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. [Knocking. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse. [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, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where 's Romeo? Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering:- Why should you fall into so deep an O? Rom. Nurse! Nurse. Ah, sir! ah, sir!—Well, death 's the end of all. Rom. Speak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not she think me an old murtherer, Now I have stain'd 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, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murther her; as that name's cursed hand Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack Fri. [Draws his sword. Hold thy desperate hand: And ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both! I thought thy disposition better temper❜d. By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? And usest none in that true use indeed Which would bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. a (A) reads "And slay thy lady, too, that lives in thee." b But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy: Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night, To hear good counsel: O, 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 haste, for it grows very late. [Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all your state; Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day, disguis'd, from hence; Sojourn in Mantua: I'll find out your man, Give me thy hand; 't is late: farewell; good night. (4), which modern editors have followed, gives "happy too." b Thus (4); the folio, mis-shaped. c Puttest up. So the folio; (D) reads pouts thy fortune, which modern editors have adopted, with the addition of upon. Is to put up used as to put aside? Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief so brief to part with thee: Farewell. 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 she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, you, And so did I;-Well; we were born to die.— 'T is 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. [Exeunt. Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo; Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next- Par. Monday, my lord. Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too 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 : a Another term of falconry. The mew is the hawk's cage. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.- May call it early by and by :-Good night. SCENE V.-Loggia to Juliet's Chamber.* Enter ROMEO and JULIET. Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day : Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn," I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away; [Exeunt. |