Private Romeo

What, Juliet.

How now! Who calls?

What, lamb!

What, ladybird!

What Juliette ?

And we mean well in going to this mask;

But 'tis no wit to go.

Why, may one ask?

I dream'd...

I dream'd a dream to-night.

And so did I.

Well, what was yours?

That dreamers often lie.

In bed asleep, while they

do dream things true.

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 chariot is an empty hazel-nut

Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,

The traces of the smallest spider's web.

Her whip of cricket's bone,

the lash of film,

Her driver a small grey-coated gnat

Not so big as a round little worm

Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid.

And in this state she gallops

night by night

Through lovers' brains,

and then they dream of love;

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 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.

Peace, peace,

Thou talk'st of nothing.

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...

This wind, you talk of,

blows us from ourselves;

Come! Knock and enter!

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Welcome, gentlemen!

Rate this script:(0.00 / 0 votes)