Romeo My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; [Juliet places the palm of her hand against Romeo’s] For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. Romeo Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Juliet Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Romeo O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Juliet Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. Romeo Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. [He kisses her] Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged. Read more about popup_note_index_item 672
Romeo What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? Servant I know not, sir. Romeo O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night As a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear — Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. Read more about popup_note_index_item 671
Mercutio 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 Benvolio Romeo Benvolio [Exit] Read more about Act 1, Scene 4: Popup Note Index Item: "nothing"
Mercutio 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. Read more about Act 1, Scene 4: Popup Note Index Item: "presses," "bear," and "carriage"
Mercutio 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 dreams he of another benefice. Read more about popup_note_index_item 668
Mercutio 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; Read more about popup_note_index_item 667
Mercutio 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. Read more about popup_note_index_item 666
Mercutio Her chariot is an empty hazelnut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; Read more about popup_note_index_item 665
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 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 spiders' legs; The cover of the wings of grasshoppers; Her traces of the smallest spider web; Her collars of the moonshine's wat'ry beams; Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film; Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid. Read more about popup_note_index_item 663
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! Romeo Nay, that's not so. Mercutio 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. Read more about popup_note_index_item 662