Romeo and Juliet

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Copyright ©  by William Shakespeare. All rights reserved.

Dramatis Personae

  1. Chorus
    1. Escalus Prince of Verona
    2. Paris a young Count, kinsman to the Prince
      1. Montague
      2. Capulet
      heads of two houses at variance with each other
    3. An old Man of the Capulet family
    4. Romeo son to Montague
    5. Mercutio kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo
    6. Benvolio nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo
    7. Tybalt nephew to Lady Capulet
      1. Friar Laurence
      2. Friar John
    8. Balthasar servant to Romeo
    9. Abram servant to Montague
      1. Sampson
      2. Gregory
      servants to Capulet
    10. Peter servant to Juliet's nurse
    11. An Apothecary
    12. Three Musicians
    13. An Officer
    1. Lady Montague wife to Montague
    2. Lady Capulet wife to Capulet
    3. Juliet daughter to Capulet
    4. Nurse to Juliet
    1. Citizens of Verona
    2. Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both houses
    3. Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watchmen, Servants, and Attendants

The Scene: Verona and Mantua

The Prologue

Enter Chorus.


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



Scene I Verona. A public place

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

Sampson Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.
Gregory No, for then we should be colliers.
Sampson I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gregory Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.
Sampson I strike quickly, being moved.
Gregory But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sampson A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
Gregory To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.
Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
Sampson A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.
Gregory That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.
Sampson ’Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall.
Gregory The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
Sampson ’Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids— I will cut off their heads.
Gregory The heads of the maids?
Sampson Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads.
Take it in what sense thou wilt.
Gregory They must take it in sense that feel it.
Sampson Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and ’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
Gregory ’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor-John. Draw thy tool! Here comes two of the house of Montagues.

Enter two other Servingmen Abram and Balthasar.

Sampson My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee.
Gregory How? turn thy back and run?
Sampson Fear me not.
Gregory No, marry. I fear thee!
Sampson Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
Gregory I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
Sampson Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is disgrace to them, if they bear it.
Abram Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abram Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson aside to Gregory Is the law of our side if I say ay?
Gregory aside to Sampson No.
Sampson No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gregory Do you quarrel, sir?
Abram Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
Sampson But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.
Abram No better.
Sampson Well, sir.

Enter Benvolio.

Gregory aside to Sampson Say 'better.' Here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
Sampson Yes, better, sir.
Abram You lie.
Sampson Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight.
Benvolio Part, fools! Beats down their swords.
Put up your swords. You know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tybalt What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee Benvolio! look upon thy death.
Benvolio I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tybalt What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
Have at thee, coward! They fight.

Enter An Officer, and three or four Citizens with clubs or partisans.

Officer Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! beat them down!
Citizens Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!

Enter Old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife.

Capulet What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
Wife A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
Capulet My sword, I say! Old Montague is come
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter Old Montague and his Wife.

Montague Thou villain Capulet!— Hold me not, let me go.
M. Wife Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

Enter Prince Escalus, with his Train.


Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel—
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
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Cank'red with peace, to part your cank'red hate.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
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,
To old Freetown, our common judgment place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

Exeunt all but Montague,
his Wife, and Benvolio.

Montague Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
I drew to part them. In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.

M. Wife O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

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;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
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,
Being one too many by my weary self—
Pursu'd my humour, not Pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.


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

Benvolio My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Montague I neither know it nor can learn of him
Benvolio Have you importun'd him by any means?

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

Enter Romeo.

Benvolio See, where he comes. So please you step aside,
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Montague I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away,

Exeunt Montague and Wife.

Benvolio Good morrow, cousin.
Romeo Is the day so young?
Benvolio But new struck nine.
Romeo Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Benvolio It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Romeo Not having that which having makes them short.
Benvolio In love?
Romeo Out—
Benvolio Of love?
Romeo Out of her favour where I am in love.
Benvolio Alas that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
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 anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
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.
Dost thou not laugh?

Benvolio No, coz, I rather weep.
Romeo Good heart, at what?
Benvolio At thy good heart's oppression.

Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

Benvolio Soft! I will go along.
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Romeo Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here:
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Benvolio Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?
Romeo What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Benvolio Groan? Why, no;
But sadly tell me who.
Romeo Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Benvolio I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Romeo A right good markman! And she's fair I love.
Benvolio A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hit
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.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
O, she's rich in beauty; only poor
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

Benvolio Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

Benvolio Be rul'd by me: forget to think of her.
Romeo O, teach me how I should forget to think!
Benvolio By giving liberty unto thine eyes.
Examine other beauties.

’Tis the way
To call hers (exquisite) in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.

Benvolio I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.


Scene II A Street

Enter Capulet, County Paris, and Servant the Clown.

Capulet But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
Paris Of honourable reckoning are you both,
And pity ’tis you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

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
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Paris Younger than she are happy mothers made.

And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady of my earth.
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
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,
And like her most whose merit most shall be;
Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. To Servant, giving him a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay—

Exeunt Capulet and Paris.


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

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.


Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is lessoned by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Romeo Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Benvolio For what, I pray thee?
Romeo For your broken shin.
Benvolio Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Romeo Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;
Shut up in Prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd and tormented and— God-den, good fellow.
Servant God gi' go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
Romeo Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book. But I pray, can you read anything you see?
Romeo Ay, If I know the letters and the language.
Servant Ye say honestly. Rest you merry!
Romeo Stay, fellow; I can read. He reads.
Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;
The lady widow of Vitruvio;
Signior Placentio and His lovely nieces;
Mercutio and his brother Valentine;
Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;
My fair niece Rosaline and Livia;
Signior Valentio and His cousin Tybalt;
Lucio and the lively Helena.
Gives back the paper.: A fair assembly. Whither should they come?
Servant Up.
Romeo Whither?
Servant To supper, to our house.
Romeo Whose house?
Servant My master's.
Romeo Indeed I should have ask'd you that before.
Servant 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 you merry! Exit.

At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither, and with unattainted eye
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.


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


Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye;
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well that now seems best.

Romeo I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of my own. Exeunt.

Scene III Capulet’s house

Enter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse.

Wife Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.
Nurse Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! what ladybird!
God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!

Enter Juliet.

Juliet How now? Who calls?
Nurse Your mother.
Juliet Madam, I am here.
What is your will?
Wife This is the matter— Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again;
I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our counsel.
Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
Wife She's not fourteen.
Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth—
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four—
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammastide?
Wife A fortnight and odd days.

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

Wife Enough of this. I pray thee hold thy peace.

Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh
To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'
And yet, I warrant, it bad upon it brow
A bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone;
A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.
'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' It stinted, and said 'Ay.'

Juliet And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurse Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd.
An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
Wife Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Juliet It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse An honour? Were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

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.
Wife Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse Nay, he's a flower, in faith— a very flower.

What say you? Can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our 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 margent 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
Wife Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
Juliet 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.

Enter Servingman.

Servant Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you call'd, my young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait. I beseech you follow straight.
Wife We follow thee. Exit Servingman
Juliet, the County stays.
Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.


Scene IV A street

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers; Torchbearers.

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

The date is out of such prolixity.
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper;
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.

Romeo Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
Mercutio Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Romeo 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.
Mercutio You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings
And soar with them above a common bound.
Romeo 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 burthen do I sink.
Mercutio And, to sink in it, should you burthen love—
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Romeo Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn.

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.

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

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.


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

Romeo Nay, that's not so.
Mercutio I mean, sir, in delay
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.
Romeo And we mean well, in going to this masque;
But ’tis no wit to go.
Mercutio Why, may one ask?
Romeo I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mercutio And so did I.
Romeo Well, what was yours?
Mercutio That dreamers often lie.
Romeo In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

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 forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;
Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, 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 hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she 'gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fadom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish, hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes
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—

Romeo Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.

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
Even now the frozen bosom of the North
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping South.

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

I fear, too early; for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen!

Benvolio Strike, drum.

They march about the stage. Exeunt.

Scene V Capulet’s house

Servingmen come forth with napkins.

1. Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
He shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
2. Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, ’tis a foul thing.
1. Servant

Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cubbert, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane and, as thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Anthony, and Potpan!

2. Servant Ay, boy, ready.
1. Servant You are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought for, in the great chamber.
3. Servant We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys!
Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. Exeunt.

Enter the Maskers. Enter, with Servants, Capulet,
his Wife, Juliet, Tybalt, and all the Guests and
Gentlewomen to the Maskers.


Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes
Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
She I'll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please. ’Tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone!
You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.

Music plays, and they dance.

More light, you knaves! and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dancing days.
How long is’t now since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?

2. Capulet By'r Lady, thirty years.
Capulet What, man? ’Tis not so much, ’tis not so much!
’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,
Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,
Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd.
2. Capulet ’Tis more, ’tis more! His son is elder, sir;
His son is thirty.
Capulet Will you tell me that?
His son was but a ward two years ago.
Romeo to a Servingman What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?
Servant I know not, sir.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear—
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.


This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Capulet Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so?
Tybalt Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Capulet Young Romeo is it?
Tybalt ’Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
'A bears him like a portly gentleman,
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would not for the wealth of all this town
Here in my house do him disparagement.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him.
It is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tybalt It fits when such a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.

He shall be endur'd.
What, goodman boy? I say he shall. Go to!
Am I the master here, or you? Go to!
You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul!
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tybalt Why, uncle, ’tis a shame.

Go to, go to!
You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?
This trick may chance to scathe you. I know what.
You must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time.—
Well said, my hearts!— You are a princox— go!
Be quiet, or— More light, more light!— For shame!
I'll make you quiet; what!— Cheerly, my hearts!


Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest gall. Exit.

Romeo If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Romeo Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Juliet Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r.
Romeo O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!
They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Juliet Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Romeo Then move not while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. Kisses her.
Juliet Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Romeo Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again. Kisses her.
Juliet You kiss by th' book.
Nurse Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Romeo What is her mother?

Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house.
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal.
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.

Romeo Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Benvolio Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.
Romeo Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it e'en so? Why then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honest gentlemen. Good night.
More torches here! Exeunt Maskers. Come on then, let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.

Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.

Juliet Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
Nurse The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Juliet What's he that now is going out of door?
Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
Juliet What's he that follows there, that would not dance?
Nurse I know not.
Juliet Go ask his name.— If he be married,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
Nurse His name is Romeo, and a Montague,
The only son of your great enemy.
Juliet My only love, sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurse What's this? what's this?
Juliet A rhyme I learnt even now
Of one I danc'd withal. One calls within, 'Juliet.'
Nurse Anon, anon!
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.