But Romeo may not, he is banished! Oh father, haft thou no ftrong poison mixt, Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak, It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more- Then might'ft thou fpeak, then might'ft thou tear thy hair, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. [Throwing bimfelf on the ground; Fri. Arise, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. [Knock within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-fick groans, Mift-like infold me from the fearch of eyes. Fri. Hark, how they knock-Romeo, arife, Who's there? Thou wilt be taken-ftay awhile,-stand up; [Knocks. Run to my ftudy-By and by-God's will; What wilfulness is this! 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 Nurse. 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 cafe, Juft Juft in her cafe: Oh Juliet, Juliet ! Rom. Speak'st thou of Juliet! how is it with her? 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 Fri. Hold thy defperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art; Thou haft amazed me. By my holy order, 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. Ram. 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 reviv'd 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 fo foon to part with thee. [Exeunt. SCEN E VI. Capulet's Houfe. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. Cap. Things have fall'n out, Sir, fo unluckily That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, the lov'd her kinfman Tibalt dearly, And fo did I-Well, we were born to die'Tis very late, fhe'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 my child's love: I think he will be rul'd Of In all refpects by me, nay more, I doubt it not. Therefore we'll have fome half a dozen friends, 3 Prepare Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Good-night. [Exeunt. SCEN E VII. The GARDEN. Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window; a ladder of Ful.W Ropes fet. ILT thou be gone? it is not yet near day: Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, Jul. Yon light is not day light, I know it well; To be this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua; I am content, if thou wilt have it fo. Jul. It is, it is, hie hence away, be gone; 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. Enter Nurfe. Nurse. Madam. Jul. Nurse. Nurfe. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about. Ful. Art thou gone fo? 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 fhall ever meet again? Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes thall ferve For fweet difcourfes, in our time to come. Ful. O heav'n! I have an ill-divining foul, Either my eye-fight fails or thou look'ft pale. [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: Enter |