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A hall in Capulet's house. The hall is set up for a party. There is much space for dancing. |
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Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins |
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Peter |
Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He |
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shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! |
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Second Servant |
When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's |
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hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. |
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Peter |
Away with the joint-stools, remove the |
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court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save |
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me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let |
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the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. |
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Second Servant |
Ay, boy, ready. |
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Peter |
You are looked for and called for, asked for and |
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sought for, in the great chamber. |
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Second Servant |
We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be |
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brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. |
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Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the |
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Capulet |
Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes |
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Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. |
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Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all |
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Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, |
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She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? |
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Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day |
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That I have worn a visor and could tell |
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A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, |
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Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: |
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You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. |
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A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. |
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Music plays, and they dance |
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More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, |
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And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. |
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Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. |
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Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; |
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For you and I are past our dancing days: |
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How long is't now since last yourself and I |
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Capulet's Cousin |
By'r lady, thirty years. |
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Capulet |
What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: |
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'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, |
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Come pentecost as quickly as it will, |
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Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. |
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Capulet's Cousin |
'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; |
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Capulet |
Will you tell me that? |
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His son was but a ward two years ago. |
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Romeo |
[To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth |
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Romeo |
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! |
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It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night |
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Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; |
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Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! |
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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, |
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As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. |
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The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, |
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And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. |
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Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! |
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For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. |
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Tybalt |
This, by his voice, should be a Montague. |
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Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave |
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Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, |
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To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? |
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Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, |
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To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. |
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Capulet |
Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? |
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Tybalt |
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, |
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A villain that is hither come in spite, |
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To scorn at our solemnity this night. |
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Capulet |
Young Romeo is it? |
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Tybalt |
'Tis he, that villain Romeo. |
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Capulet |
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; |
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He bears him like a portly gentleman; |
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And, to say truth, Verona brags of him |
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To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: |
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I would not for the wealth of all the town |
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Here in my house do him disparagement: |
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Therefore be patient, take no note of him: |
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It is my will, the which if thou respect, |
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Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, |
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And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. |
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Tybalt |
It fits, when such a villain is a guest: |
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Capulet |
He shall be endured: |
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What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; |
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Am I the master here, or you? go to. |
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You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! |
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You'll make a mutiny among my guests! |
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You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! |
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Tybalt |
Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. |
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You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? |
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This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: |
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You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. |
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Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: |
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Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! |
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I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! |
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Tybalt |
Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting |
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Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. |
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I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall |
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Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. |
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Romeo |
[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand |
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This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: |
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My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand |
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To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. |
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Juliet |
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, |
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Which mannerly devotion shows in this; |
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For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, |
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And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. |
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Romeo |
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? |
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Juliet |
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. |
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Romeo |
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; |
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They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. |
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Juliet |
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. |
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Romeo |
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. |
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Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. |
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Juliet |
Then have my lips the sin that they have took. |
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Romeo |
Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! |
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Juliet |
You kiss by the book. |
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Nurse |
Madam, your mother craves a word with you. |
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Romeo |
What is her mother? |
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Her mother is the lady of the house, |
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And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous |
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I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; |
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I tell you, he that can lay hold of her |
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O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. |
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Benvolio |
Away, begone; the sport is at the best. |
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Romeo |
Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. |
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Capulet |
Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; |
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We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. |
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Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all |
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I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. |
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More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. |
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Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: |
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Exeunt all but JULIET and NURSE |
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Juliet |
Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? |
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Nurse |
The son and heir of old Tiberio. |
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Juliet |
What's he that now is going out of door? |
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Nurse |
Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. |
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Juliet |
What's he that follows there, that would not dance? |
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Juliet |
Go ask his name: if he be married. |
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My grave is like to be my wedding bed. |
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Nurse |
His name is Romeo, and a Montague; |
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The only son of your great enemy. |
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Juliet |
My only love sprung from my only hate! |
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Too early seen unknown, and known too late! |
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Prodigious birth of love it is to me, |
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That I must love a loathed enemy. |
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Nurse |
What's this? what's this? |
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Juliet |
A rhyme I learn'd even now |
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One calls within 'Juliet.' |
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Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. |
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