Puslapio vaizdai
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By playing 't to me with so four a face.
Nurfe. I am a weary, let me reft a while;
Fie, how my bones ake, what a jaunt have I had?
Jul. I would, thou hadft my bones, and I thy news!
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak-Good, good nurse,
fpeak.

Nurfe. Jefu what hafte? Can you not stay a while?

Do you not fee, that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou haft breath,

To fay to me, that thou art out of breath?
Th' Excule, that thou doft make in this delay,
Is longer than the Tale thou doft excufe.
Is thy news good or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll ftay the circumstance:
Let me be fatisfied, is't good or bad?

Nurfe. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to chufe a man: Romeo, no, not he; *though his face be no better than another man's, yet his legs excel all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, tho' they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are paft compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I warrant him, as gentle as 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 fays he of our marriage? what of that? Nurfe. Lord, how my head akes! what a head have 1?

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

My back o'th' other fide-O my back, my back:.:
Befhrew your heart, for fending me about

To catch my death with jaunting up and down...
Jul. I'faith, I am forry that thou art fo ill.
Sweet, fweet, sweet nurse, tell me what fays my love?

* Though his Face be better than any Man's;] We should' read, be no better than another Man's.

H 4

1

Nurfe.

Nurfe. Your love fays like an honeft gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous-where is your mother? Jul. Where is my mother?-why the is within; Where fhould fhe be? how odly thou reply'ft! Your love fays like an honeft gentleman :Where is your mother?

Nurfe. O, God's lady dear,

Are you fo hot? marry, come up, I trow,
Is this the poultis for my aking bones?
Hence-forward do your meffages yourself.

Jul. Here's fuch a coil; come, what fays Romeo?
Nurfe. Have you got leave to go to fhrift to-day?
Jul. I have.

Nurfe. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, i There ftays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in fcarlet ftraight at any news. Hie you to church, I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Muft climb a bird's-neft foon, when it is dark.. I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you fhall bear the burden foon at night. Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell.

Jul. Hie to high fortune;-honeft nurse, farewel. [Exeunt.

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Changes to the Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, and Romeo.

Fri. That after-hours with forrow chide us not! O fmile the heav'ns upon this holy Act,

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what forrow can, It cannot countervail th' 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 meet, confume. The sweetest honey
Is loathfome in its own deliciousness,

And in the taste confounds the appetite;
Therefore love mod'rately, long love doth fo:
Too swift arrives as tardy as too flow.

Enter Juliet.

Here comes the lady. O, fo light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint;
A lover may bestride the goffamour,
That idles in the wanton fummer air,
And yet not fall, fo light is vanity.

Jul. Good even to my ghoftly Confeffor.
Fri. Romeo fhall 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 heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air; and let rich mufic's tongue
Unfold th' imagin'd happiness, that both
Receive in either, by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his fubstance, not of ornament:

They are but beggars, that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to fuch Excess,

I cannot fum up one half of my wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you fhall not stay alone, 'Till Holy Church incorp'rate two in one.

H 5,

[Exeunt.

ACT

!

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Pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire;
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad;
And, if we meet, we fhall not 'fcape a brawl;
For now these hot days is the mad blood flirring.

Mer. Thou art like one of thofe fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his fword upon the table, and fays, God fend 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 fuch a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as foon mov'd to be moody, and as foon moody to be mov'd.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an' there were two fuch, we should have none fhortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou/wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair lefs, in his beard, than thou haft: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reafon but because thou haft hasel eyes; what eye, but fuch an eye, would spy out fuch 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 haft quarrel'd with a man for coughing in the ftreet, becaufe he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain afleep in the Sun. Didft thou not fall out with a taylor for wearing his new doublet before Eafter? with another, for tying his new fhoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling!

Ben.

Ben. If I were fo apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee fimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mar. The fee-fimple; O fimple!

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others. Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me clofe, 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 fomething, make it a word and a blow.

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, if you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take fome occafion without. giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou confort'ft with Romeo

-Mer. Confort! what doft thou make us minstrels! if thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but difcords: here's my fiddlestick; here's That, shall make you dance. Zounds! confort!

[Laying his hand on his fword. Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : Either withdraw unto fome private place,

Or reafon coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them

gaze.

I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter Romeo.

Tyb. Well, peace

be with

you,

Sir! here comes

my man.

Mer. But I'll be hang'd, Sir, if he wear your

livery:

Marry, go first to field, he'll be your follower;
Your worship in that fenfe may call him man.
Tyb. Romeo, the love, I bear thee, can afford

No

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