Romeo and Juliet Act I Scene IV
Original
Modern
Notes
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SCENE IV. A Street.
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SCENE IV. A Street.
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[Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers; Torch-bearers and others.]
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[Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers and others.]
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ROMEO. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without apology?
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ROMEO. Well, shall we deliver a speech as our excuse, or shall we go in without any apology?
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BENVOLIO. 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.
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BENVOLIO. That kind of long-winded speech is out of date. We’ll have no Cupid blindfolded with a scarf, carrying a Tartar’s painted wooden bow, scaring the ladies like a scarecrow; nor any memorised prologue faintly spoken after the prompter for our entrance. Let them judge us however they like—we’ll dance a measure with them and be gone.
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ROMEO. Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy I will bear the light.
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ROMEO. Give me a torch—I’m not in the mood for this dancing about. Being heavy-hearted, I’ll just carry the light.
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MERCUTIO. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
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MERCUTIO. No, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
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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.
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ROMEO. Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoes with nimble soles; I have a soul of lead that pins me so firmly to the ground I cannot move.
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MERCUTIO. You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings, And soar with them above a common bound.
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MERCUTIO. You’re a lover—borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above ordinary limits.
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ROMEO. 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.
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ROMEO. I am too painfully pierced by his arrow to soar with his light feathers, and so weighed down that I cannot leap even a little above dull misery. Under love’s heavy burden I sink.
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MERCUTIO. And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.
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MERCUTIO. And if you sink in it, you would be weighing love down—too great a burden for such a tender thing.
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ROMEO. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
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ROMEO. Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too harsh, too violent; and it pricks like a thorn.
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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: [Putting on a mask.] A visor for a visor. What care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
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MERCUTIO. If love is rough with you, be rough with love; prick love for pricking you, and you will beat love down. Give me a mask to put my face in. [Putting on a mask.] A visor for a visor. What do I care what curious eye notes my deformities? Here are these beetle-brows that shall blush for me.
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BENVOLIO. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in But every man betake him to his legs.
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BENVOLIO. Come, knock and go in; and as soon as we’re inside, every man take to his legs and dance.
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ROMEO. 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.
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ROMEO. A torch for me. Let the light-hearted wantons tickle the senseless rushes on the floor with their heels. For I am stuck with an old grandfather’s proverb: I’ll be a candle-holder and just look on. The game was never so attractive, and I am finished.
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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 stickest Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.
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MERCUTIO. Tut, “dun’s the mouse”—the constable’s own saying. If you are dun (stuck), we’ll pull you out of the mud—or rather, out of love, if you’ll pardon the expression, where you’re stuck up to the ears. Come on, we’re wasting daylight!
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ROMEO. Nay, that’s not so.
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ROMEO. No, that’s not true.
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MERCUTIO. I mean sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
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MERCUTIO. I mean, sir, that by delaying we waste our lights in vain—lighting lights in the daytime. Take our good meaning, for our judgment is five times better in that than once in our five senses.
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ROMEO. And we mean well in going to this mask; But ’tis no wit to go.
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ROMEO. And we mean well in going to this masquerade; but it is not wise to go.
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MERCUTIO. Why, may one ask?
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MERCUTIO. Why, may one ask?
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ROMEO. I dreamt a dream tonight.
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ROMEO. I dreamt a dream last night.
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MERCUTIO. And so did I.
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MERCUTIO. And so did I.
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ROMEO. Well what was yours?
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ROMEO. Well, what was yours?
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MERCUTIO. That dreamers often lie.
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MERCUTIO. That dreamers often lie.
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ROMEO. In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
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ROMEO. In bed asleep, while they dream true things.
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MERCUTIO. 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 Over men’s noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; Her 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 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; O’er 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 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, ambuscados, 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,—
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MERCUTIO. Oh, then I see Queen Mab has been with you. She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes in a shape no bigger than an agate stone on an alderman’s forefinger, drawn by a team of tiny atoms over men’s noses as they lie asleep. Her wagon-spokes are made of long spiders’ legs; the cover of grasshoppers’ wings; her traces of the smallest spider’s web; the collars of moonshine’s watery beams; her whip of a cricket’s bone, the lash of a thin film; her driver a small grey-coated gnat, not half so big as a round little worm pricked from a lazy maid’s finger. Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, made by the carpenter squirrel or old grub, time out of mind the fairies’ coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night after night through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love; over courtiers’ knees, who at once dream of curtsies; over lawyers’ fingers, who at once dream of fees; over ladies’ lips, who at once dream of kisses, which the angry Mab often plagues with blisters because their breath is tainted with sweetmeats. Sometimes she gallops over a courtier’s nose, and then he dreams of sniffing out a lawsuit; and sometimes she comes with a tithe-pig’s tail, tickling a parson’s nose as he lies asleep, and then he dreams of another benefice. Sometimes she drives over a soldier’s neck, and then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambushes, Spanish blades, of toasts five fathoms deep; and then suddenly drums sound in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frightened, 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 elf-locks in foul, messy hair, which once untangled forebode much misfortune. This is the hag who, when maids lie on their backs, presses them and teaches them first to bear, making them women of good carriage. This is she—
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ROMEO. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, Thou talk’st of nothing.
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ROMEO. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace—you talk of nothing.
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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 anger’d, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
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MERCUTIO. True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begotten of nothing but empty fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air, and more changeable than the wind, which even now courts the frozen breast of the north and, being angered, puffs away from there, turning toward the dew-dropping south.
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BENVOLIO. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
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BENVOLIO. This wind you talk of is blowing us off course. Supper is over, and we shall arrive too late.
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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 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 suit. On, lusty gentlemen!
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ROMEO. I fear too early: for my mind has a foreboding of some consequence still hanging in the stars that shall bitterly begin its fearful term with this night’s revels, and end the duration of a despised life locked in my breast by some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he who has the steering of my course, direct my path. Onward, lively gentlemen!
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BENVOLIO. Strike, drum.
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BENVOLIO. Strike the drum.
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[Exeunt.]
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[They exit.]
Style · Rhetoric
Prolixity – Long-windedness or excessive length in speech. Benvolio says the fashion for elaborate entrance speeches is outdated.
Proverb · Role
Candle-holder – Someone who stands aside holding a light and merely watches, rather than taking part. Romeo uses an old proverb to say he will only observe the dancing.
Proverb · Wordplay
Dun’s the mouse – An old saying meaning “keep quiet” or “be still.” Mercutio then puns on “dun” (a dark horse stuck in mud) to urge Romeo to free himself from the “mire” of love.
Folklore · Fairy
Queen Mab – A tiny fairy queen from English folklore who brings dreams. Mercutio’s long, vivid speech turns her into a comic yet unsettling figure who delivers dreams according to each person’s desires and vices, ending with darker implications about sexuality and misfortune.