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Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st?
Where is your mother?
O, God's lady dear!
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow;
Jul. Here's such a coil; - Come, what says
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift today?
Jul. I have.
Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence'
There stays a husband to make you a wife:
Now comes the wanton blood up in
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortune! - honest nurse, fare
FRIAR LAURENCE'S CELL.
Enter Friar Laurence 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 sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: 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, consume: The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so;
Here comes the lady:-O, so light a foot
Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us
Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too
Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon 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 sum up half my sum of wealth.
Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
ACT III. SCENE I.
A PUBLICK PLACE.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants.
Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire; The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl;
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 the second cup, draws it 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 soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
Ben. And what to?
Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou 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 hazel 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 waken'd 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 shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
Ben. An 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, and Others.
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
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 will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion.
Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?
Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,
Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!
Ben. We talk here in the publick haunt of men: Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.