But Romeo may not, he is banished!

Oh father, haft thou no ftrong poifon mixt,
No fharp ground knife, no prefent means of death,
But banishment to torture me withal.

Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me fpeak,
I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adverfity's fweet milk, philofophy,

To comfort thee tho' thou art banished.
Rom. Yet banished? hang up philofophy:
Unless philofophy can make a Juliet,
It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more-
Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou can't not speak of what thou doft not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tibalt murdered:
Doting like me, and like me banished;

Then might'ft thou fpeak, then might'st thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now,

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arife, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself, [Knock within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-fick groans, Mift-like infold me from the search of eyes.

Fri. Hark, how they knock- Romeo, arife,

Who's there?

Thou wilt be taken-stay awhile,-ftand up; [Knocks.
Run to my ftudy-By and by-God's will;
What wilfulness is this!-I come, I come.

[Knocks.

Who knocks fo hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurfe. [within.] Let me come in, and you shall know.

my errand:

I come from lady Juliet.

Fri. Welcome then.

Enter Nurfe.

Nurfe. Oh holy Friar, oh tell me, holy Friar,

Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo?

[drunk.

Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made Nurfe. O he is even in my mistress's case,

Juft

Juft in her cafe: Oh Juliet, Juliet!

Rom. Speak'st thou of Juliet! how is it with her? Since I have itain'd the childhood of our joy

With blood,

Where is the? how does the? what says she?

Nurfe. Oh, the fays nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps And now falls on her bed, and then starts up, And Tibalt cries, and then on Romeo calls, And then falls down again.

Rom. As if that name

Shot from the deadly level of a gun

Did murder her. Oh tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may fack
The hateful manfion.

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art ;-
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts note
Th' unreasonable fury of a beaft.

Thou haft amazed me. By my holy order,
I thought thy difpofition better temper'd.
Haft thou flain Tibalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And flay thy lady too, that lives in thee?
What, rouze thee, man, thy Juliet is alive,
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed;
Afcend her chamber; hence, and comfort her:
But look thou flay not till the watch be fet,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou fhalt live, 'till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of thy prince, and call thee back,
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy,
Than thou went'ft forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurfe; commend me to thy lady,
And bid her haften all the house to reft,

Romeo is coming.

Nurfe. Oh lord, I could have ftaid here all night long To hear good counfel; oh, what learning is!

My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do fo, and bid my fweet prepare to chide.

Nurfe.

Nurfe. Here, Sir, a ring fhe bid me give you, Sir: Hie you, make hafte, for it grows very

late.

Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this!
Fri. Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he fhall fignify from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewel, good night,
Rom. But that a joy, past joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief so foon to part with thee.

[Exeunt.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.

Cap. That we have had no time to move our Hings have fall'n out, Sir, fo unluckily T

daughter:

Look you, the lov'd her kinfman Tibalt dearly,
And fo did I-Well, we were born to die-
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night.

Par. Thefe times of grief afford no time to woo:
Madam, good night, commend me to your daughter.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a defperate tender
Of my child's love: I think fhe will be rul'd
In all refpects by me, nay more, I doubt it not.
But, foft; what day? Well, Wednesday is too soon,
On Thursday (let it be :) you fhall be marry'de
We'll keep no great ado-a friend or two-
For, hark you, Tibalt being flain fo late,
It may be thought we held him carelefly,
Being our kinfman, if we revel much:

Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there's an end. But what fay you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
Cap. Well, get you gone-on Thursday be it then:
you to Juliet ere you go to bed: [To lady Cap.

Go

Prepare

Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lord-light to my chamber, hoa!
Good-night.

[Exeunt.

The GARDEN.

Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window; a ladder of

Jul.

W

Ropes fet.

ILT thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly the fings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious ftreaks
Do lace the fevering clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tip-toe on the mifty mountain tops,
I must be gone and live, or ftay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well;
It is fome meteor that the fun exhales,

To be this night a torch-bearer,

And light thee on thy way to Mantua;

Then ftay a while, thou shalt not go fo foon.

Rom. Let me be ta'en; let me be put to death,
I am content, if thou wilt have it fo.
I'll fay yon gray is not the morning eye,
"Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow,
I'll fay 'tis not the lark whofe notes do beat,
The vaulty heav'ns fo high above our heads:
Come death and welcome: Juliet wills it fo.
What fays my love? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence away, be gone;
It is the dark that fings fo out of tune,
Straining harsh difcords, and unpleafing fharps.

Oh

Oh now be gone, more light and light it grows.

Rom. More light and light?- -more dark and dark our Farewel, my love; one kifs, and I'll be gone. [woes.

Nurfe. Madam.

Jul. Nurfe.

Enter Nurse.

Nurfe. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about.

Jul. Art thou gone for love! lord! ah, husband, friend!
I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th’hour,
For in love's hours there are many days.
O by this count I fhall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewel: I will admit no opportunity,
That may convey my greetings to thee, love.
Jul. O think'it thou we shall ever meet again?
Rom. I doubt it not, and all thefe woes fhall ferve
For fweet difcourfes, in our time to come.

Jul. O heav'n! I have an ill-divining foul,
Methinks I fee thee, now thou'rt parting from me,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb!

Either my eye-fight fails or thou look'ft pale.

Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye fo do you: Dry forrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! My life, my love, my foul. Adieu ?

[Exeunt.

Jul. Fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle.

If thou art fickle, what doft thou with him

That is renown'd for faith? be fickle, fortune:
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long,
But fend him back again.

Enter