« VorigeDoorgaan »
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 Elf locks in foul suttish Hairs, which once incangled, much Misfor. tunes bodes. This is the Hag, when Miids lye on their Backs, That presses them, and learns them first to bear, Making them Women of good Carriage: This is she
Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Mer. True, I talk of Dreams;
Ben, This Wind you talk of, blows us from our selves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. I fear too early; for my mind misgives,
Ben, Strike, Drum.
They march about the Stage, and Servants come forth with
their Napkins. I Ser. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a Trencher! He scrape a Trencher!
2 Ser. When good Manners shall lye in one or two Mers Hands, and they unwath'd too, 'tis a foul thing.
1 Ser. Away with the Joint-tools, remove the Court-cup. board, look to the Place: Good thou, save me a piece of March-pane ; and as thou lovest me, let the Porter let in VOL. V.
Susan Grindfone, and Nell
, Anthony, and Potpan. 2 Ser. Ay, Boy, ready,
1 Ser. You are look'd for, call’d for, asked for, and sought for, in the great Chamber.
2 Ser. We cannot be here and there too; chearly Boys; Be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.
Enter all the Guests and Ladies to the Maskers.
[Mufick plays, and they Dance,
2 Cap. By'r Lady, thirty Years.
i Cap. 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 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more, his Son is Elder, Sir: His Son is Thirty.
I Cap. Will you tell me that?
Rom. What Lady is that which doth enrich the Hand
Sir. I know not, Sir.
Rom. O ne doth teach the Torches to burn bright; Her Beauty hangs upon the cheek of Night,
Like a rich Jewel in an Æthiop's Ear:
Heart love 'till now; forfwear it Sight? For I ne'er saw true Beauty 'till this Night.
Tib. This by his Voice should be a Monntague. Fetch me my Rapier, Boy: what dares the Slave Come hither cover'd with an Antick Face, To fleer and scorn at our Solemnity? Now by the stock and honour of my Kin, To strike him dead, and hold it not a fin.
Cap. Why, how now, Kinsman,
Tib. Uncle, this is a Mount ague, our Foe :
Cap. Young Romeo, is it?
Cap. Content thee, gentle Coz, let him alone,
Tib. It fits, when such a Villain is a Guest, I'll not endure him.
Cap. He shall be indur'd.
Tib. Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame,
You are a saucy Boy'is so indeed
Tib. Patience perforce with wilful Choler meeting,
Rom. If I prophane with my unworthiest Hand, [7o Juliet.
Iul. Good Pilgrim,
Rom. Have not Saints Lips, and holy Palmers too?
Rom. O'then, dear Saint, let Lips do what Hands do, They pray (grant thou) lest Faith turn to Despair.
Jul. Saints do not move, Though grant for Prayers sake.
Rom. Then move not while my Prayers effea do take: Thus from my Lips, by thine my fin is purg'd. (Kiffing ber.
Jul. Then have my Lips the fin that they have took.
Rom. Sin from my Lips! O trespass sweetly urg'd: Give me my sin again.
Jul. You kiss by th' Book.
Rom. Is The a Capulet?
Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.
Cap. Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
[Exeunt. Jul. Come hither, Nurse. What is yond Gentleman?
Nur. Íhe Son and Heir of old Tyberio.
Jul. Go ask his Name. If he be Married,
Nur. His Name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
Jul. My only Love sprung from my only Hate!
Nur. What's this? what's this?
Jul. A Rhime I learn'd' even now of one I danc'd withal.
[One calls within, Juliet. Nur. Anoh, anon: Come, let's away, the Strangers all are gone. [Excunt.
A C T II.
SC EN E I.
gapes to be his Heir: