NUR. O he is even in my mistress' cafe,
Juft in her cafe, O woful sympathy !
Piteous predicament! ev'n fo lies she,
Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand up, ftand up;—stand, an' you be a man:
For Juliet's fake, for her fake, rise and stand.
Why should you fall into so deep an-
-death is the end of all.
Roм. Speak'ft thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth not the think me an old murderer,
Now I have ftain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but little from her own?
Where is the? and how does she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?
NUR. O, fhe fays nothing, Sir; but weeps and weeps ;
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up;
And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then down falls again.
ROM. As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her, as that name's curfed hand
Murder'd her kinfman.-Tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may fack
The hateful manfion.
FRI. Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
Th' unreasonable fury of a beaft.
Unfeemly woman in a seeming man!
And ill-befeeming beast in seeming both!
Thou haft amaz'd me. By my holy order,
I thought thy difpofition better temper'd.
Haft thou flain Tybalt? Wilt thou flay thyself?
And flay thy lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyfelf?
Why rail'ft thou on thy birth, the heav'n, and earth,
Since birth, and heav'n, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which thou at once would'ft lofe?
Fy, fy, thou fham'ft thy fhape, thy love, thy wit,
Which, like an ufurer, abound'st in all,
And ufeft none, in that true ufe indeed,
Which should bedeck thy fhape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digreffing from the valour of a man ;
Thy dear love fworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love, which thou haft vow'ft to cherish.
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is fet on fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou difmember'd with thine own defence.
What, roufe thee man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whofe dear fake thou waft but lately dead:
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou flew'ft Tybalt; there art thou happy too;
The law, that threatned death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy;
A pack of bleffings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her beft array,
But, like a misbehav'd and fullen wench,
Thou pout'ft upon thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for fuch die miferable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Afend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But, look, thou stay not 'till the watch be set ;
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou shalt live, 'till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of thy prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy,
Than thou went'ft forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse. Commend me to thy lady,
And bid her haften all the house to bed,
Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
NUR. O lord, I could have ftaid here all night long,
To hear good counsel. Oh, what learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
Roм. Do fo, and bid my fweet prepare to chide.
NUR. Here, fir, a ring the bid me give you, fir:
Hie you, make hafte, for it grows very late.
ROM. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
FRI. Go hence. Good night. And here stands all your
Either begone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence.
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall fignify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here.
Give me thy hand, 'tis late. Farewell. Good night.
Roм. But that a joy, past joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief, fo brief to part with thee.
SCENE VI. Changes to Capulet's House.
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. CAP. Things have fallen out, fir, fo unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, the lov'd her kinfman Tybalt dearly,
And fo did I.- -Well, we were born to die.-
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night.
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
PAR. These times of woe afford no time to wooe.
Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.
LA. CAP. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.
CAP. Sir Paris, I will make a defperate tender
Of my child's love. I think, fhe will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay mo:e, I doubt it not.
Wife go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here with my fon Paris' love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,
But, foft; what day is this?
PAR. Monday, my lord.
CAP. Monday? Ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too soon,
On Thursday let it be. O' Thursday, tell her,
She fhall be married to this noble earl.
-Will you be ready? Do you like this hafte.
We'll keep no great ado-
For, hark you, Tybalt being flain fo late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,
Being our kinfman, if we revel much;
Therefore we'll have fome half a dozen friends,
And there's an end. But what fay you to Thursday?
PAR. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
CAP. Well, get you gone on Thursday be it then,
Go
you to Juliet ere you go to bed.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lord,- -Light to my chamber, hoa!
'Fore me.- -It is fo late, that we may call
It early by and by. Good night.
SCENE VII. Juliet's Chamber looking to the Garden.
Enter Romeo and Juliet, above at the window; a ladder of ropes fet.
JUL. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day;
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear:
Nightly the fings on yon pomegranate tree :
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
ROM. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious ftreaks
Do lace the fevering clouds in yonder east ;
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountains' tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
JUL. Yon light is not day-light, I know it,
It is fome meteor that the fun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go fo foon.
Roм. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death,
I am content if thou wilt have it fo.
I'll fay, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whofe notes do beat
The vaulty heav'ns fo high above our heads.
I have more care to stay, than will to go.
Come death, and welcome; Juliet wills it fo.
How is't, my foul? Let's talk, it is not day,
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