The Same. A Room in CAPULET’S House. | |
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Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse. | |
| Lady Cap. Nurse, where’s my daughter? call her forth to me. | |
| Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,— | 4 |
| I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! | |
| God forbid! where’s this girl? what, Juliet! | |
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Enter JULIET. | |
| Jul. How now! who calls? | 8 |
| Nurse. Your mother. | |
| Jul. Madam, I am here. | |
| What is your will? | |
| Lady Cap. This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile. | 12 |
| We must talk in secret: nurse, come back again; | |
| I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel. | |
| Thou know’st my daughter’s of a pretty age. | |
| Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. | 16 |
| Lady Cap. She’s not fourteen. | |
| Nurse. I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth— | |
| And yet to my teen be it spoken I have but four— | |
| She is not fourteen. How long is it now | 20 |
| To Lammas-tide? | |
| Lady Cap. A fortnight and odd days. | |
| Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, | |
| Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. | 24 |
| Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!— | |
| Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; | |
| She was too good for me. But, as I said, | |
| On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; | 28 |
| That shall she, marry; I remember it well. | |
| ’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; | |
| And she was wean’d, I never shall forget it, | |
| Of all the days of the year, upon that day; | 32 |
| For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, | |
| Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; | |
| My lord and you were then at Mantua. | |
| Nay, I do bear a brain:—but, as I said, | 36 |
| 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 with the dug. | |
| ‘Shake,’ quoth the dove-house: ’twas no need, I trow, | 40 |
| To bid me trudge: | |
| And since that time it is eleven years; | |
| For then she could stand high lone; nay, by the rood, | |
| She could have run and waddled all about; | 44 |
| 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? | 48 |
| Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; | |
| Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my halidom, | |
| The pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay.’ | |
| To see now how a jest shall come about! | 52 |
| I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, | |
| I never should forget it: ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he; | |
| And, pretty fool, it stinted and said ‘Ay.’ | |
| Lady Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. | 56 |
| 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; | 60 |
| 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.’ | 64 |
| Jul. 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 o’er I nursed: | |
| An I might live to see thee married once, | 68 |
| I have my wish. | |
| Lady Cap. Marry, that ‘marry’ is the very theme | |
| I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, | |
| How stands your disposition to be married? | 72 |
| Jul. 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 Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, | 76 |
| 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, | 80 |
| 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 Cap. Verona’s summer hath not such a flower. | 84 |
| Nurse. Nay, he’s a flower; in faith, a very flower. | |
| Lady Cap. 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 | 88 |
| 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 | 92 |
| 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 | 96 |
| For fair without the fair within to hide: | |
| That book in many eyes doth share the glory, | |
| That in gold clasps locks in the golden story: | |
| So shall you share all that he doth possess, | 100 |
| By having him making yourself no less. | |
| Nurse. No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. | |
| Lady Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love? | |
| Jul. I’ll look to like, if looking liking move; | 104 |
| But no more deep will I endart mine eye | |
| Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. | |
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Enter a Servant. | |
| Serv. 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. | 108 |
| Lady Cap. We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays. | |
| Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt. | |