Imatges de pÓgina
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Drawn with a team of little atomies*
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's wat’ry beams:
Her whip, of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a small gray-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 hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:
On 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 suitt:
And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
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;

+ A place in court.

* Atoms.

And bakes the elf-locks* 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, this is she
Rom.

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk’st of nothing.
Mer.

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

DESCRIPTION OF A BEAUTY.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night, Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop'st 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.

ACT II.

THE GARDEN SCENE.

Enter ROMEO. Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. -

[Juliet appears above, ai a Window. But, soft, what light thro' yonder window breaks! It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! *i.e. Fairy locks, locks of hair clotted and tangled in the night.

† An Ethiopian, a black.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid*, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-
It is my lady; 0, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!-
She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that;
Her
eye

discourses, I will answer it.-
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres, till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head;
The brightness of her cheek would shame those

stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! Jul.

Ah, me! Rom.

She speaks:O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

* A votary to the moon, to Diana.

*

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Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this ?

[Aside.
Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy.
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo callid,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes*,
Without that title:-Romeo, dofft thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Rom.

I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz’d; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. [night,

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in So stumblest on my counsel ? Rom.

By a name I know not how to tell thee wlio I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. [words

Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound; Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul, How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and

wherefore? The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb; And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

* Owns, possesses.

GG

+ Do off.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'erperch

these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt, Therefore thy kinsmen are no let* to me.

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye, Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee

here. Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their

sight; And, but thou love met, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this

place? Rom. By love, who first did prompt meto inquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my

face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke ; But farewell compliment ! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say-Ay; And I will take thy word : yet, if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false ; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

* Hinderance. + Unless thou love me.

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