Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,

The pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’.

To see now how a jest shall come about.

I warrant, and I should live a thousand years,

I never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’


LADY CAPULET.

Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.


NURSE.

Yes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh,

To think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’;

And yet I warrant it had upon it brow

A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;

A perilous knock, and it cried bitterly.

‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?

Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;

Wilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.


JULIET.

And stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.


NURSE.

Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:

And I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.


LADY CAPULET.

Marry, that marry is the very theme

I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,

How stands your disposition to be married?


JULIET.

It is an honour that I dream not of.


NURSE.

An honour! Were not I thine only nurse,

I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.


LADY CAPULET.

Well, think of marriage now: younger than you,

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers. By my count

I was your mother much upon these years

That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;

The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.


NURSE.

A man, young lady! Lady, such a man

As all the world—why he’s a man of wax.


LADY CAPULET.

Verona’s summer hath not such a flower.


NURSE.

Nay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.


LADY CAPULET.

What say you, can you love the gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast;

Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,

And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen.