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Ben. Am I like such a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thon! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes; What eye but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel! Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another. for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-simple? O simple!

Enter TYBALT and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.

Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.Gentlemen, good-den; a word with one of you.

Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow." Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, fr else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

The long white filament which flies in the air.

Jul. Good-even to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too


Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, Till holy church incorporate two in one.


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Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting:-Villain am I none; Therefore, farewell; I see, thou know'st me not. Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw. Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee; But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender As dearly as mine own,-be satisfied.

Mer. O calm, dishonorable, vile submission! A la stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher9 by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.

Tyb. I am for you.


Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight
Rom. Draw, Benvolio;


Beat down their weapons:-Gentlemen, for shame
Forbear this outrage;-Tybalt-Mercutio-
The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying
In Verona streets :-hold, Tybalt;-good Mercutio
[Exeunt TYBALT and his Partisans.
Mer. I am hurt;-

A plague o' both the houses!-I am sped :-
Is he gone, and hath nothing?


What, art thou hurt? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.

Where is my page ?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [Exit Page. Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world :A plague o' both your houses!-'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death . Paint, display. Imagination. The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier. Case or scabbard.


a ragg irt, a rogue. a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!-Why, the devil, came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.

Rom. I thought all for the best.

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint.-A plague o' both your houses!
They have made worm's meat of me:
I have it, and soundly too:-Your houses!
Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been my kinsman:-0 sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper soften'd valor's steel.
Re-enter BENVOLIO.

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead;
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth


This but begins the woe, others must end.
Re-enter TYBALT.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
Away to Heaven, respective' lenity,

And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!-
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company;
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort3
him here,
Shalt with him hence.

This shall determine that. [They fight; TYBALT falls. Ben. Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain: Stand not amaz'd:-the prince will doom thee death,

If thou art taken :-hence!-be gone!-away!
Rom. O! I am Fortune's fool!

Why dost thou stay? [Exit ROMEO.
Enter Citizens, &c.

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Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
Your high displeasure:-All this-uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly

1 Considerate.
Just and upright.

Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly:
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

Slight, unimportant.

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true:
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life:
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's

His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.

And, for that offence,

Immediately we do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hates' proceeding.
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses;
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence his body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.


SCENE II-A Room in Capulet's House.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' mansion; such a waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.-
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!
That run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen!-
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties: or, if love be blind,
It best a rees with night.-Come, civil night,
Thou sol er-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown

Think true love acted, simple modesty.
Come, night!-Come, Romeo! come, thou day u
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.

Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd

Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die.
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.-
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: So tedious is this day,
As is the night before some festival
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
To an impatient child, that hath new robes,
Enter Nurse, with Cords.

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,

We are undone, lady, we are undone!—

Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than his Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?

His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm

Kom o can,
Though heaven cannot:-0 Romeo! Roineo!
Who ever would have thought it?-Romeo!

An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life

2 Conductor.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.-
Now, nurse, what news! What hast thou there,
the cords,
That Romeo bade thee fetch?

Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down. Jul. Ah me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse. Ah well-a-day!--he's dead, he's dead, he't


Punish by fine.

These are terms of falconry.

Grave, solemn
Gaudy, show!.

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I‚1
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an I:

Or those eyes shut, that makes thee answer, I.
If he be slain, say-I; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of any weal or woe.

Nurse. I saw the wound,I saw it with mine eyes,-
God save the mark!-here, on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swoonded at the sight.

Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vi.e earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier!

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did.

Jul. O, serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! woltish ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honorable villain!— O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book, containing such vile matter, So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace!


There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitæ:These griefs, these woes, these sorrows, make me


Shame come to Romeo!

Blister'd be thy tongue,
For such a wish! he was not born to shame:
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;

For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy


When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?—
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus-


All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished,
That-banished, that one word,-banished,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,-
Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead,
Thy ather, or thy mother, nay, or both,

Which modern2 lamentation might have mov'd?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished,-to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead:-Romeo is bunished,--
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that wae sound.-
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse!

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords:-Poor ropes, you are beguil'd
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was 1sually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the ld -peillug.

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Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death: For exile hath more terror in his look,

Much more than death: do not say-banishment.
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exile is death:-then banishment,
Is death mis-term'd: calling death-banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven, and may look on her, But Romeo may not.-More validity,4 More honorable state, more courtship, lives In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, And steal immortal blessing from her lips; Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, when I from this must fly; They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But, banished-to kill me; banished?

O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly cónfessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word-banishment? Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. • Common. • Know. • Worth, value

Fri. I'll give thee armor to keep off that word:
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. Yet banished!-Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not,-talk no more.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men
have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost
not feel:

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear
thy hair,

And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.


Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy[Knocking within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans,

Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.


Fri. Hark, how they knock!-Who's there?-
Romeo, arise:

Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a while:-stand up;

Run to my study:-By and by :-God's will!
What wilfulness is this?-I come, I come.


Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? what's
your will?
Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall
know my errand;
come from Lady Juliet.

Welcome then.

Fye, fye! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valor of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd 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 set on fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend 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 the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.-
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed.
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.

Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the

To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!-
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [cit.
Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
Fri. Go hence: good-night: and here stands all
your state

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Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Does not she think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and


And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.


As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman.-O tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion. [Drawing his Sword.
Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast.
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.

Either be gone 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 signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good-night
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee;

[Exeunt SCENE IV. A Room in Capulet's House.


Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so 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 woo.
Madam, good-night:commend me to your daughter
La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to


To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate te.der
Of my child's love: I think, she will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But soft: what day is this?


Monday, my lord

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is to


O' Thursday let it be ;-o' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl →→
Will you be ready? do you like this haste!
We'll keep no great ado;-a friend, or 1 vo:
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,

The whole of your fortune depends on is

Shut up.


It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Pur. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-


Cap. Well, get you gone:-O' Thursday be it

then :

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,

Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.-
Farewell, my lord.-Light to my chamber, ho!
Atore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by :-Good-night. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.-Juliet's Chamber.


Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings 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 streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brows Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay, than will to go;Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.How is't, my soul! let's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away; It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark inakes sweet division;! This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes: O, now I would they had changed voices too; Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day. O. now be gone; more light and light it grows. Kom. More light and light-more dark and

dark our woes.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Madam! Jul. Nurse!

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your


The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit. Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. [ROMEO descends. Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my friend!

I must hear from thee every day i' the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul. 0, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall


For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul: Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! [Exit ROMEO. Jul. O fortune! fortune! all men call thee tickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him

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That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune: For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother' Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither! Enter LADY CAPULET.

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet? Jul. Madam, I am not well La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?

An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: Some grief shows much cʻ love;

But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the

Which you weep for.


Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much
for his death,

As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, madam?
La. Cap.
That same villain, Romeo.
Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer


Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. 'Would, none but I might 'venge my cousin's death! La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fea.

thou not:

Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,

Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,-
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd:-
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet.-0, how my heart abhors
To hear him named,-and cannot come to him,-
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such

a man.

But now, I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time:

What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;

One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday


That gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter


He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste: that I must wed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,

Rather than Paris:-These are news indeed!

La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,

And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and Nurse.

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew: But for the sunset of my brother's sun,

• Brings.

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