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

night,
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.

[Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all

your state;

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:
Farewell.

[Exeunt.

6 — here stands all your state;] The whole of your fortune depends on this.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Capulet's House.

Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, and Paris.

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 wo: 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 desperate tender® Of my

child's love: I think, she will be ruld 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 nextBut, soft; What day is this? Par.

Monday, my lord. Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too

soon,
O' Thursday let it be;—0' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl:-
Will

you be ready? do you like this haste?

1-mew'd up-] This is a phrase from falconry. A mew was a place of confinement for hawks.

8 Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender -] Desperate means only bold, adventurous, as if he had said in the vulgar phrase, I will speak a bold word, and venture to promise you my daughter.

We'll keep no great ado;-a friend, or two:-
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
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?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-

morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone:-0 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!
Afore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by:--Good night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Juliet's Chamber.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET. 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 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;

9 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:) This is not merely a poetical supposition. It is observed of the nightingale, that, if undisturbed, she sits and sings upon the same tree for many weeks together.

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 brow;
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 makes sweet division;) This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; 0, now I would they had chang’d 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. Rom. More light and light?—more dark and

dark our woes.

1

3

the pale refler-] The appearance of a cloud opposed to the moon. ? I have more care to stay,–] Care for inclination.

sweet division;] Division seems to have been the technical phrase for the pauses or parts of a musical composition.

4 Hunting thee hence with hunts up to the day.) The hunts-up was the name of the tune anciently played to wake the hunters, and collect them together. But a huntsup also signified a morning song to a new married woman, the day after her marriage, and is used here in that sense.

Enter Nurse. Nurse. Madam! Jul. Nurse? Nurse. 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 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. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve 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 my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu!

[Exit Romeo. Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith?" Be fickle, fortune;

s That is renown'd for faith?] This Romeo, so renown'd for faith, was but the day before dying for love of another woman :

natural. Romeo was the darling object of Juliet's love, and Romeo was, of course, to have every excellence.

yet this