Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Scene 3

Nurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me.

Nurse, where is my daughter? Call her out to me.

Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird! God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!

Now, by my virginity when I was twelve years old, I told her to come. Hey, lamb! Hey, ladybird! God forbid! Where is this girl? Hey, Juliet!

How now, who calls?

What is it, who's calling?

Your mother.

Your mother.

Madam, I am here. What is your will?

Madam, I'm here. What do you want?

This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again, I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel. Thou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age.

Here's the matter. Nurse, leave us for a while, we have to talk privately. Nurse, come back again, I've just remembered — you shall hear what we discuss. You know my daughter is a good age now.

Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

Honestly, I can tell you her age to the hour.

She’s not fourteen.

She's not fourteen.

I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide?

I'll bet fourteen of my teeth on it — and yet, to my sorrow, I've only got four — she isn't fourteen. How long is it now until Lammas-tide?

A fortnight and odd days.

A fortnight and a few days.

Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!— Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me. But as I said, On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. ’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 dovehouse 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 dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before she broke her brow, And then my husband,—God be with his soul! A was a merry man,—took up the child: ‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’. To see now how a jest shall come about. I warrant, and I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’

Even or odd, out of all the days in the year, when Lammas Eve comes at night she'll be fourteen. Susan and she — God rest all Christian souls! — were the same age. Well, Susan is with God; she was too good for me. But as I said, on Lammas Eve at night she'll be fourteen; that she will, indeed; I remember it well. It's eleven years now since the earthquake; and she was weaned — I'll never forget it — out of all the days of the year, on that very day: because I had put bitter wormwood on my nipple then, sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall; my lord and you were at Mantua at the time. There, I do have a good memory. But as I said, when she tasted the wormwood on the nipple of my breast and found it bitter, the pretty little fool, you should have seen her turn cross and quarrel with the breast! The dovehouse shook, and there was no need, I'm sure, to tell me to be off. And since that time it's eleven years; because by then she could stand on her own; no, by the cross, she could have run and waddled all over the place; in fact the day before she cut her forehead, and then my husband — God be with his soul! he was a cheerful man — picked the child up. "Well," he said, "are you falling on your face? You'll fall backward when you have more sense; won't you, Jule?" and, by our Lady, the pretty thing stopped crying and said "Yes." Just see now how a joke comes true. I swear, if I should live a thousand years, I'd never forget it. "Won't you, Jule?" he said; and the pretty little fool stopped and said "Yes."

Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.

Enough of this; please be quiet.

Yes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’; And yet I warrant it had upon it brow A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone; A perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. ‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.

Yes, madam, but I can't help laughing, to think that she should stop crying and say "Yes"; and yet I promise you she had on her forehead a lump as big as a young cockerel's testicle; a dangerous knock, and she cried bitterly. "Well," said my husband, "are you falling on your face? You'll fall backward when you come of age; won't you, Jule?" She stopped and said "Yes."

And stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.

And you stop too, please, Nurse, I say.

Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d: And I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

Quiet, I've finished. May God single you out for his grace. You were the prettiest baby I ever nursed. If I could live to see you married one day, I'd have all I wish for.

Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

Indeed, that "married" is the very subject I came to talk about. Tell me, daughter Juliet, how do you feel about getting married?

It is an honour that I dream not of.

It's an honour I don't dream of.

An honour! Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.

An honour! If I weren't your only nurse, I'd say you had sucked wisdom out of the breast that fed you.

Well, think of marriage now: younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers. By my count I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief; The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Well, think about marriage now. Here in Verona, respected ladies younger than you have already been made mothers. By my reckoning, I was your mother at about the age you are now, while you're still a girl. So, in short: the brave Paris is seeking you for his love.

A man, young lady! Lady, such a man As all the world—why he’s a man of wax.

What a man, young lady! Lady, such a man as the whole world — why, he's a man moulded of wax.

Verona’s summer hath not such a flower.

Verona's summer has no such flower.

Nay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.

No indeed, he's a flower, truly a real flower.

What say you, can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face, And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscur’d in this fair volume lies, Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide. That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less.

What do you say, can you love the gentleman? Tonight you'll see him at our feast. Read over the volume of young Paris's face, and find delight written there by beauty's pen. Examine every well-matched feature, and see how each one lends the others satisfaction; and whatever lies hidden in this handsome book, find written in the margin of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, needs only a cover to make him beautiful. The fish lives in the sea; and it's a great glory for a fair outside to hold a fair inside. In many people's eyes that book shares the glory which locks a golden story inside golden clasps; so you will share everything he possesses, and by having him you'll make yourself no less.

No less, nay bigger. Women grow by men.

No less — no, bigger. Women grow bigger through men.

Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?

Answer briefly: can you take to Paris's love?

I’ll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

I'll look at him to see if I like him, if looking can stir liking. But I'll send my eye no deeper than your permission gives it strength to fly.

Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the Nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.

Madam, the guests have arrived, supper is served, you are being called for, my young lady is being asked for, the Nurse is being cursed in the pantry, and everything is at breaking point. I have to go and serve; please follow at once.

We follow thee.

We're following you.

Juliet, the County stays.

Juliet, the County is waiting.

Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

Go, girl, and look for happy nights to go with happy days.