Some fay, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O now I would they had chang'd voices too! 2 O now be gone, more light and light it grows. Rom. More light and light? More dark and dark our Woes. Nurje. Madam, Jul. Nurfe? Enter Nurfe. Nurfe. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about. [Exit Nurse. Jul. Then, Window, let Day in, and let Life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell; one Kifs, and I'll defcend. [Romeo defcends. ful. Art thou gone fo? love! lord! ah husband! friend! I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' hour, Rom. Farewel: I will omit no opportunity, That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining foul. fo do you: [Exit Romeo. Jul. Oh fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle : And all thefe Woes shall serve (25) For fweet Difcourfes in our Time to come.] This very thought is express'd by Virgil on a like Occafion; Forfan & hæc olim meminiffe juvabit. The learned Taubman in his Note on this paffage has fimilar Quotations. Eneid. I. v. 203 amafs'd feveral If thou art fickle, what doft thou with him Enter lady Capulet. La. Cap. Ho, daughter,, are you up? Jul. Who is't, that calls? is it my lady mother? What unaccustom'd caufe procures her hither? La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ? Jul. Madam, I am not well. La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your coufin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his Grave with tears? An if thou could't, thou could'ft not make him live; Therefore, have done. Some Grief fhews much of Love; But much of Grief fhews ftill fome want of Wit. Jul. Yet let me weep for fuch a feeling lofs. La. Cap. So fhall you feel the Lofs, but not the Friend Which you do weep for. Jul. Feeling fo the Lofs, I cannot chufe, but ever weep the Friend. La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'ft not fo much for his death, As that the villain lives which flaughter'd him. Jul. What villain, Madam? La. Cap. That fame 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. ⠀ Jul. I, Madam, from the Reach of these my hands:- not: Then weep no more. Jul. Indeed, I never fhall be fatisfied With Romeo, till I behold him dead Is my poor Heart fo for a Kinfman vext. To wreak the Love I bore my flaughter'd Coufin, La. Cap. Find Thou the Means, and I'll find fuch a But now I'll tell thee joyful Tidings, Girl. Jul. And joy comes well in fuch a needful time. What are they, I beseech your ladyship? La. Cap. Well, well, thou haft a careful father, child; One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath forted out a fudden day of joy, That thou expect'ft not, nor I look'd not for. Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is this? The County Paris, at St. Peter's church, Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too, I wonder at this hafte, that I muit wed Ere he, that must be husband, comes to wooe. It fhall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris.-Thefe are news, indeed! La. Cap. Here comes your father, tell him fo your felf, And fee, how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet, and Nurse. Cap. When the Sun fets, the Air doth drizzle Dew; But for the Sunset of my Brother's Son It raines downright. How now? a conduit, girl? what, ftill in tears? Evermore show'ring? in one little body Thy tempeft-toffed body How now, wife? La. Cap. Ay, Sir; but he will none, the gives you thanks: I would, the fool were married to her Grave! Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife. How, will the none? doth the not give us thanks? Is fhe not proud, doth fhe not count her bleft, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. Cap. How now! how now! Chop Logick? What is This? Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not! And yet not proud! Why, Mistress Minion, You, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-fickness-carrion! Out, you baggage! You Tallow-face! La. Cap. Fie, fie, what are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with Patience, but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! difobedient wretch) I tell thee what, get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face. Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch, Wife, we fcarce thought us bleft, VOL. VII. But But now I fee this One is one too much, And that we have a Curfe in having her: Nurfe. God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her fo. Cap. And why, my lady Wisdom? hold your tongue, Good Prudence, fmatter with your goffips, go. Nurfe. I fpeak no treason May not one speak? O, god-ye-good-den Cap. Peace, peace, you mumbling fool; Utter your gravity o'er a goffip's bowl, For here we need it not. La. Cap. You are too hot. Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: day, night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking, or fleeping, ftill my care hath been Of fair demeans, youthful, and nobly allied, If you be not, hang, beg, ftarve, die i'th' ftreets; [Exit. |