Act II, Scene iv:
A Street.

[Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.]

Mercutio.:

Where the devil should this Romeo be?—

Came he not home to-night?

Benvolio.:

Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

Mercutio.:

Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,

Torments him so that he will sure run mad.

Benvolio.:

Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,

Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

Mercutio.:

A challenge, on my life.

Benvolio.:

Romeo will answer it.

Mercutio.:

Any man that can write may answer a letter.

Benvolio.:

Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he

dares, being dared.

Mercutio.:

Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabbed with a white

wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love song; the

very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft:

and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Benvolio.:

Why, what is Tybalt?

Mercutio.:

More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he's the

courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing

prick-song—keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his

minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very

butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of

the very first house,—of the first and second cause: ah, the

immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay.—

Benvolio.:

The what?

Mercutio.:

The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these

new tuners of accents!—'By Jesu, a very good blade!—a very tall

man!—a very good whore!'—Why, is not this a lamentable thing,

grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange

flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moi's, who stand so

much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old

bench? O, their bons, their bons!

Benvolio.:

Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!

Mercutio.:

Without his roe, like a dried herring.—O flesh, flesh, how art

thou fishified!—Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed

in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had

a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gypsy;

Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a gray eye or so,

but not to the purpose,—

[Enter Romeo.]

Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your

French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Romeo.:

Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mercutio.:

The slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?

Romeo.:

Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a

case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

Mercutio.:

That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a

man to bow in the hams.

Romeo.:

Meaning, to court'sy.

Mercutio.:

Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Romeo.:

A most courteous exposition.

Mercutio.:

Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

Romeo.:

Pink for flower.

Mercutio.:

Right.

Romeo.:

Why, then is my pump well-flowered.

Mercutio.:

Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out

thy pump;that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may

remain, after the wearing, sole singular.

Romeo.:

O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!

Mercutio.:

Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.

Romeo.:

Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

Mercutio.:

Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for

thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am

sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the

goose?

Romeo.:

Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not

there for the goose.

Mercutio.:

I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

Romeo.:

Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mercutio.:

Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp

sauce.

Romeo.:

And is it not, then, well served in to a sweet goose?

Mercutio.:

O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch

narrow to an ell broad!

Romeo.:

I stretch it out for that word broad: which added to the

goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mercutio.:

Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art

thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by

art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a

great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble

in a hole.

Benvolio.:

Stop there, stop there.

Mercutio.:

Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

Benvolio.:

Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

Mercutio.:

O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was

come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant indeed to occupy

the argument no longer.

Romeo.:

Here's goodly gear!

[Enter Nurse and Peter.]

Mercutio.:

A sail, a sail, a sail!

Benvolio.:

Two, two; a shirt and a smock.

Nurse.:

Peter!

Peter.:

Anon.

Nurse.:

My fan, Peter.

Mercutio.:

Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face.

Nurse.:

God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

Mercutio.:

God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.

Nurse.:

Is it good-den?

Mercutio.:

'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is

now upon the prick of noon.

Nurse.:

Out upon you! what a man are you!

Romeo.:

One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.

Nurse.:

By my troth, it is well said;—for himself to mar, quoth

'a?—Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young

Romeo?

Romeo.:

I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have

found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of

that name, for fault of a worse.

Nurse.:

You say well.

Mercutio.:

Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely,

wisely.

Nurse.:

If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.

Benvolio.:

She will indite him to some supper.

Mercutio.:

A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!

Romeo.:

What hast thou found?

Mercutio.:

No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is

something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

[Sings.]

An old hare hoar,

And an old hare hoar,

Is very good meat in Lent;

But a hare that is hoar

Is too much for a score

When it hoars ere it be spent.

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither.

Romeo.:

I will follow you.

Mercutio.:

Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,—

[singing] lady, lady, lady.

[Exeunt Mercutio, and Benvolio.]

Nurse.:

Marry, farewell!—I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was

this that was so full of his ropery?

Romeo.:

A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and

will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse.:

An 'a speak anything against me, I'll take him down, an'a

were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot,

I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his

flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates.—And thou must stand

by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!

Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon

should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon

as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law

on my side.

Nurse.:

Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me

quivers. Scurvy knave!—Pray you, sir, a word: and, as I told

you, my young lady bid me enquire you out; what she bade me say I

will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead

her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross

kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young;

and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were

an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak

dealing.

Romeo.:

Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto

thee,—

Nurse.:

Good heart, and i' faith I will tell her as much: Lord,

Lord, she will be a joyful woman.

Romeo.:

What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse.:

I will tell her, sir,—that you do protest: which, as I

take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Romeo.:

Bid her devise some means to come to shrift

This afternoon;

And there she shall at Friar Lawrence' cell

Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.

Nurse.:

No, truly, sir; not a penny.

Romeo.:

Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse.:

This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.

Romeo.:

And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey-wall:

Within this hour my man shall be with thee,

And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;

Which to the high top-gallant of my joy

Must be my convoy in the secret night.

Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains:

Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.

Nurse.:

Now God in heaven bless thee!—Hark you, sir.

Romeo.:

What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

Nurse.:

Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,

Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Romeo.:

I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel.

Nurse.:

Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady.—Lord, Lord!

when 'twas a little prating thing,—O, there's a nobleman in

town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good

soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger

her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but

I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout

in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with

a letter?

Romeo.:

Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.

Nurse.:

Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the dog: no; I

know it begins with some other letter:—and she hath the

prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would

do you good to hear it.

Romeo.:

Commend me to thy lady.

Nurse.:

Ay, a thousand times.[Exit Romeo.]—Peter!

Peter.:

Anon?

Nurse.:

Peter, take my fan, and go before.

[Exeunt.]