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? love! lord! ay, husband, 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 so low, 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 renowned for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

Lady C. [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 unaccustomed cause procures her hither?

Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banished runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustomed dram,
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 vexed:-
Madam, if you could but find out a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it,
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
To hear him named,-and cannot come to him,—
To wreak the love I bore my cousin
Upon his body that hath slaughtered him!

Lady C. 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?

Lady C. 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 looked not for.
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
Lady C. Marry, my child, early next Thurs-

day morn,

The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The County Paris, at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Jul. Now by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too,
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, adam.
I will not marrv yet; and when I do, I swear

It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris.-These are news indeed! Lady C. 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 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-tosséd body.-How now, wife!
Have you delivered to her our decree?

Lady C. 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 blessed,
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-logic! What is this?

Proud,—and, I thank you,—and, I thank you not-
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you bag-
gage!

You tallow-face!

Lady C. 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! 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

blessed

That God hath lent 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 bilding!

Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad.
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her matched: and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,

Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly trained,
Stuffed (as they say) with honourable parts,
Proportioned as one's heart could wish a man,—
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer "I'll not wed," "I cannot love,"
"I am too young," "I pray you pardon me :”-
But an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me:
Look to 't, think on 't; I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart; advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets;
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good.
Trust to't; bethink you; I'll not be forsworn.

That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you:
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the County.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!

Romeo's a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,

Your first is dead; or 't were as good he were,

As living here, and you no use of him.
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?
Nurse. From my soul too;

Or else beshrew them both.

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.

Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolved.

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. [Exit.

Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times?-Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the Friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit.

SCENE I.-FRIAR LAURENCE's Cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS. Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. Fri. You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course; I like it not.

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,

And therefore have I little talked of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway,
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society.
Now do you know the reason of this haste.
Fri. I would I knew not why it should be
slowed.
[Aside.

Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. Par. Do not deny to him that you love me. Jul. I will confess to you that I love him. Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite.

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slandered it. Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.— Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter,

now.

My lord; we must entreat the time alone.

Par. God shield I should disturb devotion !— Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss. [Exit. Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast

done so,

Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits. I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this County.

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God joined my heart and Romeo's; thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo sealed, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel; or, behold, "Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring.Be not so long to speak: I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

Fri. Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution

Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
(Things that, to hear them told, have made me
tremble ;)

And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstained wife to my sweet love.
Fri. Hold, then: go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris. Wednesday is to-morrow:
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this phial, being then in bed,

And this distilled liquor drink thou off:
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His natural progress, but surcease to beat:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st:
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,
Like death when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, deprived of supple government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: