Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife? La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would, the fool were married to her grave! wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? have: Proud can I never be of what I hate ; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. is this? Proud, and, I thank you,—and, I thank you - not; And yet not proud; - Mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Το La. Cap. Fye, fye! 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 heaven had sent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Nurse. You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Cap. No: Peace, you mumbling fool! You are too hot. Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, La. Cap. Cap. It makes me mad: Day, night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, I am too young, I pray you, pardon me; La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. Jul. O heaven! prevented? O nurse! how shall this be My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; gems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Nurse. Faith, here 'tis: Romeo Romeo is naught to him; an eagle, madam, Or else beshrew them both. Jul. Nurse. From my soul too, Amen! To what? Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in; and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,. Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.. [Exit Jul, 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 If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. Friar Laurence's Cell. 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 [Aside. cell. Enter JULIET. Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife! next. Jul. What must be shall be. Fri. That's a certain text. Par. Come you to make confession to this father? Jul. To answer that, were to 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, that 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. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, My lord, we must entreat the time alone. Par. Now heaven forbid, I should disturb de votion ! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss. [Exit PARIS. Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; Past hope, past cure, past help! |