Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men
Old La. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue? Iuli. 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 Pantery, and euery thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight. Enter.
Mo. We follow thee, Iuliet, the Countie staies
Nurse. Goe Gyrle, seeke happie nights to happy daies.
Exeunt.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers, Torch-bearers.
Rom. What shall this spech be spoke for our excuse? 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. 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. 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. 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. And to sinke in it should you burthen loue, 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, 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, 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, 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. 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. 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. Well what was yours? Mer. That dreamers often lye
Ro. In bed a sleepe while they do dreame things true