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If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renowned for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?
Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustomed cause procures1 her hither?

Enter LADY CAPULET.

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? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done. Some grief shows much of love ; But much of grief shows 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 choose but ever weep the friend.

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for

his death,

As that the villain lives which slaughtered him.

Jul. What villain, madam?

La. Cap.

That same villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder.
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-murderer 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,

1 Procures for brings.

Where that same banished runagate doth live,-
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught,'
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-dead-
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vexed:-
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it,
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet.-O, how my heart abhors
To hear him named,-and cannot come to him,-
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt

Upon his body that hath slaughtered 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 needful 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 sorted out a sudden day of joy,

That thou expect'st not, nor I looked 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,

3

The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church,

Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride.

I wonder at this haste; that I must wed

Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.

1 Thus the first quarto. The subsequent quartos and the folio, less intelligibly, read:

"Shall give him such an unaccustomed dram."

2 A la bonne heure. This phrase was interjected when the hearer was not so well pleased as the speaker.

3 County, or countie, was the usual term for an earl in Shakspeare's time. Paris is, in this play, first styled a young earle.

I 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 yourself,

And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and Nurse.

Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;1 But for the sunset of my brother's son,

It rains downright.—

How now, a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore showering? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st 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 is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs,
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,-
Without a sudden calm, will overset

Thy tempest-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, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blessed, 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-logic! 2 What is this?

1 Thus the quarto 1597. The quarto 1599, and the folio, read, “the earth doth drizzle dew," which is philosophically true; and so, perhaps, the Poet wrote.

2 Capulet, as Steevens observes, uses this as a nickname. The hyphen

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 settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church,

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! 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 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 blessed,
That God had sent 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!1

Nurse.

God in heaven 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 gossips, go.

Nurse. I speak no treason.

Cap.

Nurse. May not one speak?

Cap.

O, God ye good den!

Peace, you mumbling fool!

You are too hot.

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

La. Cap.

Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad. Day, night, late, early,

is wanting in the old copy. "Choplogyk is he that whan his mayster rebuketh his servaunt for his defawtes, he will give him xx wordes for one, or elles he will bydde the devylles paternoster in scylence."-The rriii Orders of Knaves, blk. 1.

1 Base woman.

At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her matched; and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,

Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly trained,
Stuffed, (as they say,) with honorable parts,
Proportioned as one's heart could wish a man,-
And then to have a wretched, puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer-I'll not wed,-I cannot love,
I am too young-I pray you, pardon me ;—
But, an 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;
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine, shall never do thee good.
Trust to't; bethink you, I'll not be forsworn.
Jul. Is there no pity sitting 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
you do not, make my bridal bed

In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

[Exit.

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!-0 nurse! how shall this be pre

vented?

My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth ?-Comfort me, counsel me.-
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!-

What say'st thou hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.

Nurse.

'Faith, here 'tis. Romeo

Is banished; and all the world to nothing,

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