Romeo and Juliet William Shakespeare (love novels in english .TXT) đ
- Author: William Shakespeare
Book online «Romeo and Juliet William Shakespeare (love novels in english .TXT) đ». Author William Shakespeare
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these, who often drownâd could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Neâer saw her match since first the world begun. Benvolio
Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised with herself in either eye:
But in that crystal scales let there be weighâd
Your ladyâs love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well that now shows best.
Iâll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt.
A room in Capuletâs house.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse. Lady Capulet Nurse, whereâs my daughter? call her forth to me. NurseNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! what, lady-bird!
God forbid! Whereâs this girl? What, Juliet!
Madam, I am here.
What is your will?
This is the matter:â âNurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret:â ânurse, come back again;
I have rememberâd me, thouâs hear our counsel.
Thou knowâst my daughterâs of a pretty age.
Iâll lay fourteen of my teethâ â
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but fourâ â
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?
Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
Susan and sheâ âGod rest all Christian souls!â â
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;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
âTis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was weanâdâ âI never shall forget itâ â
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
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:â â
Nay, I do bear a brain:â âbut, as I said,
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!
âShakeâ quoth the dove-house: âtwas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge:
And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husbandâ âGod be with his soul!
Aâ was a merry manâ âtook up the child:
âYea,â quoth he, âdost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?â and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying and said âAy.â
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: âWilt thou not, Jule?â quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said âAy.â
Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,
To think it should leave crying and say âAy.â
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockerelâs stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly:
âYea,â quoth my husband, âfallâst upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?â it stinted and said âAy.â
Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that eâer I nursed:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.
Marry, that âmarryâ is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suckâd wisdom from thy teat.
Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,
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:
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
A man, young lady! lady, such a man
As all the worldâ âwhy, heâs a man of wax.
What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read oâer the volume of young Parisâ face,
And find delight writ there with beautyâs pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content,
And what obscured 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 âtis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in manyâs 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.
Iâll 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.
A street.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others. RomeoWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without a apology?
The date is out of such prolixity:
Weâll have no Cupid
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