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By playing 't to me with so'four a face,

Nurse. I am a weary, let me rest a while; Fie, how my bones ake, what a jaunt have I had ?

Jul. I would, thou hadit my bones, and I thy news! Nay, come, I pray thce, speak--Good, good nurse,

speak. Nurse. Jesu! what haste? Can you not stay a

while ? Do you

not see, that I am out of breath? Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast

To say to me, that thou art out of breath?
Th’ Excuse, that thou doft make in this delay,
Is longer than the Tale thou doft 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 chule a man: Romeo, no, not he ;

though his face be no better than another man's, yet his legs excel all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, cho' they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I 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'th' other side-O my back, my back; . Belhrew your heart, for sending me about To catch my death with jaunting up and down.

Jul. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art fo ill. k. Sweet, fweet, sweet nurse, tell me what says my love?

* Though his Face be better than any Man's;] We should read, (sbe no better than another Man'sa


H 4

I trov,

Nurse. Your love fays like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous—where is


mother? Jul, Where is my mother?-- why the is within ; Where should she be? how odly thou reply't ! Your love fays like an hones gentleman : Where is your mother ?

Nurse. O, God's lady dear, Are you

so hot? marry, come up, Is this the poultis for my aking bones ? Hence-forward 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 bence to friar Laurence' cell,
There stays a husband to make you a wife.
Now comes the wanton blood


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-neft soon, when it is dark.' I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you

fhall bear the burden soon at night. Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell. Jul. Hie to high fortune ;---honest nurse, farewel.

[Exeunt. SC E N E VI.

Changes to the Monastery.
Enler Friar Lawrence, and Romeo.
O smile the this

Fri. S Thaci dicere hours with forrow chide us not !

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what forrow can, It cannot countervail th' 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 meet, confume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in its own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite ;
Therefore love mod'rately, long love doth so :
Too swift arrives as tardy as too flow.

Enter Juliet.
Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint;
A lover may bestride the gossamour,
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall, fo light is vanity.

Jul. Good even to my ghoftly Confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul. As much to him, elfe are his thanks too much.

Rom. 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 music's tongue
Unfold th' 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 one half of my wealth.
Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short

work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, 'Till Holy Church incorp'rate two in one. [Exeunt.

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Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.

I Pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ;

is hot, ;
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 fays, God send me no need of thee! and by the operation of the second cúp, 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 mov'd to be moody, and as soon moody to be mov’d.

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 haft: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hasel 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 haft quarrel'd with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the Sun. Didit thou not fall out with a taylor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribband ? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling !


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Ben. If I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any
man should buy the fee fimple of my life for an hour
and a quarter.
Mar. The fee-simple; O simple !

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good-den, a word with one of you.

Mer. And but one word with one of us ? couple it with something, make it a word and a blow.

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, if you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'ft with Romeo
Mer. Consort! what doit thou make us minstrels!
if thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
discords : here's my fiddlestick; here's That, shall
make you dance. Zounds! confort !

(Laying his hand on his sword.
Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men :
Either withdraw unto fome private place,
Or reason coldly of your grievances,
Qr else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
Mer. Men's

eyes were made to look, and let them
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter Romco.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, Sir! here comes

my man.
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, Sir, if he wear your

livery :
Marry, go first to field, he'll be your follower ;
Your worship in that sense may call him man.
Tyb. Romeo, the love, I bear thee, can afford


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