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Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand up, ftand up;
Stand, an' you be a Man :
For Juliet's Sake, for her Sake, rife and stand.
Why should you fall into fo deep an oh!
Nurfe. Ah Sir! ah Sir!- Death is the end of all. Rom. Speak'ft thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not the think me an old murtherer, Now I have ftain'd the child-hood of our joy. With blood, remov'd but little from her own? Where is the? and how does fhe? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell❜d love?
Nurfe. O, fhe fays nothing, Sir; but weeps and weeps ;: And now falls on her bed, and then starts up; And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls, And then down falls again.
Rom. As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murther her, as that name's curfed hand
Murther'd her kinfman. Tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may fack
The hateful manfion.
Fri. Hold thy defperate hand:
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
Th' unreasonable fury of beaft.
Unfeemly Woman in a feeming Man!
And ill-befeeming Beaft in feeming Both!
Thou haft amaz'd me. By my holy Order,
I thought thy difpofition better temper❜d.
Haft thou flain Tybalt? wilt thou flay thy felf?
And flay thy lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned Hate upon thy felf?
Why rail'it thou on thy Birth, the Heav'n, and Earth,
Since Birth, and Heav'n, and Earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which Thou at once would't lose ?
Fie! fie! thou fham'ft thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit,
Which, like an Ufurer, abound'it in all,
And ufeft none in that true ufe indeed,
Which fhould bedeck thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit.
Thy noble Shape is but a Form of Wax,
Digreffing from the Valour of a Man;
Thy dear Love fworn, but hollow Perjury,
Killing that Love, which thou haft vow'd to cherish.
Thy Wit, that Ornament to Shape and Love,
Mif-fhapen in the Conduct of them Both,
Like Powder in a skill-lefs Soldier's Flask,
Is fet on Fire by thine own Ignorance,
And thou difmember'd with thine own Defense.
What, rouse thee, man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whofe dear fake thou waft but lately dead :
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou flew'it Tybalt; there thou'rt happy too.
The law, that threatned death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy;
A pack of bleffings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her beft array,
But, like a misbehav'd and fullen wench,
Thou pout'it upon thy fortune and thy love.
Take heed, take heed, for fuch die miferable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Afcend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But, look, thou ftay 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'ft forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurfe; commend me to thy lady,
And bid her haften all the house to bed,
Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
Nurfe. O lord, I could have ftaid here all night long, To hear good counfel: oh, what Learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
Rom. Do fo, and bid my Sweet prepare to chide. Nurfe. Here, Sir, a ring fhe 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. 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, paft joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief, fo brief to part with thee.
SCENE changes to Capulet's House.
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.
Hings have fallen out, Sir, fo unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our
Look you, fhe lov'd her kinfman Tybalt dearly,
And fo did I. Well, we were born to die.
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to night.
I promife you, but for your Company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
Par. These times of woe afford no time to wooe: Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her Mind early to
To night fhe's mew'd up to her heaviness..
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a defperate tender
Of my child's love: I think, fhe will be rul'd
In all refpects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here with my fon Paris' love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,-
But, foft; what day is this?
Par. Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday? Ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too foon,
On Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,
She fhall 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 flain fo late,
It may be thought we held him carelefly,
Being our kinfman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have fome half a dozen friends,
And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow.
Cap. Well, get you gone-on Thursday be it then:
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [To lady Cap.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lordlight to my chamber, hoa!
'Fore me, it is fo very late, that we
May call it early by and by. Good night.
SCENE, Juliet's Chamber looking to the
Enter Romeo and Juliet, above at a window ; a ladder of ropes fet.
Ilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly fhe fings on yon 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 ftreaks.
Do lace the fevering clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the mifty mountains' tops..
I must be gone and live, or ftay and die.
Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well::
It is fome meteor that the Sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go fo foon.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death,
I am content, if thou wilt have it so.
I'll fay, yon gray is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whofe notes do beat
The vaulty heav'ns fo high above our heads.
I have more care to ftay, than will to go.
Come death, and welcome: Juliet wills it fo.
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 fings fo out of tune,
Straining harsh difcords, and unpleafing fharps.
Some fay, the lark makes fweet divifion;
This doth not fo: for the divideth us.
Some fay, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light? More dark and dark
Nurje. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about.
Jul. Then, Window, let Day in, and let Life out. Rom. Farewel, farewel; one Kifs, and I'll defcend. [Romeo defcends
Jul. Art thou gone fo? love! lord! ah husband! friend!
I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' hour,
For in a minute there are many days.
O, by this count I thall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.
Rom. Farewel: I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Jul. O think ft thou, we fhall ever meet again? Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For fweet difcourfes, in our time to come.
Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining foul..
Methinks, I fee thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eye-fight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And truft me, love, in mine eye fo do
Dry Sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.
[Exit Romeo. Jul. Oh fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle :