Nur. I am a weary, give me leave a while;
Fy, how my Bones ake, what a Jaunt have I had?
Jul. I would thou hadst my Bones, and I thy News:
Good Nurse speak.

Nay come, I pray thee speak

Nur. Jefu! what haste ? can you not stay a while
Do you not see how I am out of Breath?

Jul. How art thou out of Breath, when thou hast Breath
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?

Nur. Well, you have made a simple Choice; you know not how to chuse a Man: Romeo? no not he, though his Face be better than any Man's, yet his Legs excell all Mens, and for a Hand and a Foot, and a Baw-dy, tho' they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare. He is not the Flower of Courtefie, but I warrant himlas gentle 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?
Nur. Lord how my Head akes! what a Head have I?
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My Back a 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 forry that thou art so ill,
Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what says my Love?
Nur. Your Love says like an honest Gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handfom,
And I warrant a virtuous where is your Mother?
Jul. Where is my Mother ? Why she is within,
Here should she be? How odly thou reply'st!
Your Love says like an honest Gentleman :
Where is my Mother?

Nur. O God's Lady dear,
Are you so hot? marry come up I trow,
Is this the Poultis for my aking Bones?

D 3

Hence

Hence-forward, do your Messages your self.

Jul. Here's such a coil; come, what says Romeo?
Nur. Have you got leave to go to shrift to Day?
Jul. I have.

Nur. Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence's 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,
To fetch a Ladder, by the which your Love
Must climb a Bird's Neft foon, when it is dark.
I am the drudge and toil in your Delight,
But you shall bear the Burthen soon at Night.
Go, I'll to Dinner, hie you to the Cell.

Jul. Hie to high Fortune; honeft Nurse farewel. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. The Monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Fri. So smile the Heavens upon this holy Act,
That after Hours with Sorrow chide us not.

Rom. Amen, Amen; but come what Sorow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of Joy,
That one short Minute gives me in her fight:
Do thou but close our Hands with holy Words,
Then Love-devouring Death do what he dare,
It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent Delights have violent Ends,
And in their triumph die like Fire and Powder,
Which as they kiss confume. The sweetest Honey
Is loathsome in his own delicioufnefs,
And in the tafte confounds the Appetite:
Therefore love moderately, long Love doth so,
Too swift arrives, as tardy as too flow.

Enter Juliet.

Here comes the Lady. Oh so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting Flint;
A Lover may bestride the Gossamour,
That idles in the wanton Summer Air,
And yet not fall, so light is Vanity.

Jul.

Jul. Good-even to my ghostly Confeffor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee Daughter for us both.
Jul. As much to him, else are his Thanks too much.
Rom. Ah Juliet, if the measure of thy Joy
Be heapt like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blafon it, then sweeten with thy Breath
This neighbour Air, and let rich Musick'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 fum up fome half of my 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.

Ben.

I

ACT III. SCENE I.

SCENE The Street.

Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.

Pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire,
The Day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And if we meet, we shall not scape a Brawl;
For now these hot Days is the mad Blood stirring.

[Exeunt.

Mer. Thou art like one of those Fellows, that when he enters the confines of a Tavern, claps me his Sword upon the Table, and says, God send me no need of thee: And by the Operation of a fecond Cup, draws him on the Drawer, when indeed there is no need.

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 foon moved to be moody, and as foon moody to be mov'd.

Ben. And what too?

Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou

D4

wilt

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 hasel 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 quarrell'd 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. Shooes with old Ribband? And yet thou wilt Tutor me from quarrelling!

Ben. And 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, Petruchio, 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 shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, and you will give me occafion.

Mer. Could you not take some Occasion without giving ?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou confort'st with Romeo

Mer. Confort! What, dost thou make us Minstrels? And thou make Minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but Difcords: Here's my Fiddlestick; here's thar shall make you dance. Come, Confort. [Laying his Hind on his Sword. Ben. We talk here in the pubuck haunt of Men:

Either withdraw unto some private place,
Or reason coldly of your Grievances,

Or else depart; here all Eyes gaze on us.

Mer. Mens Eyes were made to look, and let them gaze,

I will not budge for no Man's pleasure I.

Enter Enter Romeo.

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, Sir, here comes my Man.
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, Sir, it he wear your Livery:

Marry go before to Field, he'll be your Follower,
Your Worship in that sense may call him Man.

Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this; Thou art a Villain.
Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee,
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting:

Therefore farewel, I see thou know'st me not.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the Injuries
That thou haft done me, therefore turn and draw.
Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee,
But lov'd 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 my own, be fatisfied.

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile Submiffion!
Allaftucatho 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 Pilcher by the Ears? Make haste, left mine be about your Ears e'er it be out.

Tyb. I am for you.

[Drawing.

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier up.
Mer. Come, Sir, your Passado. [Mer. and Tyb. fight.

Rom. Draw, Benvolio-----beat down their Weapons

Gentlemen for shame forbear this Outrage

Tybalt-Mercutio

the Prince exprefly hath

Forbidden bandying in Verona Streets.

Hold Tybalt-good Mercutio.

Mer. I am hurt

A Plague of both the Houses, I am sped :

Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Ben. What, art thou hurt?

[Exit Tybalt.

Mer. Ay, ay, a Scratch, a Scratch; marry 'tis enough.

Where is my Page? Go, Villain, fetch a Surgeon.

Rom.