gay boy of old: One Shakspeare his story has told In a humorous sort of a way. He was fond of a nice little game,-- Any game you can name, Would see you, and go it again. Rootle tum, tootle tum tay. For frolic or fighting quite ready, You could hardly, I think, call him steady. Rootle tum, tootle tum, tootle tum, tootle tum, Tootle tum, tootle tum tay.

Of his virtues we oft have been told By this wise bard of old; But his vices he didn’t unfold, But just kept them out of the way. A patron he of the race-horse, And the turf,--what is worse, Was given to betting, of course. Rootle tum, tootle tum tay; So a moral to put if you’re willin, I’ll make him a sort of a villain. Rootle tum, tootle tum, &c.

Ha! ha! ha! this Romeo, silly looney, Has, on old Capulet’s daughter, got quite spooney; And now to wed her he is nothing loth. Ha! ha! he’ll find my fingers in the broth. He’s ordered cards for Wednesday--Park-st. Church: Mayhap his bride will leave him in the lurch; I’ll marry her myself, or rot in prison. Why should’nt she be mine as well as his’n? I do remember an apothecary, or rather orter, Who, somewhere hereabouts, sells soda-water. I’ll hie to him, and high this bottle fill, With laughing gas. Ha! ha! my heart be still. We’ll block this little game, that’s very plain; Conscience, avaunt! Mercut_h_’s himself again.

_Turns and meets CAPULET, who has entered from door, C., with revolver._

_Cap._ So, so, my early bird you’ve caught a worm; Keep still, you stupid, don’t begin to squirm; Explain this early visit if you can.

_Mer._ “Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.”

_Cap._ Oh! that won’t do, shut up, you silly elf: I do the old man’s business here myself. Your business here? My name is Cap--

_Mer._ --You let Me off, and I won’t come again, you bet. I came to look at yon revolving moon.

_Cap._ You’ll get a taste of my revolver soon.

_Mer._ You have a daughter--

_Cap._ What is that to you?

_Mer._ Nothing, but she is very fair to view: Her name is Juliet--

_Cap._ I knew that before.

_Mer._ You did? Well, you’re a smart old man, I’m sure. A pretty name; what is her dowry, pray?

_Cap._ A hundred thousand on her wedding-day.

_Mer._ The noble Plaster Paris seeks her hand?

_Cap._ Yes, and to marry him is my command.

_Mer._ O wild old man! I came to ope your eyes, To save you from a fearful sacrifice.

_Cap._ How, now? speak out! you rouse my wildest fears!

_Mer._ Hush, hush, old man! they say the walls have ears. To save you fifty thousand dollars, I agree, If for one moment you will list to me. Paris to take her gets a hundred thousand plum: I’ll marry her for just one-half the sum. _Exit, L._

_Cap._ Get out, you scamp! I am completely sold: I’ll back to bed, for it is bitter cold, And I’ve been bit already; but to-morrow I’ll give that girl a taste of early sorrow; Pack up her crinoline, and off she’ll go To Di----o Lewis, or Professor Blot.

_Exit, R._

_Enter JULIET from house._

_Jul._ O Romeo, Romeo! I forgot to say-- Why, he is gone--oh! for the trumpet’s bray, The watchman’s rattle, or the fire-alarm, To lure him back--

_Enter MERCUTIO, L. (wrapped in a domino), eating a sandwich._

_Mer._ It’s really getting warm. How tender sweet taste sandwiched tongues by night To hungry stomachs!--now I feel all right.

_Jul._ Romeo--

_Mer._ My sweet.

_Jul._ When shall we wedded be?

_Mer._ What’s that? when wedded? Dear me, let me see. Hush! love, a fearful tale I have to tell, That but a moment since on me befell. Your father swore point blank that you should marry Only that spooney, the young Plaster Paris.

_Jul._ Never! I’ll be an old maid first.

_Mer._ Now, don’t you fret: I’ll fix his flint; we may be happy yet. Just take this bottle, wrap your shawl around, And hie you off to Capulet’s burying-ground.

_Jul._ What is it, ketchup or Peruvian dye?

_Mer._ No matter, dear: just ketch it up and fly. When you get there, imbibe a goodly dose, Then near the tomb of Capulet hide you close. Just read the label, sweet, before ’tis taken: My precious jewel, it must be well shaken. Hush! I hear a voice, a footstep too, beware! Remember, burying-ground and gas, you’ll find me there.

_Duet, “Mercutio and Juliet.” Air, “We Merry-hearted Marched Away.”_ (_Grand Duchess._)

_Jul._ Well, well, my love, I’ll start away, Your strange request to quick obey; Equip myself in hat and shawl, And meet you ’neath the church-yard wall.

_Mer._ She don’t suspect--it is all right; I’ll be a happy dog to-night; Rob Romeo of his darling spouse, And ’neath the church-yard wall carouse.

“_I Love the Military._”

_Both._ Oh, I’ll } run for my } millinery, you’ll } your }

Run for my } millinery, run for my } millinery; your } your }

Oh yes, I’ll } quickly run and get my } shawl. you’ll } your }

(_Repeat, and Dance off, R._)

_Enter ROMEO, L._

_Rom._ My sweet, my dove.

_Enter JULIET, R._

_Jul._ What, back again so soon? Why, you’re as wayward as the silver moon.

_Rom._ My dear, I came to fix our wedding-day.

_CAPULET appears at door, C., with pitch-fork._

_Cap._ I’ll fix you!

_Rom._ Murder!

_Jul._ Don’t, father, pray.

_Rom._ Oh, dear!

_Jul._ Oh, my!

_Cap._ Well, sirrah, how is that?

_Rom._ Help, help, Mercutio!

_Cap._ You are cutting fat.

_Enter MERCUTIO, L._

_Mer._ Holloa, old man! ’tis time you were in bed: Just let me fix your night-cap on your head.

_Pulls his night-cap over his eyes._

_Chorus. Air, “Sabre du mon pére.”_

Pull on your night-cap, your night-cap, your night-cap! Pull on your night-cap, and take yourself to bed.

(_Repeat._)

(_Quick change._)