SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS. Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,

That we have had no time to move our daughter:

Look you, she loved 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

O' Thursday let it be o' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl. 21
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 Thurs-
day?

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday weic to-morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho
Afore me! it is so very very late,
That we may call it early by and by.
Good night.

SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.

30

[Exeunt.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window. Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,

No nightingale : look, love, what enviou streaks

10

Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund da
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.
Rom. 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; 20
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 :
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;

30

O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-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!

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?

51

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve

For sweet discourses in our time to come.
Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
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.

Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle :

60 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.
Why, how now, Juliet !
Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap.

Jul.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cous

in's death?

70

What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?

An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;

Therefore, have done : some grief shows much of love;

But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not
the friend

Which you weep for.
Jul.
Feeling so the loss,
A cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so
much for his death,

As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him
Ju What villain, madan,

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:

Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!

La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not : Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, 89 Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him-deadIs 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 named, and cannot come to him, To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.

99

Evermore showering? In one little body 131
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.

140 I would the fool were married to her grave! 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 blest,
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?

150

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 blest

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!
Nurse.
God in heaven bless her!
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. 170
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your
tongue,

Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
Cap.
O, God ye god-den.
Nurse. May not one speak?
Сар.
Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl·
For here we need it not.

you;

220

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,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?