With Romeo, till I behold him-dead- Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find fuch a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. Jul. And joy comes well in fuch a needful time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? La. Cap. Well, well, thou haft a careful father, child; One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath forted out a fudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next thursday morn, The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The county Paris, at faint Peter's church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. Jul. Now, by faint Peter's church, and Peter toa, I wonder at this hafte; that I must wed 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 yourself. And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Enter CAPULET and Nurfe. Cap. When the fun fets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the funset of my brother's fon, It rains downright. How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a fea, wind: For ftill thy eyes, which I may call the fea, Thy tempeft-toffed body.-How now, wife ? La. Cap. Ay, fir; but she will none, fhe gives you thanks. I would, the fool were married to her grave! Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is the not proud? doth the not count her bless'd, 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, chop-logick! What is this? Proud, and, I thank you,—and, I thank you not ;And yet not proud;-Mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst thursday next,. To go with Paris to faint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-fickness carrion! out, you baggage! La. Cap. Fie, fie! what are you mad? Jul. Good father, I befeech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! difobedient wretch! I tell thee what,-get thee to church o'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 bless'd, Nurfe. God in heaven blefs her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her fo. Cap. And why, my lady wifdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; fmatter with your goffips, go. Nurse. I fpeak no treason. Cap. Nurfe. May not one speak? Cap. O, God ye good den! Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a goffip's bowl, For here we need it not. La. Cap. You are too hot. Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking, or fleeping, ftill my care hath been Of fair demefnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Τα To answer-I'll not wed,—I cannot love, Graze where you will, you shall not house with me; Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my [Exit. Jul. Is there no pity fitting in the clouds, That fees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, caft 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 lies. 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 fhall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; Unless that hufband fend it me from heaven What fay'st thou? haft thou not a word of joy? Nurse. 'Faith, here 'tis : Romeo Is banished; and all the world to nothing, Į think it best you married with the county. O, he's O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a difhclout to him; an eagle, madam, Jul. Speakeft thou from thy heart? Or else beshrew them both. Jul. Nurfe. From my foul too; Amen! To what? Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in; and tell my lady I am gone, Having difpleas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession, and to be abfolv'd. Nurfe. Marry, I will; and this is wifely done. [Exit. Jul. Ancient damnation! O moft wicked fiend! Is it more fin-to with me thus forfworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that fame tongue [Exit. ACT |