APPENDIX 
217 
Rom. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. 
I. ii- 52 
’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
And she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it,— 
Of all the days of the year, upon that day : 
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, 
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall ; 
My lord and you were then at Mantua :— 
Nay, I do bear a brain :—but, as I said, 
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, 
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug ! 
* Shake ’ quoth the dove-house: ’twas no need, I trow, 
To bid me trudge. 
I. iii. 23. 
Rom. Is love a tender thing ? it is too rough, 
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. 
I. iv. 25. 
Ben. Come, knock and enter ; and no sooner in, 
But every man betake him to his legs. 
Rom. A torch for me: let wantons light of heart 
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels. 
I. iv. 33 - 
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut 
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, 
Time out of mind the fairies’ coachmakers. 
I. iv. 67. 
Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. 
Now will he sit under a medlar-tree, 
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit 
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. 
O, Romeo, that she were, O, that she were 
An open et csetera, thou a poperin pear ! 
Romeo, good-night: I’ll to my truckle-bed ; 
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: 
Come, shall we go ? 
II. i- 33 - 
O, be some other name ! 
What’s in a name ? that which we call a rose 
By any other name would smell as sweet. 
II. ii. 42. 
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear 
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops. 
II. ii. 107. 
