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Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
But Romeo may not; he is banished.

And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?

Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But-banished-to kill me; banished?

O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,

A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word-banished?

FRI. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak. ROм. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRI. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,

To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

ROM. Yet banished?-hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;

It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more.

FRI. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

ROм. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

FRI. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

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Even so lies she,

NURSE. Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering:Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROM. Nurse!

NURSE. Ah sir! ah sir!-Well, death's the end of all.

ROM. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stained the childhood of our joy With blood remov'd but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? NURSE. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps ;

And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,

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Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy Murder'd her kinsman.-O tell me, friar, tell me,

hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[Knocking within. FRI. Arise, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROM. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

[Knocking. FRI. Hark, how they knock!-who's there?Romeo, arise;

Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a while :-stand up; [Knocking. Run to my study:-By and by:-God's will! What wilfulness is this!-I come, I come. [Knocking. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your

will?

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In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[Drawing his sword.
FRI.
Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once would'st lose.
Fie, fie! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed,
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.

Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish:
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set o' fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:
The law, that threaten'd death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings light upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her;
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
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 the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.-
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.

NURSE. O Lord, I could have staid here all the

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SCENE IV.-A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS.
CAP. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I ;-well, we were born to die.-
'Tis very late, she 'll not come down to-night:

I promise you, but for your company,

I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

PAR. These times of woe afford no time to woo : Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter. LA. CAP. I will, and know her mind early to

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soon,

O' Thursday let it be ;-o' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl:
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado;-a friend, or two :-
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
PAR. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-

morrow.

CAP. Well, get you gone :-o' Thursday be it then: Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,

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Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.-
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 sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
ROM. More light and light !-more dark and dark

our woes!

NURSE. Madam! JUL. Nurse!

Enter Nurse.

JUL. O God! I have an ill-divining soul; Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROM. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! [Exit ROMEO.

JUL. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him, That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

LA. CAP. [within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? JUL. Who is 't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET. LA. CAP. Why, how now, Juliet?

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Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JUL. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. ROм. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay, than will to go;

Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

NURSE. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit Nurse. JUL. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROM. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. [ROMEO descends. JUL. Art thou gone so? love! lord! ay, husband! friend!

I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

ROM. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

JUL. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? ROM. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.

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JUL. And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

LA. CAP. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;

One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.
JUL. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
LA. CAP. Marry, my child, early next Thursday

morn,

The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The county Paris, at saint Peter's church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

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 you
thanks.

JUL. Now, by saint Peter's church, and Peter too, I would the fool were married to her grave!

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And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.
JUL. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd:-
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam'd,-and cannot come to him,-
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt,
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

LA. CAP. Find thou the means, and I'll find such

a man.

But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

He shall not make me there a joyful bride.

I wonder at this haste; that I must wed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris :-These are news indeed!
LA. CAP. Here comes your father; tell him so your-
self,

And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and Nurse.

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-logic! what is this?

CAP. When the sun sets the earth doth drizzle dew; Proud,-and, I thank you,-and, I thank you not ;(But for the sunset of my brother's son,

And yet not proud ;-mistress minion, you!

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Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle 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 lent 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!

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CAP. God's bread! it makes me mad :

Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been

To have her match'd: and having now provided

A gentleman of noble 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 fortunes' 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 in 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 sit ting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, 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.
JUI.. O God!-0 nurse! how shall this be pre-
vented?

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!-

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What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.

NURSE.

'Faith, here it is: Romeo

Is banished; and, all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!

Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath; beshrew my very heart,

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.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS.
FRI. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.
PAR. My father Capulet will have it so ;
And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste.

FRI. You say you do not know the lady's mind;
Uneven is the course, I like it not.

PAR. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of love,
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous,
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society:
Now do you know the reason of this haste.
FRI. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.

Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.
[Aside.

Enter JULIET.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Friar Laurence's Cell.

JUL. To answer that, I should confess to you.
PAR. Do not deny to him, that you love me.
JUL. I will confess to you, that I love him.
PAR. So will you, I am sure, that you love me.
JUL. If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
PAR. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with

tears.

JUL. The tears have got small victory by that:
For it was bad enough, before their spite.
PAR. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that

report.

JUL. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
PAR. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd

it.

JUL. It may be so, for it is not mine own.-
Are you
at leisure, holy father, now,
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?

FRI. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
It strains me past the compass of my wits:
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this county.
JUL. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of
this,

Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou
hands;

And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me, this bloody knife

FRI. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that

now:

PAR. Happily met, my lady, and my wife!
JUL. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
PAR. Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss.

My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

PAR. God shield, I should disturb devotion !--
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you:

next.

JUL. What must be, shall be.

That's text.

FRI.

[Exit PARIS. JUL. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done

So,

Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
FRI. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry county Paris,

PAR. Come you to make con's a certain this Come weep with me; Past hope, past cure, past Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself;

father?

help!

Then is it likely thou wilt undertake

our

A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.

JUL. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,

O'er-covered quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless sculls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
Things that, to hear them told, have made me
tremble;

And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

FRI. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow;
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this phial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off:
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease,
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
Shall, stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death:

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2 SERV. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.

CAP. How canst thou try them so?

2 SERV. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers, goes not with me.

CAP. Go, begone.

[Exit Servant.

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.-
What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence?
NURSE. Ay, forsooth.

CAP. Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Enter JULIET.

NUR. See, where she comes from shrift with merry
look.

CAP. How now, my headstrong? where have you
been gadding?

JUL. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition

To you, and your behests; and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
To beg your pardon:-pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

JUL. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries,
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:

So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.
LA. CAP.
Good night!
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.
JUL. Farewell!-
[Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse.
God knows, when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me;-
Nurse!-what should she do here?

My dismal scene I needs must act alone.-
Come, phial.-

What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
No, no;-this shall forbid it :-lie thou there.
[Laying down a dagger.

What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead;
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?

CAP. Send for the county; go tell him of this;
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
JUL. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
And gave him what becomed love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
CAP. Why, I am glad on 't; this is well,-stand up: I wake before the time that Romeo
This is as 't should be: let me see the county;

I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man.
I will not entertain so bad a thought.-
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,

FRI. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; it strains me past the compass of my wits.

And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
Then (as the manner of our country is,)
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know cur drift;
And hither shall he come; and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night,
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame,
If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

JUL. Give me, give me! O tell me not of fear.
FRI. Hold; get you gone, be strong and prospe-

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Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,-
All our whole city is much bound to him.
JUL. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?

LA. CAP. No, not till Thursday; there is time
enough.

CAP. Go, nurse, go with her :-we'll to church
to-morrow. [Exeunt JULIET and Nurse.
LA. CAP. We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.
CAP.

Tush! I will stir about,
And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
I'll not to bed to-night;-let me alone;
I'll play the housewife for this once.-What, ho!-
They are all forth: well, I will walk myself
To county Paris, to prepare up him
Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

0

SCENE III.-Juliet's Chamber.

Enter JULIET and Nurse.

[Exeunt.

JUL. Ay, those attires are best :-but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night;
For I have need of many orisons

To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin.
Enter LADY CAPULET.

Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,

The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,-

As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,

Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night, spirits resort ;-

Alack, alack! is it not like, that I,

So early waking,-what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad ;-
O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point :-stay, Tybalt, stay!-
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[She throws herself on the bed.

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[blocks in formation]

All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.
LA. CAP. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your
time;

But I will watch you from such watching now.
[Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse.
CAP. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!-now, fellow,
What's there?

Enter Servants, with spits, logs, and baskets.

I SERV. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not
what.

CAP. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv.]-
Sirrah, fetch drier logs;

Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

2 SERV. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, LA. CAP. What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.

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