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twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll fina those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates!— And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure: if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw, as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,—

Nurse. Good heart! and i' faith I will tell her as much. Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman! Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift

This afternoon;

And there she shall, at Friar Laurence' cell
Be shrived, and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir, not a penny.
Rom. Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbeywall:

Within this hour my man shall be with thee;
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair:
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell! be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
Farewell! commend me to thy mistress.

Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee!-Hark you, sir.

Rom. What sayst thou, my dear nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er

hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady-Lord, lord! when 't was a little prating

thing-O, there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Ro

meo begin both with a letter?

Rom. Ay, nurse: what of that? both with an R. Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name: R is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some other letter: and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times.-Peter!
Pet. Anon?

Nurse. Before, and apace.

SCENE V.-CAPULET'S Garden.

Enter JULIET.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse:

In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him:-that's not so.-
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over lowering hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours;-yet she is not come.
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;

My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me:

But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

Enter Nurse and PETER.

O God, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit PETER. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse;-O lord! why look'st thou sad?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily: If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse. I am aweary; give me leave awhile.— Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I

had!

Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy

news.

Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ;-good, good nurse, speak.

Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath

To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is 't good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo! no, not he though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.-Go thy ways, wench; serve God.-What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no. But all this did I know before: What says he of our marriage; what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o' t' other side;-O, my back, my back!
Beshrew your heart for sending me about
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Jul. I'faith I am sorry that thou art not well.
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me what says my
love?

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentle

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To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's-nest soon, when it is dark.
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortune!-honest nurse, fare-
well.
[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-FRIAR LAURENCE's Cel

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO. Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after-hours with sorrow chide us not! Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow

can,

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare: It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die: like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest

honey

Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore, love moderately: long love doth so.
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Enter JULIET.

Here comes the lady :-O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint!
A lover may bestride the gossamers
That idle in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall: so light is vanity.

Jul. Good even to my ghostly cónfessor
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us

both.

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks tos

much.

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heaped like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament. They are but beggars that can count their worth. But my true love is grown to such excess,

I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make

short work:

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt,

SCENE I.--A Public Place.

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants. Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad; And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl: For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, "God send me no need of thee !" and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

Ben. Am I like such a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy: and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye, but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-simple? O simple!

Enter TYBALT and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels ? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds,

consort!

Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances,

Or else depart: here all eyes gaze on us.

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze:

I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter ROMEO.

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir; here comes my man.

Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your

livery:

Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him "man."

Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford No better term than this-Thou art a villain. Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee

Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting.—Villain am I none;
Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
Rom. I do protest I never injured thee;
Bnt love thee better than thou canst devise,
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender
As dearly as mine own,-be satisfied.

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Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. Mer. Come, sir, your passado.

[They fight.

Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat

down their

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Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch: marry, 't is enough.

Where is my page ?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [Exit Page.

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 't is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 't is enough, 't will serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.-A plague o' both your houses!-What, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!

Why the devil came you between us?

hurt under your arm.

Rom. I thought all for the best.

I was

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint.-A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms'-meat of me: I have it, and soundly too.-Your houses!

[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf: my reputation stained With Tybalt's slander; Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my cousin :-O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, And in my temper softened valour's steel.

Re-enter BENVOLIO.

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead:

That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth! Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend:

This but begins the woe; otners must end.

Re-enter TYBALT.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!Now, Tybalt, take the "villain" back again, That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou or I, or both, must go with him. Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,

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Ben. O noble Prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

Lady C. Tybalt, my cousin!-O my brother's child!

O Prince, O cousin,-husband, -the blood is spilled

Of my dear kinsman !-Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.—
O cousin, cousin!

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;

Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
Your high displeasure. All this-utteréd
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly
bowed-

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel, at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
"Hold, friends! friends, part!" and, swifter
than his tongue,

His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled :
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertained revenge,
And to 't they go like lightning; for ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

Lady C. He is a kinsman to the Montague:
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true:
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice; which thou, Prince, must give:
Romeo slew Tybalt; Romeo must not live.

Prin. Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio: Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend :

His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.

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