Take our good meaning, for our judgement sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer.

Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dream'd a dream to-night.
Mer.

Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.

And so did I.

50

That dreamers often lie.

Rom. In bed asleep, while they do dream things

true.

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-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;

Her waggon-spokes 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 watery beams,
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film,
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so 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 o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;

47. five wits.
These were
popularly held to consist of
'common wit, imagination, fan-
tasy, estimation, niemory.'

55. agate-stone, figures cut in relief on the agate - stones

commonly worn in rings.

60

70

57. atomies, atom like creatures.

65, 66. Idle fingers were popularly believed to breed parasites.

O'er courtiers' knees that dream on court'sies

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 blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometine comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, 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 sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:

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,

80

90

100

Hatred of 'sluts and sluttery' was one of the most pronounced traits of elfdom.

And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

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 misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night's revels, and expire the term
Of a despised life, closed in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

110

SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen, with
napkins.

First Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!

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

First Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou

lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone 10 and Nell. Antony, and Potpan!

Sec. Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

First Serv. You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Sec. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers. Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have

their toes

Unplagued 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 ye
now?

Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen 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:

You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians,

play.

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

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

Sec. Cap.

By'r lady, thirty years.

28. A hall, a hall! i.e. clear the hall.

20

30

Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much :

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.
Sec. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir; 40
His son is thirty.

Сар.

Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn
bright!

It seems she 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 blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Cap. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm
you so?

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

A villain that is hither come in spite,

To scorn at our solemnity this night.

58. an antic face, a grotesque mask.

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60