La. Cap. I will, and know her mind, early to-morrow; To-night she's mew'd up" to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tendera
Of my child's love: I think, she will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;

Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;

And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But, soft; What day is this?

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 :—
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 late, that we

May call it early by and by :-Good night.

SCENE V.

Juliet's Chamber.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET.

[Exeunt.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;

mew'd up-] This is a phrase from falconry. A mew was a place of confinement for hawks.-STEEVENS.

a Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender-] Desperate means only bold, adventurous, as if he had said in the vulgar phrase, I will speak a bold word, and venture to promise you my daughter.-JOHNSON.

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 envious streaks
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.
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;
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;d
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,

the pale reflex-] The appearance of a cloud opposed to the moon.JOHNSON.

d

e- care-] For inclination.

-sweet division;] Division seems to have been the technical phrase for the pauses or parts of a musical composition.-STEEVENS.

Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;] This tradition of the toad and lark I have heard expressed in a rustick rhyme:

"To heaven I'd fly,

But that the toad beguil'd me of mine eye."

The sense is this: The lark, they say, has lent her eyes to the toad, and now I would the toad had her voice too, since she uses it to the disturbance of lovers.— JOENSON. For change read changed.—M. MASON.

VOL. VIII.

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.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Madam!

Jul. Nurse?

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? my love! my lord! my friend! I must hear from thee every day i'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.

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 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 i'st that calls? is it my lady mother?

Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.] The hunts-up was the name of the tune anciently played to wake the hunters, and collect them together. -STEEVENS.

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?

Jul.

Madam, I am not well. La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou could'st, thou could'st 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,

I 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.

Jul. What villain, madam?

La. Cap.

That same villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. 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 murderer lives. 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,Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,That shall bestow on him so sure a draught, 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 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.

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful 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 St. Peter's church,

Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too,
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 yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and Nurse.

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son,

It rains downright.

h in happy time,] A la bonne heure. This phrase was interjected, when the hearer was not quite so well pleased as the speaker.-JOHNSON.

The county Paris,] Paris, though in one place called earl, is most commonly stiled the countie in this play. Shakspeare seems to have preferred, for some reason or other, the Italian comte to our count: perhaps he took it from the old English novel, from which he is said to have taken his plot and in which Paris is first stiled a young earle, and afterwards counte, countee, county; according to the unsettled orthography of the time.-FARMER.