In fhape no bigger than an agat ftone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies,
Athwart mens' nofes as they lie asleep:

Her waggon fpokes made of long fpinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grafhoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the moonshine's watry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half fo big as a round little worm,
Prickt from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner fquirrel, or old grub,
Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this State fhe gallops, night by night,
Through lover's brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'fies ftrait;
O'er lawyers fingers, who ftrait dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who ftrait on kiffes dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blifters plagues,
Because their breaths with fweet-meats tainted are.
'Sometimes fhe gallops o'er a courtier's nofe,
And then dreams he of fmelling out a fuit;

And

And fometimes comes the with a tithe-pig's tail,
Tickling the parson as he lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another Benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, fwears a prayer or two,
And fleeps again. This is that very Mab,
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And cakes the elf-locks in foul fluttish hairs,
Which, once entangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That preffes them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage.
This is fhe

Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'ft of nothing.

Mer. True, I talk of dreams,

Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain phantafy,
Which is as thin of fubftance as the air,
And more unconftant than the wind; who wooes
Ev'n now the frozen bofom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping fouth.

Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from our-
felves;

Supper is done, and we fhall come too late.
Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind mifgives,
Some confequence, yet hanging in the Stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life clos'd in my breaft,
By fome vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he, that hath the fteerage of my course,
* Direct my fuit! On, lufty Gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[They march about the Stage, and Exeunt.

3 And cakes the elf locks, &c.] This was a common fuperftition; and feems to have had its rife from the horrid disease called the I

Plica Polonica.

WARBURTON. Diet my fuit !] Guide the fequel of the adventure.

SCENE

i Serv.

:

Changes to a Hall in Capulet's House.

Enter Servants, with Napkins.

W

HERE's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! he

scrape a trencher!

2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two mens' hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

I Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court cup board, look to the plate; good thou, fave me a piece of march-pane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony, and Potpan

2 Serv. Ay, boy, ready.

1 Serv. You are look'd for, call'd for, ask'd for, and fought for, in the great chamber.

2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brifka while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.

Enter all the Guests and Ladies, with the maskers.

1 Cap. Welcome, Gentlemen. Ladies, that have

your feet Unplagu'd with corns, we'll have a bout with you. Ah me, my mistresses, which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near you now? Welcome, all, Gentlemen; I've seen the day That I have worn a vifor, and could tell

:

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please. 'Tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone!
You're welcome, Gentlemen. Come, muficians, play.
A ball, a ball. Make room. And foot it, girls.

[Mufitk plays, and they dance.

More light, ye knaves, and turn the tables up';
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay, fit; nay, fit, good coufin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dancing days :
How long is't now fince laft yourself and I
Were in a mask ?

2 Cap. By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not fo

'Tis fince the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecoft as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years, and then we mafk'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more; his fon is elder, Sir:

His fon is thirty.

1 Cap. Will you tell me that?

His fon was but a ward two years ago.

Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the

hand

Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, Sir.

Rom. O the doth teach the torches to burn bright;

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Æthiop's ear:

Beauty too rich for ufe, for earth too dear!

5 You're welcome, Gentlemen.] These two lines, omitted by the modern editors, I have replaced from the folio.

6 good coufin Capulet.) This coufin Capulet is unkle in the paper of invitation, but as Capulet is described as old, coufin is pro

bably the right word in both places. I know not how Capulet and his lady might agree, their ages were very difproportionate; he has been palt mafking for thirty years, and her age, as the tells Juliet, is but eight and twenty.

So