The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done; for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose?

Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not!

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

Rom. And is it not, then, well serv’d in to a sweet goose?

Mer. O, here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Rom. I stretch it out for that word ‘broad,’ which, added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature. For this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there!

Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceiv’d! I would have made it short; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer.

Rom. Here’s goodly gear!

 

Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter].

 

Mer. A sail, a sail!

Ben. Two, two! a shirt and a smock.

Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon.

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.

Nurse. Is it good-den?

Mer. ‘Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.

Nurse. Out upon you! What a man are you!

Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said. ‘For himself to mar,’ quoth ‘a? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?

Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’ faith! wisely, wisely.

Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.

Ben. She will endite him to some supper.

Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!

Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent He walks by them and sings.

 

An old hare hoar,

And an old hare hoar,

Is very good meat in Lent; But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score When it hoars ere it be spent.

 

Romeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady. Farewell,

[sings] lady, lady, lady.

Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio.

Nurse. Marry, farewell! I Pray you, Sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery?

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An ‘a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, an ‘a were lustier than he is, and twenty such jacks; and if I cannot, I’ll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure. If I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word; and, as I told you, my young lady bid me enquire you out. What she bid me say, I will keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool’s paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young; and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be off’red to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-Nurse. Good heart, and I faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord! she will be a joyful woman.

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Rom. Bid her devise

Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence’ cell Be shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.

Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.

Rom. Go to! I say you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall.

Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, Which to the high topgallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night.

Farewell. Be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains.

Farewell. Commend me to thy mistress.

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.

Rom. What say’st thou, my dear nurse?

Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.

Nurse. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord!

when ‘twas a little prating thing-O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? Both with an R.

Nurse. Ah, mocker! that’s the dog’s name. R is for the-No; I know it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady.

Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo.] Peter!

Peter. Anon.

Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before, and apace.

Exeunt.

 

Scene V.

Capulet’s orchard.

 

Enter Juliet.

 

Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she ‘promis’d to return.

Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so.

O, she is lame! Love’s heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams Driving back shadows over low’ring hills.

Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours; yet she is not come.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me,

But old folks, many feign as they were dead-Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

 

Enter Nurse [and Peter].

 

O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.

[Exit Peter.]

Jul. Now, good sweet nurse-O Lord, why look’st thou sad?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.

Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!

Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.

Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak.

Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?

The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.

Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that.

Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.

Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s; and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talk’d on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I’ll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God.

What, have you din’d at home?

Jul. No, no. But all this did I know before.

What says he of our marriage? What of that?

Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

My back o’ t’ other side,- ah, my back, my back!

Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with jauncing up and down!

Jul. I’ faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.

Sweet, sweet, Sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome; and, I warrant, a virtuous-Where is your mother?

Jul. Where is my mother? Why, she is within.

Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!

‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman, “Where is your mother?”’

Nurse. O God’s Lady dear!

Are you so hot? Marry come up, I trow.

Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

Henceforward do your messages yourself.

Jul. Here’s such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?

Jul. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence’ cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife.

Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks: They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.

Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.

I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you shall bear the burthen soon at night.

Go; I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.

Jul. Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.

Exeunt.

 

Scene VI.

Friar Laurence’s cell.

 

Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo.

 

Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!

Rom. Amen, amen! But come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight.

Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare-It is enough I may but call her mine.

Friar. These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.