University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

15

SCENE V.

Capulet's House.
Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.
La. Cap.
Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse.

Now (by my maiden-head, at twelve year old)
I bad her come; what lamb, what lady-bird, God forbid
—where's this girl? what, Juliet?


Enter Juliet.
Jul.

How now, who calls?


Nurse.

Your mother.


Jul.

Madam, I am here, what is your will?


La. Cap.

This is the matter—Nurse, give leave
a while, we must talk in secret; Nurse, come back again,
I have remembred me, thou shalt hear my counsel: thou
know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.


Nurse.

Faith I can tell her age unto an hour.


La. Cap.

She's not eighteen.


Nurse.

I'll lay eighteen of my teeth, and yet to my
teeth be it spoken, I have but eight, she's not eighteen;
how long is it now to Lammas-tide?


La. Cap.

A fortnight and odd Days.


Nurse.

Even or odd, of all Days in the year come
Lammas-eve at night shall she be eighteen. 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 eighteen, that
shall she, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis since the
earthquake now fifteen Years, and she was wean'd; I never
shall forget it, of all the Days in the year, upon that
day; for I had then laid wormwood to my breast, 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, when it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
of the breast, and felt it bitter, pretty fool, to see it teachy
and fall out with the breast. Shake, quoth the dove-house
—'twas no need I trow, to bid me trudge; and
since that time now fifteen years, for then she could stand
alone, nay, by the rood she could have run, and wadled


16

all about; 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? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast
more wit; wilt thou not Julé? and by my holy dam, the
pretty wretch left crying, and said, ay: To see now how
a jest shall come about I warrant, and I should live a thousand
Years, I should not forget it: Wilt thou not, Julé,
quoth he? and pretty fool, it stinted, and said, ay.


Jul.
And stint thee too, I pray thee peace.

Nurse.
Peace, I have done; God mark thee to his grace,
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurst:
And I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap.
And that same marriage is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul.
It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse.
An honour? were not I thine only nurse,
I'd say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

La. Cap.
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.

Nurse.
A man, young lady, lady, such a man
As all the world—Why he's a man of wax.

La. Cap.
Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse.
Nay he's a flower, in faith a very flower.

La. Cap.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris love?

Jul.
I'll look to like, if looking liking move;
But no more deep will I indart my eye,
Then your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter Gregory.
Greg.

Madam, new guests are come, and brave ones,
all in masks. You are call'd; my young lady asked for,
the Nurse curs'd in the pantry; supper almost ready to
be serv'd up, and every thing in extremity. I must
hence and wait.


La. Cap.
We follow thee,

[Exeunt.