The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: ee4v - Tragedies, p. 56

Left Column


The Tragedie of Romeo and Iuliet.

must talke in secret. Nurse come backe againe, I haue re­

membred me, thou'se heare our counsell. Thou knowest

[350]

my daughter's of a prety age.

Nurse. Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre. Wife. Shee's not fourteene. Nurse. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth, And yet to my teene be it spoken,
[355]
I haue but foure, shee's not fourteene. How long is it now to Lammas tide ?
Wife. A fortnight and odde days. Nurse.

Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare come

Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene. Susan & she,

[360]

God rest all Christian soules, were of an age. Well Susan

is with God, she was too good for me. But as I said, on La­ mas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall she ma­

rie, I remember it well. 'Tis since the Earth‑quake now

eleuen yeares, and she was wean'd I neuer shall forget it,

[365]

of all the daies of the yeare, vpon that day: for I had then

laid Worme‑wood to my Dug sitting in the Sunne vnder

the Douehouse wall, my Lord and you were then at

Mantua, nay I doe beare a braine. But as I said, when it

did tast the Worme‑wood on the nipple of my Dugge,

[370]

and felt it bitter, pretty foole, to see it teachie, and fall out

with the Dugge, Shake quoth the Doue‑house, 'twas no

neede I trow to bid mee trudge: and since that time it is

a eleuen yeares, for then she could stand alone, nay bi'th'

roode she could haue runne, & wadled all about: for euen

[375]

the day before she broke her brow, & then my Husband

God be with his soule, a was a merrie man, tooke vp the

Child, yea quoth hee, doest thou fall vpon thy face? thou

wilt fall backeward when thou hast more wit, wilt thou

not Iule? And by my holy‑dam, the pretty wretch lefte

[380]

crying, & said I: to see now how a Iest shall come about.

I warrant, & I shall liue a thousand yeares, I neuer should

forget it: wilt thou not Iulet quoth he? and pretty foole it

stinted, and said I.

Old La. Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace. Nurse.
[385]

Yes Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to

thinke it should leaue crying, & say I: and yet I warrant

it had vpon it brow, a bumpe as big as a young Cockrels

stone? A perilous knock, and it cryed bitterly. Yea quoth

my husband, fall'st vpon thy face, thou wilt fall back­

[390]

ward when thou commest to age: wilt thou not Iule? It

stinted: and said I.

Iule. And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I. Nur.

Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace

thou wast the prettiest Babe that ere I nurst, and I might

[395]

liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish.

Old La. Marry that marry is the very theame I came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet, How stands your disposition to be Married? Iuli. It is an houre that I dreame not of. Nur.
[400]

An houre, were I not thine onely Nurse, I would

say thou had'st suckt wisedome from thy teat.

Old La. Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then you Heere in Verona, Ladies of esteeme, Are made already Mothers. By my count
[405]
I was your Mother, much vpon these yeares That you are now a Maide, thus then in briefe: The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue.
Nurse.

A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as all

the world. Why hee's a man of waxe.

Old La.
[410]
Veronas Summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse. Nay hee's a flower, infaith a very flower. Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our Feast,

Image


[full image]

Right Column


Read ore the volume of young Paris face,
[415]
And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen: Examine euery seuerall liniament, And see how one another lends content: And what obscur'd in this faire volume lies, Find written in the Margent of his eyes.
[420]
This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer, To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer. The fish liues in the Sea, and 'tis much pride For faire without, the faire within to hide: That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie,
[425]
That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie: So shall you share all that he doth possesse, By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse.
Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men. Old La. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue? Iuli.
[430]
Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue. But no more deepe will I endart mine eye, Then your consent giues strength to make flye.
Enter a Seruing man. Ser.

Madam, the guests are come, supper seru'd vp, you

cal'd, my young Lady askt for, the Nurse cur'st in the Pan­

[435]

tery, and euery thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I

beseech you follow straight.

Exit. Mo. We follow thee, Iuliet, the Countie staies. Nurse. Goe Gyrle, seeke happi This i has been placed lower than the rest of the line of text.e nights to happy daies. Exeunt.
[Act 1, Scene 4] Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers, Torch‑bearers. Rom. What shall this speeh be spoke for our excuse?
[440]
Or shall we on without Apologie?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie, Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe, Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath, Skaring the Ladies like a Crow‑keeper.
[445]
But let them measure vs by what they will, Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone.
Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heauy I will beare the light. Mer. Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance. Rom.
[450]
Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue.
Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings, And soare with them aboue a common bound. Rom.
[455]
I am too sore enpearced with his shaft, To soare with his light feathers, and to bound: I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe, Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke.
Hora. This speech is conventionally attributed to Mercutio. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue,
[460]
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne. Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue, Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe,
[465]
Giue me a Case to put my visage in, A Visor for a Visor, what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities: Here are the Beetle‑browes shall blush for me.
Ben. Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in,
[470]
But euery man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles: For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase, Ile be a Candle‑holder and looke on,
[475]
The game was nere so faire, and I am done.
Mer. Tut,

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[Act 1, Scene 4] Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers, Torch‑bearers. Rom. What shall this speeh be spoke for our excuse?
[440]
Or shall we on without Apologie?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie, Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe, Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath, Skaring the Ladies like a Crow‑keeper.
[445]
But let them measure vs by what they will, Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone.
Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heauy I will beare the light. Mer. Nay gentle Romeo, we must haue you dance. Rom.
[450]
Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue.
Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings, And soare with them aboue a common bound. Rom.
[455]
I am too sore enpearced with his shaft, To soare with his light feathers, and to bound: I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe, Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke.
Hora. This speech is conventionally attributed to Mercutio. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue,
[460]
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne. Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue, Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe,
[465]
Giue me a Case to put my visage in, A Visor for a Visor, what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities: Here are the Beetle‑browes shall blush for me.
Ben. Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in,
[470]
But euery man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles: For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase, Ile be a Candle‑holder and looke on,
[475]
The game was nere so faire, and I am done.
Mer. Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word, If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire. Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest Vp to the eares, come we burne day‑light ho. Rom.
[480]
Nay that's not so.
Mer. I meane sir I delay, We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day; Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits Fiue times in that, ere once in our fiue wits. Rom.
[485]
And we meane well in going to this Maske, But 'tis no wit to go.
Mer. Why may one aske? Rom. I dreampt a dreame to night. Mer. And so did I. Rom.
[490]
Well what was yours?
Mer. That dreamers often lye. Ro. In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true. Mer.

O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you:

She is the Fairies Midwife, & she comes in shape no big­

[495]

ger then Agat‑stone, on the fore‑finger of an Alderman,

drawne with a teeme of little Atomies, ouer mens noses as

they lie asleepe: her Waggon Spokes made of long Spin­

ners legs: the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers, her

Traces of the smallest Spiders web, her coullers of the

[500]

Moonshines watry Beames, her Whip of Crickets bone,

the Lash of Philome, her Waggoner, a small gray‑coated

Gnat, not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme, prickt

from the Lazie‑finger of a man. Her Chariot is an emptie

Haselnut, made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub, time

[505]

out a mind, the Faries Coach‑makers: & in this state she

gallops night by night, through Louers braines: and then

they dreame of Loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame on

Cursies strait: ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreamt on

Fees, ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame, which

[510]

oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, because their

breath with Sweet meats tainted are. Sometime she gal­

lops ore a Courtiers nose, & then dreames he of smelling

out a sute: & somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale, tick­

ling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe, then he dreames of

[515]

another Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers

necke, & then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats, of

Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades: Of Healths fiue

Fadome deepe, and then anon drums in his eares, at which

he startes and wakes; and being thus frighted, sweares a

[520]

prayer or two & sleepes againe: this is that very Mab that

plats the manes of Horses in the night: & bakes the Elk­

locks in foule sluttish haires, which once vntangled, much

misfortune bodes,

This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs,
[525]
That presses them, and learnes them first to beare, Making them women of good carriage: This is she.
Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio peace, Thou talk'st of nothing. Mer.
[530]
True, I talke of dreames: Which are the children of an idle braine, Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie, Which is as thin of substance as the ayre, And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes
[535]
Euen now the frozen bosome of the North: And being anger'd, puffes away from thence, Turning his side to the dew dropping South.
Ben. This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues, Supper is done, and we shall come too late. Rom.
[540]
I feare too early, for my mind misgiues, Some consequence yet hanging in the starres, Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme Of a despised life clos'd in my brest:
[545]
By some vile forfeit of vntimely death. But he that hath the stirrage of my course, Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen.
Ben. Strike Drum.
 

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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<div type="scene" n="4" rend="notPresent">
   <head type="supplied">[Act 1, Scene 4]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe
      <lb/>other Maskers, Torch‑bearers.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="439">What shall this speeh be spoke for our excuse?</l>
      <l n="440">Or shall we on without Apologie?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-ben">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ben.</speaker>
      <l n="441">The date is out of such prolixitie,</l>
      <l n="442">Weele haue no<hi rend="italic">Cupid</hi>, hood winkt with a skarfe,</l>
      <l n="443">Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath,</l>
      <l n="444">Skaring the Ladies like a Crow‑keeper.</l>
      <l n="445">But let them measure vs by what they will,</l>
      <l n="446">Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="447">Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling.</l>
      <l n="448">Being but heauy I will beare the light.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="449">Nay gentle<hi rend="italic">Romeo</hi>, we must haue you dance.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="450">Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes</l>
      <l n="451">With nimble soles, I haue a soale of Lead</l>
      <l n="452">So stakes me to the ground, I cannot moue.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="453">You are a Louer, borrow<hi rend="italic">Cupids</hi>wings,</l>
      <l n="454">And soare with them aboue a common bound.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="455">I am too sore enpearced with his shaft,</l>
      <l n="456">To soare with his light feathers, and to bound:</l>
      <l n="457">I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe,</l>
      <l n="458">Vnder loues heauy burthen doe I sinke.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Hora.</speaker>
      <note resp="#ES">This speech is conventionally attributed to Mercutio.</note>
      <l n="459">And to sinke in it should you burthen loue,</l>
      <l n="460">Too great oppression for a tender thing.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="461">Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough,</l>
      <l n="462">Too rude, too boysterous, and it pricks like thorne.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="463">If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue,</l>
      <l n="464">Pricke loue for pricking, and you beat loue downe,</l>
      <l n="465">Giue me a Case to put my visage in,</l>
      <l n="466">A Visor for a Visor, what care I</l>
      <l n="467">What curious eye doth quote deformities:</l>
      <l n="468">Here are the Beetle‑browes shall blush for me.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-ben">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ben.</speaker>
      <l n="469">Come knocke and enter, and no sooner in,</l>
      <l n="470">But euery man betake him to his legs.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="471">A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart</l>
      <l n="472">Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles:</l>
      <l n="473">For I am prouerb'd with a Grandsier Phrase,</l>
      <l n="474">Ile be a Candle‑holder and looke on,</l>
      <l n="475">The game was nere so faire, and I am done.</l>
   </sp>
   <pb facs="FFimg:axc0675-0.jpg" n="57"/>
   <cb n="1"/>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="476">Tut, duns the Mouse, the Constables owne word,</l>
      <l n="477">If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire.</l>
      <l n="478">Or saue your reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest</l>
      <l n="479">Vp to the eares, come we burne day‑light ho.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="480">Nay that's not so.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="481">I meane sir I delay,</l>
      <l n="482">We wast our lights in vaine, lights, lights, by day;</l>
      <l n="483">Take our good meaning, for our Iudgement sits</l>
      <l n="484">Fiue times in that, ere once in our fiue wits.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="485">And we meane well in going to this Maske,</l>
      <l n="486">But 'tis no wit to go.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="487">Why may one aske?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="488">I dreampt a dreame to night.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="489">And so did I.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="490">Well what was yours?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="491">That dreamers often lye.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ro.</speaker>
      <l n="492">In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <p n="493">O then I see Queene Mab hath beene with you:
      <lb n="494"/>She is the Fairies Midwife, &amp; she comes in shape no big­
      <lb n="495"/>ger then Agat‑stone, on the fore‑finger of an Alderman,
      <lb n="496"/>drawne with a teeme of little Atomies, ouer mens noses as
      <lb n="497"/>they lie asleepe: her Waggon Spokes made of long Spin­
      <lb n="498"/>ners legs: the Couer of the wings of Grashoppers, her
      <lb n="499"/>Traces of the smallest Spiders web, her coullers of the
      <lb n="500"/>Moonshines watry Beames, her Whip of Crickets bone,
      <lb n="501"/>the Lash of Philome, her Waggoner, a small gray‑coated
      <lb n="502"/>Gnat, not halfe so bigge as a round little Worme, prickt
      <lb n="503"/>from the Lazie‑finger of a man. Her Chariot is an emptie
      <lb n="504"/>Haselnut, made by the Ioyner Squirrel or old Grub, time
      <lb n="505"/>out a mind, the Faries Coach‑makers: &amp; in this state she
      <lb n="506"/>gallops night by night, through Louers braines: and then
      <lb n="507"/>they dreame of Loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame on
      <lb n="508"/>Cursies strait: ore Lawyers fingers, who strait dreamt on
      <lb n="509"/>Fees, ore Ladies lips, who strait on kisses dreame, which
      <lb n="510"/>oft the angry<gap extent="1"
              unit="chars"
              reason="nonstandardCharacter"
              agent="inkedSpacemarker"
              resp="#ES"/>Mab with blisters plagues, because their
      <lb n="511"/>breath with Sweet meats tainted are. Sometime she gal­
      <lb n="512"/>lops ore a Courtiers nose, &amp; then dreames he of smelling
      <lb n="513"/>out a sute: &amp; somtime comes she with Tith pigs tale, tick­
      <lb n="514"/>ling a Parsons nose as a lies asleepe, then he dreames of
      <lb n="515"/>another Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore a Souldiers
      <lb n="516"/>necke, &amp; then dreames he of cutting Forraine throats, of
      <lb n="517"/>Breaches, Ambuscados, Spanish Blades: Of Healths fiue
      <lb n="518"/>Fadome deepe, and then anon drums in his eares, at which
      <lb n="519"/>he startes and wakes; and being thus frighted, sweares a
      <lb n="520"/>prayer or two &amp; sleepes againe: this is that very Mab that
      <lb n="521"/>plats the manes of Horses in the night: &amp; bakes the Elk­
      <lb n="522"/>locks in foule sluttish haires, which once vntangled, much
      <lb n="523"/>misfortune bodes,</p>
      <l n="524">This is the hag, when Maides lie on their backs,</l>
      <l n="525">That presses them, and learnes them first to beare,</l>
      <l n="526">Making them women of good carriage:</l>
      <l n="527">This is she.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="528">Peace, peace,<hi rend="italic">Mercutio</hi>peace,</l>
      <l n="529">Thou talk'st of nothing.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-mer">
      <speaker rend="italic">Mer.</speaker>
      <l n="530">True, I talke of dreames:</l>
      <l n="531">Which are the children of an idle braine,</l>
      <l n="532">Begot of nothing, but vaine phantasie,</l>
      <l n="533">Which is as thin of substance as the ayre,</l>
      <l n="534">And more inconstant then the wind, who wooes</l>
      <l n="535">Euen now the frozen bosome of the North:</l>
      <l n="536">And being anger'd, puffes away from thence,</l>
      <l n="537">Turning his side to the dew dropping South.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-ben">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ben.</speaker>
      <l n="538">This wind you talke of blowes vs from our selues,</l>
      <l n="539">Supper is done, and we shall come too late.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-rom">
      <speaker rend="italic">Rom.</speaker>
      <l n="540">I feare too early, for my mind misgiues,</l>
      <l n="541">Some consequence yet hanging in the starres,</l>
      <cb n="2"/>
      <l n="542">Shall bitterly begin his fearefull date</l>
      <l n="543">With this nights reuels, and expire the tearme</l>
      <l n="544">Of a despised life clos'd in my brest:</l>
      <l n="545">By some vile forfeit of vntimely death.</l>
      <l n="546">But he that hath the stirrage of my course,</l>
      <l n="547">Direct my sute: on lustie Gentlemen.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-rom-ben">
      <speaker rend="italic">Ben.</speaker>
      <l n="548">Strike Drum.</l>
   </sp>
</div>

        
        

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