Scene IV

A street.

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers; Torchbearers

ROM:

What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?

ROM:

What are we going to give as our excuse?
Or shall we just go on without any apology?

BEN:

The date is out of such prolixity.
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,(5)
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance;
But, let them measure us by what they will,(10)
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

BEN:

The time is of such a boring duration.
We'll have no Cupid blind-folded with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of wood slats,
Scaring the ladies like a scarecrow;
Nor any introduction not memorized, spoken faintly
After the hearing the prompter read them, for our entrance.
But, let them guess who we are by whatever means they will,
We'll keep them guessing and have a brief dance, and be gone.

ROM:

Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

ROM:

Give me a torch, I am not for this party-crashing;
I am feeling heavy, so I will bear the light.

MER:

Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

MER:

No, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

ROM:

Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes(15)
With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

ROM:

Not me, believe me. You have dancing shoes,
With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead
That pins me to the ground. I cannot move.

MER:

You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings
And soar with them above a common bound.

MER:

You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
And use them to soar above that leaden soul.

ROM:

I am too sore enpierced with his shaft(20)
To soar with his light feathers; and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

ROM:

I am too sore from being pierced with Cupid’s shaft
To soar with his wings; and so wounded,
I cannot jump even a little bit above dull woe.
Under love's heavy burden, I would sink.

MER:

And, to sink in it, should you burden love—
Too great oppression for a tender thing.(25)

MER:

And, to sink in it, you should outweigh love;
Too great oppression for a tender feeling.

ROM:

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn.

ROM:

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.

MER:

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in.(30)
A visor for a visor! What care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

MER:

If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me my mask. [Putting on a mask.]
A fig for a mask! what do I care
What curious eye lists my deformities?
Here are the long, black eyebrows that shall blush for me.

BEN:

Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.(35)

BEN:

Come, knock and enter; and, as soon as we get in,
Every man start running.

ROM:

A torch for me! Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,
I'll be a candle-holder and look on;
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.(40)

ROM:

Just give me a torch. Let spoiled children, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless weeds with their running and dancing;
For I am composing proverbs with a grandfather’s words,
I'll be a candle-holder and look on,
The game was never any fun and I am done.

MER:

Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word!
If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
Or (save your reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!

MER:

Tut, dun's the brownish color of a mouse, the constable's own word.
If you are brownish, we'll pull you out of the mud
Of this—sir, reverence love, wherein you are stuck
Up to the ears.—Come on, we’re wasting time.

ROM:

Nay, that's not so.(45)

ROM:

No, that's not so.

MER:

I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.

MER:

I mean, sir, in delaying our entrance,
We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times more in that sense, than once in our five wits.

ROM:

And we mean well, in going to this mask;(50)
But 'tis no wit to go.

ROM:

And we mean well, in going to this masquerade;
But it’s no great sport to go.

MER:

Why, may one ask?

MER:

Why, may one ask?

ROM:

I dreamt a dream to-night.

ROM:

I dreamt a dream tonight.

MER:

And so did I.

MER:

And so did I.

ROM:

Well, what was yours?(55)

ROM:

Well, what was yours?

MER:

That dreamers often lie.

MER:

That dreamers often lie.

ROM:

In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

ROM:

In bed asleep, while they do dream about things are 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(60)
On the forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs,
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;(65)
Her traces, of the smallest spider's web;
Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm(70)
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night(75)
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
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,(80)
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 sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as a’ lies asleep,(85)
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Sometimes 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(90)
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 elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,(95)
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.
This is she—(100)

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 forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little skeletons
From side to side of men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon wheel spokes made of long spiders' legs;
The cover is made of the wings of grasshoppers;
The ropes are made of the smallest spider's web;
The collars are made of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip is made of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagon driver is a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Taken from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel nut,
Made by the carpenter squirrel or old grub,
From time immemorial, the fairies' are the coach makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
Over courtiers' knees, and they dream of making courtesies;
Over lawyers' fingers, who right away dream of their fees;
Over ladies' lips, who right away dream of kisses,
Which the angry Mab often leaves with blisters and plagues,
Because their breaths are tainted with candies;
Sometime she gallops over a courtier's nose,
And then he dreams of detecting a new petition;
And sometime comes she with tail of a pig that paid a church debt,
Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another favor he can collect.
Sometime she drives over a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of infractions , sneak attacks, Spanish swords,
Of safety five fathoms deep in the sea; and then soon
He hears drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frightened, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That braids the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes tangled messes of hair into foul dirty hairs,
Which, once untangled, signals the beginning of much misfortune.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to give birth,
Making them women of good “carriage”;
This is she,

ROM:

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.

ROM:

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace,
You’re talking about nothing.

MER:

True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;(105)
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
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.(110)

MER:

True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Born of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who courts,
Even now, the frozen heart of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from there,
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.

BEN:

This wind you talk of blows us from our party crashing.
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(115)
With this night's revels and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd 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!(120)

ROM:

I fear too early. because my mind is upset that
Some consequence, yet to happen,
Shall bitterly begin its frightening job
With this night's revels; and kill
A despised life, closed in my breast,
By some vile loss, an untimely death.
But God who has the plan of my journey on this sea,
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen!

BEN:

Strike, drum.

BEN:

Strike the drum.

They march about the stage. Exeunt.