Imatges de pàgina

'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's Brow,
Nor that is not the Lark whose Notes do beat
The vaulty Heavers so high above our Heads,
I have more care to stay, than will to go :
Come Death and welcome, Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my Soul? let's talk, it is not Day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away :
It is the Lark that sings so out of Tune,
Straining harsh Discords, and unpleasing Sharps.
Some say the Lark makes sweet Division ;
This doth not so: For the divideth us.
Some say, the Lark, and loathed Toad change Eyes,
O now I would they had chang'd Voices too :
Since, arm from arm, that Voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-up to the Day,
O now be gone, more light, and light it grows. .
Rom. More light and light, more dark and dark our Woes.

Enter Nurfe.
Ņur. Madam.
Jul. Nurse.

Nur. Your Lady Mother is coming to your Chamber : The Day is broke, be wary, look about.

Ful. Then Window let Day in, and let Life out.
Rom, Farewel, farewel, one Kiss, and I'll Descend.

Jul. Art thou gone so? Love ! Lord ! ah Husband! Friend! I must hear from thee every Day in the Hour,

(Romeo comes down by the Ladder into the Garden.
For in a Minute there are many Days,
O by this count I shall be much in Years,
E're I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewel :
I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my Greetings, Love, to thee.

Jul. Ó thinkest thou 'we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not, and all these Woes shall serve
For sweer Discourses, in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill Divining Soul,
Methinks I see thee now, thou art fo low,
As one dead in the bottom of a Tomb:
Either my Eye-light fails ; or thou look'st pale.

Rom, And trust me, Love, in my Eye fo do you :
Dry Sorrow drinks our Blood. Adieu, adieu. [Exeunt.



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SCENE VI. Juliet's Chamber.

Enter Juliet.
Jul. O Fortune, Fortune, all Men call thee fickle,
If thou art fickle, what doft 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.

Enter Lady Capulet.
La. Cap. Ho Daughter, are you up?

Jul. Who is't that calls ? is it my Lady Mother?
Is The not down so late, or up so early ?
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 him from his Grave with Tears?
And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live :
Therefore have done, fome Grief shews much of Love,
But much of Grief shews still some want of Wit,

Jul. Yet let me weep, for such a feeling loss.

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the Friend
Which you weep for.

Jul. Feeling so the loss,
I cannot chufe but ever weep the Friend.

La. Cap. Well Girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,
As that the Villain lives which Naughter'd him.

Jul. What Villain, Madam
La. Cap. That same Villain, Romeo.

Juh Villain and he be many Miles afunder:
God pardon him, I do with all my Heart,
And yet no Man like he doth grieve my Heart.

La. Cap. That is because the Traitor lives.
Jul. Ay, Madam, from the reach of these my Hands :
Would none but I might venge my cousin's Death.

La. Cap. We will have Vengeance for it, fear thou not
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banith'd Runnagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd Dram,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt Company :
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied

Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, 'till I behold him



Is my poor Heart, so for a Kinsman vext :
Madam, if you could find out but a Man
To bear a Poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon fleep in quiet. O how my Heart abhors
To hear him nam'd, and ca inot come to him,
To wreak the love I bore my Cousin Tybalt,
Upon his Body that hath flaughter'd him.

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a Man,
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, Girl.
Jul. And Joy comes well in such a needy 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 forted out a sudden day of Joy,
That thou expects not, nor í 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. Now by St. Peter's Church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful Bride.
I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
E'er he that should be Husband comes to wooe.

pray you tell my Lord and Father, Madam,
I will not marry yet, and when I do, I swear
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. These are News indeed.

La. Cap. Here comes your Father, tell him so your self,
And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter Capulet and Nurse.
Cap. When the Sun fers, the Earth doth drizzle Dew;
But for the Sunset of my Brother's Son,
It rains down-right.
How now? a Conduit, Girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring in one little Body?
Thy Counterfeit's a Bark, a Sea, a Wind;
For still thy Eyes, which I may call the Sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears, the Bark thy Body
Sailing in this falt Flood, the Winds thy Sighs,
Who raging with the Tears, and they with them,


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Without a sudden Calm will over-fet
Thy tempeft-tossed Body. How now, Wife?
Have you delivered 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, Wifc,
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 a Gentleman to be her Bridegroom?

Jul. Not proud, you have; But thankful, that you have.
Proud can I never be of what I hate,
But thankful even for Hate, that is meant Love.

Cap. How now?
How now? chopt Logick? what is this?
Proud! and I thank you ! and I thank you

Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine Joints 'gainst Thursday next,

with Paris to Saint Peter's Church :
Or I will drag thee on a Hurdle thither.
Out you Green-fickness Carrion, out you Baggage,
Out you Tallow-face.

La. Cap. Fie, fie, 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 tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thursday,
Or never after look me in the Face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.
My Fingers itch, Wife: we scarce thought us blest,
That God had lent 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.

Nur. God in 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 Gossip, go.


Nur. I speak no Treason,
O God-ye-good-den-
May not one speak?

Cap. Peace you mumbling Fool,
Utter your Gravity o'er a Gossip's Bowl,
For here we need it not.

La. Cap. You are too hot.

Cap. God's Bread, it makes me mad:
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match'd, and having now provided
A Gentleman of Noble Parentage,
Of fair Demeans, Youthful, and nobly Allied,
Stuff’d, as they say, with honourable Parts,
Proportion'd as ones thought would with a Man :
And then to have a wretched puling Fool,
A whining Mammet, in her Fortunes tender,
To answer I'll not wed, I cannot Love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.
But, and you will not wed, I'll pardon you-
Graze where you will, you shall not House with me:
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near, lay Hand on Heart, advise ;
And you be mine, i'll give you to my Friend:
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the Streets,
For, by my Soul, l'il ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine, shall never do thee good :
Trust to’c, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit.

Jul. Is there no pity fitting 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 Tybalt lyes.

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 God!
O Nurse, how shall this be prevented ?
My Husband is on Earth, my Faith in Heaven,
How shall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unless that Husband send it me from Heav'n,


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