To see it tetchy, and fall out with the 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, by the rood
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband,—God be with his soul!
‘A was a merry man,—took up the child:
‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay:’
To see now how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand yeas,
I never should forget it; ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’
Lady Capulet.
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:’
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou com’st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’
Juliet.
And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurse.
Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:
An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
Lady Capulet.
Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of.—Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Juliet.
It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse.
An honour!—were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.
Lady Capulet.
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.
Lady Capulet.
Verona’s summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse.
Nay, he’s a flower, in faith, a very flower.
Lady Capulet.
What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,
And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur’d in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; and ‘tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse.
No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men
Lady Capulet.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?
Juliet.
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
[Enter a Servant.]
Servant. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.
Lady Capulet.
We follow thee. [Exit Servant.]—
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.]
