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Now, by the stock and honor of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore
storm you so?

Tub. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe:
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?


'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
He 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 this 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.

Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; I'll not endure him..

1 Cap.
He shall be endured;
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!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

1 Cap.
Go to, go to,
You are a saucy boy:-Is't so indeed?-
This trick may chance to scath5 you ;-I know what,
You must contráry me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts:-You are a princox :6
Be quiet, or-More light, more light! For

I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly, my hearts.
Tyb. 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. [Exit.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,-
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Jul. 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. Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips, that they must use in prayer. Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect
I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
[Kissing her.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
[He climbs the Wall, and leaps down within it.

Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
He is wise;
And, on my life, hath stolen him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:
Call, good Mercutio.

Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.


You kiss by the book. Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Rom. What 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.

Nay, I'll conjure too-
Romeo! humors! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me!-couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

Do you an injury.

• A coxcomb.


Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away; begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. 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, [To 2 CAP.] by my fay, it waxes late;
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse.
Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentle-

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door!
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would
not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Jul. Go. ask his name:-if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding-bed.

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

Jul. 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.
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danced withal. [One calls within, Juliet!
Anon, anon:-
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.


Now old Desire doth in his death-bed lie,

And young Affection gapes to be his heir; That fair, for which love groaned, and would die, With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair. Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again,


SCENE I-An open place adjoining Capulet's | One nick-name for her purblind son and hell,

Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape9 is dead, and I must conjure him.-
By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip,
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means to meet,
Temp'ring extremities with extreme sweet. [Evil,


Alluding to the old ballad of the king and the beggar This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness.

Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come,he hath hid himself among those trees,
To be consorted with the humorous' night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar-tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit,
As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.-
Romeo, good night;-I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?


Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here, that means not to be found.


SCENE II.-Capulet's Garden.
Enter ROMEO.

Rm. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.—
[JULIET appears above, at a Window.
But,soft! what light throughyonder window breaks!
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!-
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.-

It is my lady; O, it is my love:

O, that she knew she were!-
She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.-
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

Ah me!
She speaks:-
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name: Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? [Aside.

Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes,2 Without that title:-Romeo, doff3 thy name; And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd

in night,

So stumblest on my counsel?


By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound;
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague!

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?

'Humid, moist. Owns, possesses. Do off. put off.

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I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face; Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain, deny What I have spoke: But farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say-Ay; And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries, They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or, if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou may'st think my 'havior light: But, trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange.6 I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheardst, ere I was 'ware, My true love's passion; therefore, pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant


That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Rom. What shall I swear by?


Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee.


If my heart's dear loveJul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good-night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good-night, good-night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart, as that within my breast! Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request


And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

Jul. But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea.
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are intinite.

I hear some noise within: Dear love, adieu!
[Nurse calls within.
Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.
Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
• Unless.



Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good-night,


If that thy bent of love be honorable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world :-
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.

Jul. I come, añon:-But if thou mean'st not
I do beseech thee,-
Nurse. [Within.] Madam.


By and by, I come:To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.

Rom. So thrive my soul,Jul. A thousand times good-night! [Exit. Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter JULIET, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, for a falconer's voice,

To lure this tassel-gentles back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.

Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Jul. Romeo!



Shall I send to thee?

My sweet!

At what o'clock to-morrow

Rom. At the hour of nine. Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it. Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Rememb'ring how I love thy company.

Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. "Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone : And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,9 And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would, I were thy bird.

Jul. Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good-night, good-night! parting is such sweet sor

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SCENE III-Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket. Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked2 darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's pathway, made by Titan's3wheels: Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must fill up this osier cage of ours, With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb: And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find;


The teircel is the male hawk, the falcon the female. » Fetters. Chance, fortune. Spotted, streaked.

The sun.

Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live,
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and medicine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Good-morrow, father! Fri.

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good-morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy carliness doth me assure,

Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp❜rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right-
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline! Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father! no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me.
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man: for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift, Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is


On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combined, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage, when, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.

Fri. Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine

Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.

Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love


Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow; The other did not so.

O, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spel'.
But come, young waverer, come go with me
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;

For this alliance may so happy prove
To turn your households' rancor to pure love

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Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabbed with a white wench's black eye! shot through the ear with a love-song: the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft; And is he a man to encounter Tybalt!

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats,5 I can tell you. 0, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house,-of the first and second cause: Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay!7

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!- By Jesu, a very good blade!-a very tall man!--a very good whore!-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!

Enter ROMEO.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring:-0 fish, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and hariots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French salutation to your French slop.8 You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good-morru w to you both. What counterieit did I give yo?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip;9 Can you not conceive!

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Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase I have done: for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose?

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter-sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

Rom. And is it not well served in to a swee goose?

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel,3 that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump' well flowered. Mer. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing, solely singular.

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits


Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or 'll cry a match.

▲ Arrow. See the story of Reynard the fox. By notes pricked down. Terms of the fencing-school. Trowsers or pantaloons, a French fashion in Shakpeare's time.

A pun on counterfeit money called slips.


Rom. I stretch it out for that word-broad which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down, to hide his bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

Mer. Thou desirest ine to stop in my tale against the hair.

Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Rom. Here's goodly geer!

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Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Nurse. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those An apple. Soft stretching leather. • Good-even. Point. Hoary, mouldy. A term of disrespect, in contradistinction to gentleman.

hit shall. -Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirtgi.is; I am one of his skains-mates:-And thou mist stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!-Pray you, sir, a word; and, as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but tirst let me tell ye, it ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young: and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,

Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift9

This afternoon;

And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell
Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom. Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir; well, she shall be

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey


Within this hour my man shall be with thee;
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,
Which to the high top-gallant' of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell!-Be trusty, and I'll quit2 thy pains.
Farewell!-Commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse. Now, God in heaven bless thee!


you, sir.

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse?
Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady-Lord, lord!-when 'twas a little prating thing,-0,-there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.


Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times.-Peter!.
Pet. Anon?

Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before.


Or this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours,-yet she is not come.
Had she aflections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a bail,
My words would bandy3 her to my sweet love,
And his to me:

But old folks many, feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse and PETER.

In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.-
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill

A mate or companion of one wearing a skain-a short sword. Confession. The highest extremity of the mast of a ship. • Requite.

O God, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. Exit PETER
Jul. Now, good, sweet nurse,-O lord! why
look'st thou sad?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse. I am weary, give me leave a while;-
Fye, how my bones ache? What a jaunt have I had.
Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy


Nay, come, I pray thee, speak;-good, good nurse, speak.

Nurse. Jesu! What haste? can you not stay a while?

Do you not see that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast

To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad!

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice, you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a body,-though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.-Go thy ways, wench; serve God.-What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before; What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o' t'other side. O, my back, my back!-
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well:
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my


Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous:-Where is your


Jul. Where is my mother?-why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st; Your love says like an honest gentleman,Where is your mother?

Jul. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell;
There stays a husband to make you a wife:
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church: I must another way,

SCENE V.-Capulet's Garden.


the nurse;

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark:
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burden soon at right.
Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortune!-honest nure, fare




O, God's lady dear! Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow: Is this the poultice for my aching bones! Henceforward do your messages yourself.

Jul. Here's such a coil!-come, what says

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day!

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