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Nurse. Romeo can,
Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo !

Jul. What devil art thou, that does torment me thus ?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but ay,
And that bare little word shall poison more
Than the earth darting eye of cockatrice.

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
Here on his manly breast.---A piteous coarse
A bloody piteous coarse, pale, pale as alhes,
I fwooned at the sight.
Jul. O break

my
heart!

-poor bankrupt, break at once ! To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty; Vile earth to earth resign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier !

Nurse. O Tibalt, Tibalt, the best friend I had ; That ever I should live to see thee dead.

Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary ? Is Romeo slaughter'd? and is Tibalt dead?

Nurse. Tibalt is dead, and Romeo banished, Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O heaven ! did Romeo's hand shed Tibalt’s blood ? Nurse. It did, it did, alas the day! it did.

Ful. O nature! what hadít thou to do in hell, When thou didít bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? O that deceit

should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.

Nurse. There is no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd ;
Shame come to Romeo !

Ful. Blister'd be thy tongue,
For such a wish, he was not born to shame,
Upon his brow shame is alham'd to fit :
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd,
Sole monarch of the universal earth,
O what a wretch was I to chide him so?
Nurse. Will you speak well of him, that kill'd your

cousin ? Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is husband ? Ak poor my lord, what tongue fhall smoo:h thy name,

When

my

my

When I thy three hours wife have mangled it ?
Back foolish tears, back to your

native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you miftaking offer up to joy.
My husband lives that Tibalt would have slain,
And Tibalt's dead that would have kill'd husband;
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then ?
Some word there was worser than Tibalt's death
That murder'd me; I would forget it fain,
But oh it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds ;
Tibalt is dead, and Romeo banished:
That banished, that one word banished,
Hath lain ten thousand Tibalts : In that word
Is, father, mother, Tibalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead ! Romeo is banished!
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse!

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tibalt's coarse :
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears ? My eyes shall

Aow
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.

Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo
To comfort

you.

I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; I'll to him, he is hid at Lawrence' cell.

Ful, Oh find him, give this ring to my true lord, And bid him come to take his last farewel. [Exeunt.

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The Monastery.
Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.
Fri. ROMEO, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful

man,
Amidion is enamour'd of thy parts ;
And thou art wedded to calamity.

Ram. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not ?

Fri,

Fri. Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour

company,
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

Rom. What less than death can be the prince's doom?

Fri. A gentler judgment vanilh'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom Ha! banishment ? be merciful, say death ; For exile hath more terror in his look, · Much more than death: Do not say banishment; 'Tis death mis.term'd calling death banishment ; Thou cut'st my head off with a golden ax, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness !.
Thy fault our law calls death ; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part hath puh'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment,
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heav'n is here
Where Juliet lives. There's more felicity
In carrion-flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal hlessings from her lips ;
But Romeo may not, he is banished !
O father, hadft thou no strong poison mixt,
No fharn-ground knife, no present means of death,
But banifiment to torture me withal.

Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak,
I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee tho' thou art banished,

Rom. Yet, banished ? hang up philosophy:
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more-

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst 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'st thou speak, 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. Arise, one knocks ; good Romeo hide thyself.

[Knock within.
Rom. Not I, unless the breath of heart-fick groans,
Mill-like, infold me from the search of eyes.
Fri. Hark how they knock-

Romeo, arise.
Who's there?
Thou wilt be taken_lay a while_stand up; (Krocks.
Run to my study----By and by-God's will;
What wilfulness is this !-I come, I come.

[Knock. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurs. [within ) Let'me come in, and you shall know

my errand :
I come from lady Juliet.
Fri. Welcome then.

Enter Nurse.
Nurse. O 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

Nurse. O he is even in my mistress's case,
Just in her case: O Juliet, Julier !

Rom. Speak it thou of Juliet ! how is it with her ?
Since I have staind the childhood of our joy
With blood,
Where is she ? how does she? what says she?

Nurse. O, she says nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps ;
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tibolt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then down falls 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 mansion.

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 beast.
Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better-temper'd.
Haft thon slain Tibalt? wilt thou flay thyfelf ?
And flay thy lady too, that lives in thee?

What,

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What, rouze thee, man, thy Juliet is alive,
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed ;
Ascend her chamber, hence and çomfort her :
But look thou stay not 'till the watch be fet,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou shalt 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’it forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse ; commend me to thy lady,
And bid her halten all the house to reit,
Romeo is coming

Nurse. O lord, I could have staid here all night long
To hear good counsel; oh, what learning is !
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare

to chide. Nurse. Here, Sir, a ring she bid me give you, Sir: Hie

you, make haite, 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 shall 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 soon to part with thee. [Exeunt.

Cap. T

S C Ε Ν Ε VI.

Capulet's House.
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.
Hings have fall'n out, Sir, fo unluckily
That we have had no time to move our

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

Par. These times of grief afford no time to woo : Madam, good night, commend me to your daughter.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love : I think she will by rul'd

In

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