Imatges de pàgina
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Come death, and welcome: Juliet wills it fo.
How is't, my Soul? let's talk, it is not day.
Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away:
It is the lark that fings fo out of tune,
Straining harth difcords, and unpleafing sharps.
Some fay, the lark makes fweet divifion;
This doth not fo: for fhe divideth us.

Some fay, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light?-More dark and dark

our woes.

Nurfe. Madam,

Jul. Nurfe?

Enter Nurse.

Nurfe. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber:
The day is broke, be wary, look about. [Exit Nurfe.
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
Rom. Farewel, farewel; one kifs, and I'll defcend.
[Romeo defcends.
Jul. Art thou gone fo? love! Lord! ah hufband! friend!
I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' hour,
For in a minute there are many days.

O, by this count I fhall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewel: I will omit no opportunity,

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Jul. O think'ft thou, we fhall ever meet again?
Rom. I doubt it not; and all thefe woes fhall serve
For fweet difcourfes, in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining foul.
Methinks, I fee thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eye-fight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye fo do
Dry forrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.

you:

[Exit Romeo.

Jul.

Jul. Oh 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.

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap. Ho, daughter, are you up?

Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
What unaccuftom'd caufe procures her hither?
La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul. Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your coufin's death? What, wilt thou wath him from his grave with tears? An' if thou couldft, thou couldft not make him live; Therefore, have done. Some grief shews much of love; But much of grief fhews ftill fome want of wit. Jul. Yet let me weep for fuch a feeling lofs.

La. Cap. So fhall you feel the lofs, but not the friend Which you do weep for.

Jul. Feeling fo the lofs,

I cannot chufe but ever weep the friend.

La. Cap. Well, girl, thoù weep'ft not fo much for his death,

As that the villain lives which iflaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, Madam ?

La. Cap. That fame villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles afunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart:
And, yet, no man like he doth grieve my heart.
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor lives.

Jul. I, Madam, from the reach of these my hands:-
'Would, none but I might venge my coufin's death !
La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not:
Then weep no more.
I'll fend to one in Mantua,
Where that fame banish'd runagate doth live,
Shall give him fuch an unaccustom'd dram,
That he fhall foon keep Tybalt company.

And

And then, I hope, thou will be fatisfy'd.
Jul. Indeed, I never fhall be fatisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him

-dead.
Is my poor heart fo for a kinfman vext?
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poifon, I would temper it;
That Romeo fhould upon receipt thereof
Soon fleep in quiet.

To hear him nam'd,

O, how my heart abhors

-and cannot come to him

To wreak the love I bore my flaughter'd coufin,
Upon his body that hath flaughter'd him.

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find fuch a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

ful. And joy comes well in fuch a needful time. What are they, I befeech your ladyfhip?

La. Cap. Well, well, thou haft a careful father, child: One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,

Hath forted out a fudden day of joy,

That thou expect'ft not, nor I look'd not for.
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is this?
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,
The gallant, young and noble gentleman,
The County Paris, at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride.

Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too,
He fhall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this hafte, that I muft wed
Ere he, that must be husband, comes to wooe.
I pray you, tell my Lord and father, Madam,
I will not marry yet: and when I do,

It fhall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris.- -Thefe are news, indeed!

La. Cap. Here comes your father, tell him so yourself, And fee, how he will take it at your hands.

Enter Capulet, and Nurfe.

Cap. When the fun fets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the funfet of my brother's fon

It

It rains downright.

How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore fhow'ring? in one little body

Thou counterfeit'ft a bark, a fea, a wind;
For ftill thy eyes, which I may call the fea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this falt flood: the winds thy fighs,
Which, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a fudden calm, will overfet

Thy tempeft-toffed body-How now, wife?
Have you

deliver'd to her our decree ?

La. Cap. Ay, Sir; but fhe will none, fhe gives you thanks :

I would, the fool were married to her grave!

Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife. How, will the none? doth fhe not give us thanks ? Is the not proud, doth fhe not count her bleft, Unworthy as fhe 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!-Why, miftrefs minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainft Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church:

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-fickness-carrion! Out, you baggage!

You tallow-face!

La. Cap. Fy, fy, what, are you mad?

Jul. Good father, I befeech you on my knees, Hear me with patience, but to fpeak a word.

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! difobedient 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 bleft,

That

That God hath fent us but this only child;
But now I fee this one is one too much,
And that we have a curfe in having her:
Out on her, hilding!-

Nurfe. God in heaven blefs her!

You are to blame, my Lord, to rate her fo.

Cap. And why, my lady wifdom? hold your tongue,
Good prudence, fmatter with your goffips, go.
Nurje. I fpeak no treafon-O, god-ye-good-den-
May not one speak?

Cap. Peace, peace, you mumbling fool;
Utter your gravity o'er a goffip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

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 fleeping, ftill my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,

Of fair demefns, youthful, and nobly-allied,
Stuff'd, as they fay, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought would 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,Ì cannot love-
I am too young,- --I pray you, pardon me-
But, if you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you
fhall not houfe with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jeft.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advife;
If you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, ftarve, die i'th' ftreets;
For, by my foul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine fhall ever do thee good:
Truft to't, bethink you, I'll not be forfworn.
Jul. Is there no pity fitting in the clouds,
That fees into the bottom of my grief?.
O, fweet my mother, caft me not away,
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;

[Exit.

Or,

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