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Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.

[Exit Peter. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, - lord! why look'st

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

Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile;
Fye, 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 talk'd 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 akes! what a head

have I? It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o't'other side,-0, 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 gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous :—Where is your mother?

Jul. Where is my mother ?—why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st ? Your love says like an honest gentleman,

mother? Nurse.

0, God's lady dear! Are you so hot ? Marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aking bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Jul. Here's such a coil ;-Come, what says

Romeo ? Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? Jul. I have

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, There stays a husband to make you a wife:

VOL. XIII.

Where is your

T

Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church; I must another way,
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,

farewell.

[Ereunt. SCENE VI.

Friar Laurence's Cell.

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.

42

Here comes the lady:-0, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
A lover may bestride the gossomers
That idle in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too

much.
Ron. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich musick's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd 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.

ACT III. Scene I.

A publick Place.

Enter MERCUTIO, Benvolio, Page, and Servants.

Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire; The day is bot 43, 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

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