Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve My words would bandy her to my sweet love, But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Enter Nurse and PETER. O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit PETER. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, -O Lord, why look'st thou Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news Nurse. I am a-weary, give me leave awhile; [sad? Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! 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 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 talked 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 aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t'other side,-O, my back, my back!— To catch my death with jaunting up and down! Where is your mother? Nurse. Jul. Here's such a coil!-come, what says Romeo? Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence' cell; Jul. Hie to high fortune!--honest nurse, farewell. SCENE VI.-FRIAR LAWRENCE'S Cell. Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and ROMEO. Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, Fri. L. These violent delights have violent ends, [Exeunt. And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Enter JULIET. Jul. Good-even to my ghostly confessor. Fri. L. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than n words, 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. L. Come, come with me, and we will make short For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. ACT III. SCENE I-A public Place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants. The day is hot, 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 quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. Mer. The fee-simple! O simple! Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not. Enter TYBALT and others. 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, an you will give me occasion. Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving? Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? An thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords : here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort! Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Tyb. Well, peace with you, sir.-Here comes my man. Enter ROMEO. Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford But love thee better than thou canst devise Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? [Draws. Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. Tyb. I am for you. Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [Drawing. [They fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons: Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt,-Mercutio,—the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets. Hold, Tybalt!-good Mercutio. Mer. I am hurt ; [Exeunt TYBALT and his Partizans. A plague o' both your houses!-I am sped.— Ben. What, art thou hurt? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. — Where is my page?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [Exit Page. |