She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? La. Cap. A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 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 wi' th' dug! Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, b' th' rood, I never should forget it: "Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said "Ay." La. Cap. Enough of this: I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying, and say "Ay:" Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd: La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse. An honour? were not I thine only nurse, I would say, thou had'st suck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. 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. La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman ? This night you shall behold him at our feast: And see how one an other lends content; The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride, That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, Nurse. No less? nay, bigger: women grow by men. La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move; Enter a Man Servant. Serv. 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 every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. La. Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the County stays. Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and Others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse, Or shall we on without apology? Ben. The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf, [Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke But, let them measure us by what they will, Rom. Give me a torch; I am not for this am bling: Being but heavy, I will bear the light. Mercutio. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes, With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead, Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. [Putting on a mask. A visor for a visor! what care I, What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me. Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. Rom. 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. Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word. If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Mer. I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask, But 'tis no wit to go. Mer. Why, may one ask? |