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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 fend him back.
Enter lady Capulet.
La. Cap. Ho, daughter, are you up?
Jul. Who is't, that calls? is it my lady mother?
What unaccustom'd caufe procures her hither?
La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ?
Jul. Madam, I am not well.
La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your coufin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his Grave with tears? An' if thou could't, thou could'st not make him live; Therefore, have done. Some Grief fhews much of
But much of Grief fhews ftill fome want of Wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for fuch a feeling lofs.
La. Cap. So fhall you feel the Lofs, but not the Friend Which you do weep for.
Jul. Feeling fo the Lofs,
I cannot chufe but ever weep the Friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'ft not fo much for his death,
As that the villain lives which flaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, Madam ?
La. Ca. That fame villain, Romeo.
Jul. Villain and he are 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 Traytor lives. Jul. I, Madam, from the Reach of these my hands: 'Would, None but I might venge my Coufin's Death! La. Cap. We will have Vengeance for it, fear Thou
Then weep no. more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where That fame banish'd Runagate doth live,
Shall give him fuch an unaccuftom'd Dram,
That he fhall foon keep Tybalt Company,
And then, I hope, thou wilt be fatisfy'd.
ful. Indeed, I never shall be fatisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him — dead
Is my poor heart fo for a Kinsman vext.
Madam, if You could find out but a Man
To bear a poyfon, I would temper it;
That Romeo fhould upon receipt thereof
Soon fleep in Quiet. O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam'd, and cannot come to him
To wreak the Love I bore my flaughter'd Coufin,
Upon his body that hath flaughter'd him.
La. Cap. Find Thou the Means, and I'll find fuch a
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 lady fhip?
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'ft not, nor I 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 hafte, that I must wed
Ere he, that must be husband, comes to wooe.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, Madam,
I will not marry yet: and when I do,
It fhall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. These are news, indeed!
La. Cap. Here comes your father, tell him so your
And fee, how he will take it at your hands.
Enter Capulet, and Nurfe.
Cap. When the Sun fets, the Air doth drizzle Dew; But for the Sunfet of my Brother's Son It rains downright.
How now? a conduit, girl? what, ftill in tears?
Evermore show'ring? in one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
For ftill thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this falt flood: the winds thy fighs,
Which, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a fudden calm, will overfet
Thy tempeft-toffed body How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?
La. Cap. Ay, Sir; but she will none, fhe gives you
I would, the fool were married to her Grave! Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife.
How, will fhe none ? doth fhe not give us thanks?
Is fhe not proud, doth fhe not count her bleft,
Unworthy as fhe is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you
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
Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not !
And yet not proud! Why, Mistress Minion, You,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
Το go with Paris to Saint 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 beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with Patience, but to fpeak 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 bleft,
That God had fent us but this only child;
But now I fee this One is one too much,
And that we have a Curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding!
Nurfe. God in heaven bless 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. Nurfe. I fpeak no treafon - O, god-ye-good-denMay not one speak?
Cap. Peace, 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
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demeafns, youthful, and nobly-allied,
Stuff'd, as they fay, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought would 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, if you will not wed, I'li pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me ;
Look to't, think on't, do not use to jeft.
Thurfday is near; lay hand on heart, advise;
you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, ftarve, die i'th' ftreets;
For, by my foul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine fhall ever do thee good :
'Truft to't, bethink you, I'll not be forfworn.
Ful. Is there no pity fitting in the clouds,
That fees into the bottom of my grief?
O, fweet 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.
Jul. O God! O Nurfe, how fhall this be prevented!
My Husband is on Earth; my Faith in Heav'n;
How fhall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unless that Husband fend it me from Heav'n,
By leaving Earth?
Comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heav'n fhould practise ftratagems
Upon fo foft a fubject as my felf!
What fay't thou? ha'ft thou not a word of Joy?
Some Comfort, Nurse.
Nurse. Faith, here it is:
Romeo is banifh'd; all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then fince the cafe fo ftands, as now it doth,
I think it beft, you married with the Count.
Oh, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dish-clout to him; an eagle, Madam,
Hath not fo green, fo quick, fo fair an eye
As Paris hath. Befhrew my very heart,
I think you happy in this fecond match,
For it excels your firft; or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here, and you no ufe of him.
Jul. Speak'st thou from thy heart?
Nurfe. And from my Soul too,
Or elfe befhrew them both.
ful. Well, thou haft comforted me marvellous much;
Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,
Having difpleas'd my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confeffion, and to be abfolved.
Nurfe. Marry, I will; and this is wifely done.
Ful. Ancient Damnation! O most wicked Fiend!