« PreviousContinue »
Within this hour my man shall be with thee; And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell!—Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. Farewell!—Commend me to thy mistress. Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee!—Hark you, sir. Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say— Two may keep counsel, putting one away? Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady —Lord, lord ' when 'twas a little prating thing, O,-there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief ‘see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? Rom. Ay, nurse; What of that? both with an R. Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some other letter: and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. Rom. Commend me to thy lady. [Exit. Nurse, Ay, a thousand times.—Peter:
Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the - nurse; In half an hour she promis'd to return. Perchance, she cannot meet him:—that's not so. — O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over lowring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections, and warm youthful blood, She'd be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldly, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse and PETER.
O God, she comes!—O honey nurse, what news?
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Erit Peter. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse,—O lord! why look'st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
Nurse. Jesu, What haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see, that I am out of breath 2
Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast
To say to me—that thou art out of breath?
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.
—Gothy ways, wench; serve God:—What, have you
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
Friar Laurence's Cell.
Enter Friar LA U R EN CE and Roni Eo.
Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
Fri. These violent delights have violent ends,