Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Scene 5

Where’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!

Where's Potpan, that he isn't helping to clear away? Him move a plate! Him scrape a plate!

When good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s hands, and they unwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing.

When all the good manners are left in the hands of one or two men, and unwashed hands at that, it's a disgusting business.

Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!

Take away the folding stools, move the sideboard, mind the silver. Be a good fellow and save me a piece of marzipan; and as you love me, tell the porter to let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!

Ay, boy, ready.

Yes, boy, ready.

You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber.

You're being looked for and called for, asked for and hunted for, in the great chamber.

We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

We can't be here and there at once. Cheerfully, boys. Be quick for a little while, and let whoever lives longest take everything.

Welcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes Unplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you. Ah my mistresses, which of you all Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor, and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear, Such as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone, You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls.

Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies whose toes aren't troubled with corns will take a turn of dancing with you. Ah, my ladies, which of you will refuse to dance now? Whichever one acts too delicate, I'll swear she has corns. Have I hit close to home now? Welcome, gentlemen! I've seen the day when I wore a mask and could whisper a story in a pretty lady's ear, the kind that pleased her. That's gone, that's gone, that's gone. You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play. Clear the hall, clear the hall, make room! And dance away, girls.

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well. Nay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet, For you and I are past our dancing days; How long is’t now since last yourself and I Were in a mask?

More light, you rascals; and fold the tables up, and put out the fire, the room has grown too hot. Ah, my friend, this unexpected entertainment has come at a good time. No, sit, sit, good cousin Capulet, for you and I are past our dancing days. How long is it now since you and I last wore masks?

By’r Lady, thirty years.

By our Lady, thirty years.

What, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much: ’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.

What, man, it's not that long, it's not that long. It was at Lucentio's wedding — let Pentecost come as soon as it likes — some twenty-five years ago, and we wore masks then.

’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.

It's more than that, it's more; his son is older, sir. His son is thirty.

Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago.

Are you going to tell me that? His son was still a minor under guardianship two years ago.

What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

Who is that lady who makes that knight's hand over there so rich?

I know not, sir.

I don't know, sir.

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’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. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

Oh, she teaches the torches how to burn brightly! She seems to hang against the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiopian's ear — beauty too precious to be used, too valuable for this earth! She stands out among her companions the way a snow-white dove does among crows. When the dance is over, I'll watch where she stands, and by touching her hand I'll make my rough hand blessed. Did my heart ever love before now? Deny it, my eyes! Because I never saw true beauty until tonight.

This by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave Come hither, cover’d with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

From his voice, this must be a Montague. Fetch me my sword, boy. What, does the slave dare to come here, hidden behind a grotesque mask, to sneer and jeer at our celebration? Now, by the ancestry and honour of my family, I don't consider it a sin to strike him dead.

Why how now, kinsman! Wherefore storm you so?

Why, what's this, kinsman! Why are you raging like that?

Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Uncle, this is a Montague, our enemy — a villain who has come here out of spite to mock our celebration tonight.

Young Romeo, is it?

Young Romeo, is it?

’Tis he, that villain Romeo.

It's him, that villain Romeo.

Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, A bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth. I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement. Therefore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Calm yourself, gentle cousin, leave him alone. He is behaving like a dignified gentleman; and, to tell the truth, Verona boasts of him as a virtuous and well-behaved young man. I wouldn't insult him here in my house for all the wealth of this town. So be patient, take no notice of him. That is my wish; and if you respect it, look pleasant and get rid of these frowns, which are an unsuitable expression for a feast.

It fits when such a villain is a guest: I’ll not endure him.

It's a suitable expression when such a villain is a guest. I won't put up with him.

He shall be endur’d. What, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to; Am I the master here, or you? Go to. You’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul, You’ll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!

He shall be put up with. What, you young fellow! I say he shall — that's enough. Am I the master here, or you? That's enough. You won't put up with him! God help my soul, you'll start a riot among my guests! You'll cause an uproar, you'll play the big man!

Why, uncle, ’tis a shame.

Why, uncle, it's a disgrace.

Go to, go to! You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what. You must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time. Well said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame! I’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.

Enough, enough! You're an insolent boy. Is that so, really? This behaviour may end up harming you — I know what I'm saying. You have to contradict me! Yes indeed, this is the moment for it. Well done, my dear friends!—You're a conceited youngster; go. Be quiet, or— More light, more light!—Shame on you! I'll make you quiet. What, be cheerful, my dear friends.

Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.

Forced patience meeting stubborn anger makes my flesh tremble at the clash of the two. I'll go away; but this intrusion, which seems sweet now, will turn into bitter poison.

[To Juliet.] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

[To Juliet.] If I dishonour this holy shrine with my unworthy hand, this is the gentle sin: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, stand ready to soften that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

Good pilgrim, you do your hand too much injustice, since what it shows here is proper devotion; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands may touch, and palm pressed to palm is the pilgrims' kiss.

Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Don't saints have lips, and holy pilgrims too?

Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

Yes, pilgrim, lips that they must use for praying.

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: they are praying — grant it, so that faith doesn't turn to despair.

Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

Saints don't move, though they grant what is asked in prayer.

Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d. [Kissing her.]

Then don't move while I take what my prayer has won. In this way the sin is taken from my lips by yours. [He kisses her.]

Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Then my lips have the sin that they've taken.

Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! Give me my sin again.

Sin from my lips? Oh, what a sweetly urged offence! Give me my sin back again.

You kiss by the book.

You kiss according to the rule book.

Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Madam, your mother wants a word with you.

What is her mother?

Who is her mother?

Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. I nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal. I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks.

Why, young man, her mother is the lady of the house, and a good lady, and a wise and virtuous one. I nursed her daughter, the one you were talking with. And I tell you, the man who can win her will have plenty of money.

Is she a Capulet? O dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.

Is she a Capulet? Oh, what a costly reckoning! My life is owed to my enemy.

Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.

Come away, let's go; the entertainment is at its height.

Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

Yes, that's what I'm afraid of; it only makes my restlessness worse.

Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone, We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late, I’ll to my rest.

No, gentlemen, don't get ready to leave — we have a small foolish snack coming. Is it really so? Well then, I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's go to bed. Ah, my friend, by my faith, it's getting late. I'll go to my rest.

Come hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?

Come here, Nurse. Who is that gentleman over there?

The son and heir of old Tiberio.

The son and heir of old Tiberio.

What’s he that now is going out of door?

Who's the one who's going out the door now?

Marry, that I think be young Petruchio.

Why, I think that's young Petruchio.

What’s he that follows here, that would not dance?

Who's the one following him here, who wouldn't dance?

I know not.

I don't know.

Go ask his name. If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Go and ask his name. If he is married, my grave is likely to be my wedding bed.

His name is Romeo, and a Montague, The only son of your great enemy.

His name is Romeo, and he's a Montague, the only son of your great enemy.

My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.

My only love has grown out of my only hate! I saw him too early without knowing him, and I've learned who he is too late! It's a monstrous birth of love for me, that I must love a hated enemy.

What’s this? What’s this?

What's this? What's this?

A rhyme I learn’d even now Of one I danc’d withal.

A rhyme I just learned from someone I danced with.

Anon, anon! Come let’s away, the strangers all are gone.

Coming, coming! Come, let's go — the guests have all left.