A man, young lady! lady, such a manAs 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.]
Romeo.
What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
Benvolio.
The date is out of such prolixity:
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But, let them measure us by what they will,
We’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Romeo.
Give me a torch,—I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
Mercutio.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Romeo.
Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes,
With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
Mercutio.
You are a lover; borrow Cupid’s wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.
Romeo.
I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.
Mercutio.
And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Romeo.
Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
Mercutio.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.—
Give me a case to put my visage in: [Putting on a mask.]
A visard for a visard! what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
Benvolio.
Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
Romeo.
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.
Mercutio.
Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:
If thou art dun, we’ll
