The masquing robes of Mercutio were partially dashed aside as he spoke the few words which constitute his opening speech.
"Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance."
At the same moment, too, the vizor which had bean held before his face was lowered, and as the glance of the torch-light fell upon his rich Italian dress and elegant figure, Sir Thomas started, whilst a murmur of applause ran through the theatre, gradually breaking into load plaudits, for in Mercutio they beheld the author of the piece—Shakespeare was on the stage.
The applause, however, was hushed almost at its commencement in the interest of the scene, and then came those startling lines which have since become as household words:—
"O, then, I see Queen Mab has been with you."
They came from the tongue of him who composed them, now uttered to an audience for the first time. Who shall attempt to describe their impression upon the hearers? Who shall describe the manner—the look—the utterance of him who then gave them? Shall we go too far if we say the world had since nothing to compare with that representation? The life, the brilliancy, the style of the character was suited to the actor. He was all fire, energy and spirit,—Mercutio was Shakespeare's self,—the most mercurial and spirited of the production of his comic muse; and the impressive manner in which he gave the words of the character, and their fire and brilliancy, his exquisite intonation, nay, the very dash of his look was irresistible.
The Queen, as he finished his speech, glanced around her. "'Fore Heaven, my Lord of Essex," she said, "but is not this exquisite?"
The answer of Essex was drowned in the applause which at the moment burst from all around as the graceful actor continued his part.
To ourselves, perhaps, at this moment, it would appear extraordinary that even greater approbation and louder plaudits had not followed. Shakespeare upon the stage, and speaking his own words, would seem to call forth acclaiming shouts within the walls of that old monastic playhouse which should almost have rent its roof in twain. To ourselves it would seem that the spectators should have almost expired with their enthusiasm; that "throats of brass, inspired with iron lungs," should have greeted him. But, be it remembered, that, exquisite as the whole performance was, as yet the audience knew little of the man, that the consideration of years had to mature the judgment of the world. He was actually giving them that which was too exquisite for the rudeness of the age in which they lived.
And so the play went on, new beauties every moment coming over the ears of that courtly audience, and at the same moment filling with delight those of inferior degree.