The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1008 page)

Nurse

Go, Juliet.  Seek a husband and find happiness.

Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

(Exit all.)

Scene IV: A street.

(Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, masked party-goers who dance, Torch-bearers, and others.)

Romeo

What are we going to say, if asked why we’re here?  Or, are we just going to crash the party?

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

Benvolio

No one explains their reasoning for going to a party anymore.  It’s not like we are going in dressed up as Cupid with a bow and arrow, or scaring ladies like a scarecrow.  We are just going to go in there and dance.  Let them take it as they wish, and then, we will be gone.

The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; 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 don’t want any part of your dance.  I am too sad, so I will carry the light.

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

Mercutio

But, you must dance.

Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Romeo

No way!  My sadness weighs me down too much to be light on my feet.

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

Come on, Romeo, you are a lover.  Like Cupid with his wings, soar above the ground.

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

Romeo

Cupid.  He is the reason for my sadness.  I am too sorrowful to fly.  My sadness would make me sink to the ground.

I am too sore enpierced 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

Don’t blame love for your depression, because love is a tender thing, light and wonderful.

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

Romeo

Love a tender thing, ha! Love is rude and boisterous, and pricks like a thorn.

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

Mercutio

Well, if love is rough with you, then you be rough with love.  Use your prick and beat love back.  Give me my mask.  What do I care if someone sees me?  (Puts on mask.)  Let this mask transform my face.

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: [Putting on a mask.] A visard for a visard! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.

Benvolio

Come on, let’s go.  As soon as we’re in, start dancing.

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

Romeo

Give me the torch.  You guys go ahead and I’ll watch.  I just am not up to dancing.

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.

Mercutio

You are being a bore.  Let us help you overcome the sadness that drowns you.  Come on, we’re wasting daylight.

Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this--sir-reverence--love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.--Come, we burn daylight, ho.

Romeo

No we’re not; it’s night.

Nay, that's not so.

Mercutio

 It’s just a figure of speech.  I mean we are wasting time and our torches.  Use your brain and figure it out.

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.

Romeo

Like how we are using our brains by going to this party, uninvited.

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

Mercutio

What do you mean?

Why, may one ask?

Romeo

I had a dream last night.

I dreamt a dream to-night.

Mercutio

So what?  I dreamed last night, too.

And so did I.

Romeo

Well, what was yours?

Well, what was yours?

Mercutio

I dreamed dreamers are often full of crap!

That dreamers often lie.

Romeo

Dreamers lie in bed and dream of truthful things.

In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

Mercutio

Hmm…Was someone in the bed with you like the harlot, Mab?  She is the fairies’ midwife.  She is no bigger than the alderman’s ring.  She has a little chariot drawn by atoms and lands on men’s noses while they are asleep.  The wagon wheel spokes are made of spider legs and the cover is grasshoppers’ wings.  The reigns are made of spider webs and the harnesses, moonbeams.  Her driver is a small gnat, and her wagon an empty hazelnut made by a squirrel or grub worm.  She rides every night to lovers’ beds and makes them dream of love.  She makes young girls dream of curtsies, and lawyers money.  Old ladies dream of kisses and priests dream of big tithes.  She drives over the soldier’s neck, and he dreams of murdering his enemies and the sound of drums going into battle, which scares him into waking.  He says a prayer or two before going back to sleep.  Mab is the one who plaits the horses’ manes at night, and casts a spell of doom on anyone who untangles it.  She is the one who gives good dreams to virgins, teaching them how to lay with a man…

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 fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; The traces, of the smallest spider's web; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams; Her whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 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; 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, 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, Then dreams he 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 plats the manes of horses in the night; And bakes the elf-locks 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

Enough, Mercutio.  You are a babbling idiot.

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

Mercutio

Sure, I talk about dreams, which are a waste of time, the product of idle minds.  They are meaningless and can no more predict the future than we can predict the wind.

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 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.

Benvolio

You both are blowing wind and making us late.  

This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Romeo

Going at all would be too early for me.  I have a bad feeling about this.  But, what do I care?  Let’s go gentleman.

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 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!

Benvolio

Play the drum.

Strike, drum.

(Exit all.)

Scene V:  A hall in the Capulet’s house

(Musicians waiting.  Enter Servants.)

First Servant

Where’s Potpan, that lazy rascal.  He is shirking his duties again!

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

Second Servant

It’s a bad thing when the only one to do the cleaning is dirty.

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

First Servant

Take away the stools and put the plates away, good man.  Also save me a piece of candy if you love me.  Let the porter call in Susan Grindstone and Nell.  Antony!  And Potpan!

Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate:--good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.-- Antony! and Potpan!

Second Servant

Okay, I’m ready.

Ay, boy, ready.

First Servant

They are calling for you in the dancing hall.

You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for in the great chamber.

Second Servant

How can I be in here and in there, too?  Happy boys, the one who lives the longest can have it all.

We cannot be here and there too.--Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

(They retire behind.)

(Enter Capulet with his cousin, guests, and dancers.)

Capulet

Welcome ladies and gentleman.  Prepare to dance if you do not have corns on your feet.  Which of you ladies will dance with me?  Whoever denies me, I’ll swear you have corns.  Here I come.  Welcome, gentleman. (To the dancers.)  I remember the day when I wore a mask and whispered tales in the ladies’ ears.  But, that time is gone.  Come, let us dance!  Musicians play!

Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.-- Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, I'll swear hath corns; am I come near you now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visard; and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please;--'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen!--Come, musicians, play. A hall--a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.--

(Music plays and they dance.)

We need more light and remove the tables.  Put the fire out, because it is too hot in here.  Come cousin, let us sit.  Our dancing days are behind us.  How long has it been since we danced at a party like this?

More light, you 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, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days; How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask?

Cousin

I swear it’s been thirty years.

By'r Lady, thirty years.

Capulet

It can’t be that long ago.  It was at the wedding of Lucentio.  That has been twenty-five years ago.

What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five-and-twenty years; and then we mask'd.

Cousin

It’s been longer than that.  His son is at least thirty.

'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.