Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;
My fingers itch.--Wife, we scarce thought us bles'd
That God had lent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding!

Nurse.
God in heaven bless her!--
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.

Capulet.
And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse.
I speak no treason.

Capulet.
O, God ye good-en!

Nurse.
May not one speak?

Capulet.
Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

Lady Capulet.