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A Sin-Absolver, and my Friend profest,
To mangle me with that word Banished?
Fri. Fond Mad-man, hear me speak.
Rom. O thou wilt speak again of Banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee Armour to keep off that Word,
Adversity's sweet Milk, Philosophy,
To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished.
Rom. Yet, banished? Hang up Philosophy,
Unless Philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a Town, reverse a Prince's Doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more-
Fri. O then I see that mad Men have no Ears.
Rom. How shou'd they, When wise Men have no Eyes?
Fri. Let me despair with thee of thy Estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel :
Wert thou as young as Juliet my Love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished.
Then mightst thou speak; then might'st thon tear thy Hair,
And fall upon the Ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade Grave.
[Throwing himself on the Ground. Fri, Arise, one knocks;
[Knock within. Good Romeo hide thy self.
Rom. Not I,
Unless the breath of Heart-sick Groans,
Mist-like, infold me from the fearch of Eyes. [Krock.
Fri. Hark, how they knock.
Who's there? -Romeo, arise,
Thou wilt be taken-stay a while stand up; [Krock.
Run to my StudyBy and by
-By and by-God's Will;
What Simpleness is this I come, I come. [Knock.
Who knocks so hard?
Whence come you? what's your Will?
Nur. [Within.] Let me come in,
And you shall know my Errand:
I come from. Lady Juliet.
Fri, Welcome then.
A Nur. O holy Friar, O tell me holy Friar,
Where is my Lady's Lord ? where's Romeo ?
Fri. There, on the Ground,
With his own Tears made drunk.
Nur. O he is even in my Mistress's Cafe,
Just in her Cafe, O woful Sympatte
Piteous Predicament, even so lyes thé,
Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring.
Stand up, stand
up, stand and you be a Man, For Juliet's sake, for her fake rise and stand: Why should you fall into so deep an Oh!
Nur. Ah Sir! Ah Sir!Death's the end of all.
Rom. Speak'st thou of Juliet? How is't with her?
Doth not she think me an old Murtherer,
Now I have staind the Child-hood of our Joy
With Blood, removed but little from her own?
Where is she? and how does she? and what
My conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Love?
Nur. Oh she says nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her Bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls, and then oņ Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Rom. As if that Name
Shot from the deadly level of a Gun
Did murder her, as that Names cursed Hand
Murdered her Kinsman. Ob tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this Anatomy
Doth my Name lodge ? Tell me, that I may sack
The hateful Mansion.
Fri. Hold thy desperate Hand :
Art thou a Man Thy form cries out, thou art :
Thy Tears are Womanish, thy wild A&s do note
The unreasonable fury of a Beast.
Unseemly Woman, in a seeming Man,
And ill beseeming Beast in seeming both,
Thou hast amaid me. By my holy Order,
I thought thy difpofition better temper’d.
Hast thou flain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thy self?
And say thy Lady, that in thy Life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thy self?
Why railst thou on thy Birth? the Heaven and Earth?
Since Birth, and Heaven, and Earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which thou at once would't lose.
Fy, fy, thou sham'ft thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit;
Which like an Usurer aund'ft in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed,
Which should bedeck thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit:
Thy noble Shape is but a Form of Wax,
Digressing from the Valour of a Man;
Thy dear Love fworn, but hollow Perjury,
Killing that Love which thou hast vow'd to cherish ;
Thy Wit, that Ornament to Shape and Love,
Mil-Shapen in the Conduct of them both,
Like Powder in a skilless Soldier's Flask,
Is fet a fire by thine own Ignorance,
And thou dismembred with thine own Defence.
What, rouse thee, Man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear fake thou wast but lately dead.
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou sew'ft Tybalt ; there art thou happy too.
The Law that threatned Death became thy Friend,
And turn'd it to Exile; there art thou happy.
A pack of Blessings light upon thy Back,
Happiness courts thee in her best Array,
But like a mis-hay'd and a fullen Wench,
Thou putteft up thy Fortune and thy Love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go get thee to thy Love, as was decreed,
Ascend her Chamber, hence and comfort her:
But look thou stay not 'till the Watch be fet,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou shalt live, 'till we can find a time
To blaze your Marriage, reconcile your Friends,
Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee back,
With twenty hundred thousand times more Joy,
Than thou went'lt forth in Lamentation.
Go before, Nurse, commend me to thy Lady,
And bid her haften all the House to Bed,
Which heavy Sorrow makes them ape unto.
Romce is coming
Nur. O Lord, I could have staid here all Night,
To hear good Counsel: Oh, what Learning is !
My Lord, I'll tell my Lady you will come.
Rom. Do so, and bid my Sweet prepare to chide,
Nur. Here, Sir, a Ring The bid me give you, Sir:
Hie you, make hafte, for it grows very late.
Rom. How well my Comfort is reviv'd by this.
Fri. Go hence.
Good Night, and here stands all your State:
Either be gone before the Watch be fet,
Or by the break of Day disguis’d, from hence,
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your Man,
And he shall fignifie from time to time,
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy Hand, 'tis late, farewel, Good Night.
Rom. But that a Joy, past Joy, calls out on me,
It were a Grief, fo brief to part with thee:
[Exeunt. SCENE IV. Capulet's House.
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.
Cap. Things have faln out, Sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our Daughter :
she lov'd her Kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I - Well, we were born to die.
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to Night:
I promise you, but for your Company,
I would have been a bed an hour ago.
Par. These times of Woe afford no time to Woo: Madam, good Night, commend me to your Daughter.
La. Cap. I will, and know her Mind early to Morrow;
To Night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my Child's Love: I think she will be ruld
In all respe&s by me, nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her e'er you go to Bed,
Acquaint her here of my Son Paris Love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But soft; what day is this?
Par. Monday, my Lord,
Cap. Monday? ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too soon,
A Thursday let it be: A Thursday tell her
She shall be married to this Noble Earl:
Will you be ready? Do you like this hafte?
We'll keep no great a-do- a Friend or two-
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,
Being our Kinsman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen Friends,
And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My Lord,
that Thursday were to Morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone.--.a Thursday be it then : Go you to Juliet e'er you go to Bed, [To Lady Capulet. Prepare her, Wife, against this Wedding-day. Farewel, my Lord light to my Chamber, hca! 'Afore me, it is fo late, that we may call it early by andlby. Good Night.
[Exeunt SCENE V. The Garden Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a Window; a Ladder of
Jul. Wilt thou be gone?
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine Ear,
sings on yond Pomgranate 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 tiptoe on the misty Mountain tops,
I must be gone and live, or stay and dye.
Jul. Yon Light is not Day-light, i know it, I:
It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales,
To be to thee this Night a Torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore stay, yet thou need'st not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to Death,
I am content, so thou wilt have it fo.
I'll say yon gray is not the Morning's Eye,