Shakespeare's Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare [best fantasy books to read TXT] 📗
- Author: William Shakespeare
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so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
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And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies 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
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Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom 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,
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And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes.
This is she—
Romeo.Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mercutio.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,
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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.
Romeo. 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
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Direct my sail!—On, lusty gentlemen.
Benvolio. Strike, drum. [Exeunt.
Scene V.
A Hall in Capulet's House
Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins
1 Servingman. Where's Potpan, that he helps not
to take away? He shift a trencher! he scrape a
trencher!
2 Servingman. When good manners shall lie all
in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too,
'tis a foul thing.
1 Servingman. Away with the joint-stools, remove
the court-cupboard, look to the plate.—Good thou,
save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest
10me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and
Nell.—Antony!—and Potpan!
2 Servingman. Ay, boy, ready.
1 Servingman. You are looked for and called for,
asked for and sought for, in the great chamber.
2 Servingman. We cannot be here and there too.
—Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer
liver take all.
Enter Capulet, with Juliet and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers
Capulet. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes
Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.—
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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,
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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.
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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 is that, which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
Servingman. I know not, sir.
Romeo. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
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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.
Tybalt. 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?
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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.
Capulet. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
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To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would not for the wealth of all the 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.
Capulet. He shall be endur'd;
What, goodman boy! I say he shall. Go to;
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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.
Capulet 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!
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I'll make you quiet. What!—Cheerly, my hearts!
Tybalt. 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 bitter gall. [Exit.
Romeo. [To Juliet] 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,
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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 prayer.
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. [Kissing 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.
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Juliet. You kiss by the book.
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Romeo. What is her mother?
Nurse. 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?
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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.
Capulet. 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!—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?
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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.
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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 learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within 'Juliet.'
Nurse. Anon, anon!—
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt.
Capulet's Garden
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