payment page
Read and listen with a SparkNotes PLUS trial!
No Fear Translations
No Fear Audio
Already have an account? Log in
Original Text |
Modern Text |
|
Enter ROMEO , MERCUTIO , BENVOLIO , with five or six other MASKERS and TORCHBEARERS
|
Enter ROMEO , MERCUTIO , BENVOLIO , with five or six other MASKERS and TORCHBEARERS
|
|
ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
|
ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
|
|
BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity.
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwinked 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.
|
BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity.
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwinked with a scarf,
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.
We’ll measure them a measure and be gone.
|
|
ROMEO Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
|
ROMEO Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
|
|
MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
|
MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
|
|
ROMEO 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.
|
ROMEO Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes
With nimble soles. I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
|
|
MERCUTIO You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings
And soar with them above a common bound.
|
MERCUTIO You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings
And soar with them above a common bound.
|
|
ROMEO I am too sore enpiercèd 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.
|
ROMEO I am too sore enpiercèd with his shaft
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.
|
|
MERCUTIO And to sink in it, should you burthen love—
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
|
MERCUTIO And to sink in it, should you burthen love—
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
|
|
ROMEO 25 Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
|
ROMEO Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
|
|
MERCUTIO 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 cote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
|
MERCUTIO 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!
A visor for a visor.—What care I
What curious eye doth cote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
|
|
BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter. And no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
|
BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter. And no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
|
|
ROMEO 35 A torch for me. Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle holder, and look on.
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
|
ROMEO A torch for me. Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle holder, and look on.
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
|
|
MERCUTIO 40 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!
|
MERCUTIO 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!
|
|
ROMEO Nay, that’s not so.
|
ROMEO Nay, that’s not so.
|
|
MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay.
45 We waste our lights in vain, like lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our fine wits.
|
MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay.
We waste our lights in vain, like lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our fine wits.
|
|
ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask,
But ’tis no wit to go.
|
ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask,
But ’tis no wit to go.
|
|
MERCUTIO Why, may one ask?
|
MERCUTIO Why, may one ask?
|
|
ROMEO 50 I dreamt a dream tonight.
|
ROMEO I dreamt a dream tonight.
|
|
MERCUTIO And so did I.
|
MERCUTIO And so did I.
|
|
ROMEO Well, what was yours?
|
ROMEO Well, what was yours?
|
|
MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie.
|
MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie.
|
|
ROMEO In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
|
ROMEO In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
|
|
MERCUTIO Oh, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
|
MERCUTIO Oh, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
|
|
BENVOLIO Queen Mab, what’s she
|
BENVOLIO Queen Mab, what’s she
|
|
MERCUTIO 55 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 atomi
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep.
60 Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces of the smallest spider’s web,
Her collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,
65 Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
|
MERCUTIO 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 atomi
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces of the smallest spider’s web,
Her collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,
Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
|
|
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
70 Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
75 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
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.
80 And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail
Tickling a parson’s nose as he lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
85 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep, and then anon
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
90 That plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
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,
95 Making them women of good carriage.
This is she—
|
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
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies 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,
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 he lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime 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
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 plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
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—
|
|
ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk’st of nothing.
|
ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk’st of nothing.
|
|
MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
100 Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
|
MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
|
|
BENVOLIO 105 This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves.
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
|
BENVOLIO This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves.
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
|
|
ROMEO I fear too early, for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
110 With this night’s revels, and expire the term
Of a despisèd life closed 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.
|
ROMEO I fear too early, for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night’s revels, and expire the term
Of a despisèd life closed 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.
|
|
BENVOLIO 115 Strike, drum.
|
BENVOLIO Strike, drum.
|
|
March about the stage and exeunt
|
March about the stage and exeunt
|
Original Text |
Modern Text |
|
Enter ROMEO , MERCUTIO , BENVOLIO , with five or six other MASKERS and TORCHBEARERS
|
Enter ROMEO , MERCUTIO , BENVOLIO , with five or six other MASKERS and TORCHBEARERS
|
|
ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
|
ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
|
|
BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity.
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwinked 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.
|
BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity.
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwinked with a scarf,
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.
We’ll measure them a measure and be gone.
|
|
ROMEO Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
|
ROMEO Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
|
|
MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
|
MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
|
|
ROMEO 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.
|
ROMEO Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes
With nimble soles. I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
|
|
MERCUTIO You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings
And soar with them above a common bound.
|
MERCUTIO You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings
And soar with them above a common bound.
|
|
ROMEO I am too sore enpiercèd 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.
|
ROMEO I am too sore enpiercèd with his shaft
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.
|
|
MERCUTIO And to sink in it, should you burthen love—
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
|
MERCUTIO And to sink in it, should you burthen love—
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
|
|
ROMEO 25 Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
|
ROMEO Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
|
|
MERCUTIO 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 cote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
|
MERCUTIO 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!
A visor for a visor.—What care I
What curious eye doth cote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
|
|
BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter. And no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
|
BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter. And no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
|
|
ROMEO 35 A torch for me. Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle holder, and look on.
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
|
ROMEO A torch for me. Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle holder, and look on.
The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.
|
|
MERCUTIO 40 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!
|
MERCUTIO 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!
|
|
ROMEO Nay, that’s not so.
|
ROMEO Nay, that’s not so.
|
|
MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay.
45 We waste our lights in vain, like lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our fine wits.
|
MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay.
We waste our lights in vain, like lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our fine wits.
|
|
ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask,
But ’tis no wit to go.
|
ROMEO And we mean well in going to this mask,
But ’tis no wit to go.
|
|
MERCUTIO Why, may one ask?
|
MERCUTIO Why, may one ask?
|
|
ROMEO 50 I dreamt a dream tonight.
|
ROMEO I dreamt a dream tonight.
|
|
MERCUTIO And so did I.
|
MERCUTIO And so did I.
|
|
ROMEO Well, what was yours?
|
ROMEO Well, what was yours?
|
|
MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie.
|
MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie.
|
|
ROMEO In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
|
ROMEO In bed asleep while they do dream things true.
|
|
MERCUTIO Oh, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
|
MERCUTIO Oh, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
|
|
BENVOLIO Queen Mab, what’s she
|
BENVOLIO Queen Mab, what’s she
|
|
MERCUTIO 55 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 atomi
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep.
60 Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces of the smallest spider’s web,
Her collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,
65 Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
|
MERCUTIO 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 atomi
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
Her traces of the smallest spider’s web,
Her collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,
Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,
Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.
|
|
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
70 Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees;
75 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
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.
80 And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail
Tickling a parson’s nose as he lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
85 Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep, and then anon
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
90 That plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
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,
95 Making them women of good carriage.
This is she—
|
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
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees, that dream on curtsies 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,
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 he lies asleep,
Then he dreams of another benefice.
Sometime 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
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 plaits the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
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—
|
|
ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk’st of nothing.
|
ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk’st of nothing.
|
|
MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
100 Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
|
MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
|
|
BENVOLIO 105 This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves.
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
|
BENVOLIO This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves.
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
|
|
ROMEO I fear too early, for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
110 With this night’s revels, and expire the term
Of a despisèd life closed 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.
|
ROMEO I fear too early, for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night’s revels, and expire the term
Of a despisèd life closed 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.
|
|
BENVOLIO 115 Strike, drum.
|
BENVOLIO Strike, drum.
|
|
March about the stage and exeunt
|
March about the stage and exeunt
|
Test your knowledge
Take the Act 1, scene 4 Quick Quiz
Read the Summary
Read the Summary of Act 1, scene 4.
Shakespeare’s Life & Times
Dive into our comprehensive guide to ace your Shakespeare assignments
Did you know you can highlight text to take a note?
x
