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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-tossed body.—How now, wife? Have you

deliver'd to her our decree? La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives

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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

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-logick! What

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,
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 baggage!
You tallow face!

La. Cap. 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 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!

Nurse.
God in heaven bless her!-
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your

tongue,

O, God ye good den!

Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
Cap.
Nurse. May not one speak?
Cap.
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

Peace, you mumbling fool!

La. Cap.

You are too hot.

Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day,

night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of princely parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train’d, Stuff’d (as they say,) with honourable parts, Proportion'd 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. [

[Exit. Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? (), sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a

word; Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit.

Jul. O God!-O nurse! how shall this be prevented?

My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth?-comfort me, counsel me.-
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!-

Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

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 prais'd 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.