Romeo and Juliet / Ромео и Джульетта. Уильям Шекспир
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and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.
Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am 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?
Thou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the goose.
I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Nay, good goose, bite not.
Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.
And is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?
O here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad.
I stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now 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.
Stop there, stop there.
Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
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.
Enter Nurse and Peter.
Here’s goodly gear!
A sail, a sail!
Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
Peter!
Anon.
My fan, Peter.
Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.
God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
Is it good-den?
’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
Out upon you! What a man are you?
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
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?
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.
You say well.
Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely.
If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
She will endite him to some supper.
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
What hast thou found?
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.
I will follow you.
Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.
[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio]
I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery?
A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
And a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and 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!
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.
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 in 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.
Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,-
Good heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.
What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me.
I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
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.
No truly, sir; not a penny.
Go to; I say you shall.
This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
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 topgallant 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.
Now God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir.
What say’st thou, my dear Nurse?
Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
I warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.
Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a little prating thing, – O, there is 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