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 tip-toe 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 well;
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be this night a torch-bearer,

And light thee on thy way to Mantua ;
Then stay a while thou shalt not go so soon,
Rom. Let me be ta'en; let me be put to death,

I am content, if thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon gray is not the morning eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow,
I'll say 'tis not the lark whose notes do beat
The vaulty heav'ns so high above our heads:
Come death and welcome :. Juliet wills it so.
What says my love, let's talk, it is not day.

Jul It is, it is, hie hence away, be gone;
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Oh now be gone, more light and light it grows.

Rom. More light and light?-more dark and dark our

Farewel, my love; one kiss and I'll be gone..

Nurse. Madam..

Jul. Nurse.

Enter NURSE..

[woes.

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about.

Jul. Art thou gone so? love! lord! ah, husband, friend!

I must hear from thee ev'ry hour in th' day,

For in love's hours there are many days.

O by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo!

Rom. Farewel: I will admit no opportunity,

That may convey my greetings to thee, love.

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.
F 3

Ful

Jul. O heav'n! I have an ill-divining soul.
Methinks I see thee, now thou'rt parting from me,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb!

Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you :
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu!
My life, my love, my soul. Adieu !

Jul.

SCENE VIII.

Juliet's Chamber.

Enter JULIET,

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 again.

Enter Lady CAPulet.

La Cap. Ho, daughter, are you up?

Jul. Who is't that calls is it my lady mother? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? 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 kim from his grave with tears? Jul. Let me weep for such a feeling loss.

La Cap. I come to bring thee joyful tidings, girl. ful. 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 this?

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 a joyful bride.

Jul. I wonder at this haste, that I must wed Ere he that must be husband comes to woo.

pray you tell my lord and father, madam,

I cannot marry yet.

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. How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears,
Evermore showering? why how now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

La Cap. Ay, Sir; but she will none, she gives you

thanks:

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 gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Jul. Proud can I never be of what I hate,
But thankful even for hate that is meant love.
Cap. Thank me no thankings,

But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
Το go with Paris to St Peter's church:
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle hither.

La Cap. Fy, fy, 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'll 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.
Wife, we scarce thought us blest,

That god 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:
Out on her, hilding.

Nurse. Heav'n bless her:

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.

Nurse. I speak no treason.

La Cap Peace, you mumbling fool;

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

early,

Cap. Good wife, it makes me mad; day, night, late,
At home, abroad; alone, in company,
Waking or sleeping; still my care hath been
To have her match'd; having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,

Of fair demeans; youthful and nobly allied,
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man :
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer, I'll not wed, I cannot love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.
But if you will not wed, look to't, think on't,
I do not use to jest Thursday is near.
If you be mine, I'll give you to my friends:
If you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' th' streets;
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee.

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O sweet, my mother, cast me not away,
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or if you do not, make the bridal bed,
In that dim monument where Tibalt lies.

[Exit.

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 heav'n! O nurse, how shall this be prevented?

Alack, alack, that heav'n should practise stratagems

Upon so soft a subject as myself.

Nurse. Rise, faith here it is:

Romeo is banish'd: all the world to nothing,

That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you

Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth;

Then since the case so stands, I think it best

You married with the count.

Jul. Speak'st thou from thy heart?

Nurse. And from my soul too,

Or else beshrew them both.

ful. Amen, amen.

Nurse. What?

Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much;

Go in, and tell iny lady I am gone,

Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence cell,

To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nurse, Marry, I will, and this is wisely done.

[Exit.

Jul.

Jul. Ancient damnation! Oh most wicked fiend!
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,
So many thousand times? go counsellor,

Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain ;
Ill to the friar to know his remedy;

If all else fail, myself have power to die.

A. C T. IV.

SCENE I..

The Monastery.

Enter Friar LAWRENCE and PARIS.

FRIAR.

N 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 this coarse, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tibalt'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 should give her sorrow so much sway;
And in his wisdom hastes our marriages
To stop the inundation of her tears;

Now do you know the reason of this haste?

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be flow'd. Look, Sir, here comes the lady tow'rds my cell.

Enter JULIET.

Par. Welcome my love, my lady and my wife.
Jul. That may be, Sir, when I may be a wife.
Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday next..

Jul. What must be, shall be.

Par. Come you to make confession to this father?
Jul. To answer that were to confess to you :

Are you at leisure, holy father, now,

Or shall I come to you at evening mass?

Eri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.