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For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
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 could'st, thou could'st not make him live; Therefore, have done: Some grief shows much of
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
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,
Jul. What villain, madam?
That same villain, Romeo.
heart; And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer
you weep for.
procures her hither?] Procures for brings.
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, fear
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-deadIs 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 hiin nam'd, 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:
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
· Ay, madam, from, &c.] Juliet's equivocations are rather too artful for a mind disturbed by the loss of a new lover. Johnson.
- in happy time,] A la bonne heure. This phrase was interjected, when the hearer was not quite so well pleased as the speaker.
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday
Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too,
lord and father, madam,
yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.
Enter CAPULET und Nurse. Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son, It rains downright.How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who,-raging with thy tears, and they with them,Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body:—How now, wife?
9 The county Paris,] Paris, though in one place called Earl, is most commonly stiled the Countie in this play. Shakspeare seems to have preferred, for some reason or other, the Italian Comte to our Count: perhaps he took it from the old English novel, from which he is said to have taken his plot; and in which Paris is first stiled a young Earle, and afterwards nte, untee, County; cording to the unsettled orthography of the time.
deliver'd to her our decree? La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she 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 she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her bless’d, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that
Proud can I never be of what I hate;
is this? Proud,-and, I thank you,--and, I thank you not;And yet not proud;-Mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, Το go
with Paris to Saint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow face!
Fye, fye! 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! disobedient
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 scarce thought us bless'd, That God had sent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding!
God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
O, God ye good den!
Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, For here we need it not. La. Cap.
You are too hot. Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night,
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,