This is that very Mab
That plats 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.
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 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 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
With this night's revels and expire the term
Of a despised 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 Strike, drum.
[Exeunt]
ROMEO AND JULIET
ACT I
SCENE V A hall in Capulet's house.
[Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins]
First Servant Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He
shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!
Second Servant When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's
hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.
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