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Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with

you.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-ftone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie afleep :
Her waggon-fpokes 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 watry beams:
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film:
Her waggoner, a fmall grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo 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'fies

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 blifters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are.
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a fuit:
And fometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling a parfon's nose as 'a lies a fleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a foldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambufcadoes, 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 fleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul fluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That preffes them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.

This, this is the

Rom.

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;

Thou talk'ft 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 wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping fouth.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from

ourselves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom. I fear, too early: for my mind mifgives, Some confequence, 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 breaft, By fome vile forfeit of untimely death : But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my fail!-On, lusty gentlemen. Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Hall in Capulet's House.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.

I Seru. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? he shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

I Seru. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:--good thou, fave me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou loveft me, let the porter let in Sufan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony! and Potpan!

2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

I Serv. You are look'd for, and call'd for, afk'd for, and fought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here, and there too.Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [They retire bebind.

Enter CAPULET, &c. with the Guests, and the Maskers.

I Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes

Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you:--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 you now? You are welcome, gentlemen! I have feen 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:

4

You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians,

play.

A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.

[Mufick plays, and they dance. More light, ye knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, firrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, fit, nay, fit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now, fince last yourself and I Were in a mask;

2 Cap.

By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What man! 'tis not fo much, 'tis not

so much:

'Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come pentecoft 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, for;

His fon is thirty.

1 Cap.

Will you tell me that?

Hisson was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the

hand

Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, fir.

Rom. O, the doth teach the torches to burn

bright!

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's 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.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now ? forswear it, fight!
For I ne'er faw true beauty till this night.

VOL, IX.

D

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague:-
Fetch me my rapier, boy:-What! dares the flave
Come hither, cover'd with an antick face,
To fleer and scorn at our folemnity?

Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a fin.

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore

storm you fo ?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;

A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To fcorn at our folemnity this night.

I Cap. Young Romeo is't?

Tyb.

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth : I would not for the wealth of all this 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 prefence, and put off these frowns, An ill-befeeming semblance for a feaft.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest;

I'll not endure him.

1 Cap.

He shall be endur'd;

What, goodman boy!-I say, he shall; - Go to ;Am I the master here, or you? go to.

You'll not endure him! - God shall mend my foul

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will fet cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap.

Go to, go to,

You are a faucy boy:-Is't so, indeed?

This trick may chance to scath you;-I know what. You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time

Well faid, my hearts: - You are a princox; go:

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