Jul. Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too,
He fhall 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.-Thefe are news, indeed!

La. Cap. Here comes your father, tell him fo yourfelf,

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 Sunset of my Brother's Son

It rains downright.

How now? a conduit, girl? what, ftill in tears?
Evermore fhow'ring? in one little body

Thou counterfeit'ft a bark, a fea, a wind;
For ftill thy eyes, which I may call the fea,

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 he 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 fhe none? Doth fhe not give us thanks?
Is he not proud, doth fhe not count her bleft,
Unworthy as he is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Jul.

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!-Why, 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 St. Peter's church:

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-fickness carrion! Out, you baggage! You Tallow-face!

La. Cap. Fy, fy, 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 bleft, That God hath fent us but this only child;

But now I fee this One is one too much,

And that we have a Curfe in having her:
Out on her, hilding!-

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.

Nurfe. I fpeak no treafon-O, god-ye-good-den

May not one speak?

Cap. Peace, peace, you mumbling fool; Utter your gravity o'er a goflip's bowl, For here we need it not.

'La,

La. Cap. You are too hot.

Cap. It makes me mad: day, night, hour, tide, work, play,

Alone, in company, ftill my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,

Of fair demefns, 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'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you fhall not houfe with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jeft.
Thursday is near; lay hand on hear, advise;
If 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.
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forfworn. [Exit.
Jul. 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 dun 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!-0 Nurle, how fhall this be pre

vented?

My Husband is on Earth; my Faith in Heav'n;
How fhall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unless that Hufband fend it me from Heav'n,
By leaving Earth?-Comfort me, counfel me.

Alack,

Alack, alack, that heav'n fhould practise ftratagems
Upon fo foft a fubject as myself!

What say'ft thou? haft thou not a word of Joy?
Some Comfort, Nurse.-

Nurfe. Faith, here it is:

Romeo is banish'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 difh-clout to him; an eagle, Madam,
Hath not so keen, 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'ft thou from thy heart ?
Nurse. And from my Soul too,

Or elfe befhrew them both.

Jul. Amen.

Nurfe. What?

Jul. 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 abfolv'd.

Nurfe. Marry, I will; and this is wifely done.

[Exit. Jul, Ancient Damnation! O moft wicked Fiend! Is it more fin to wifh me thus forfworn,

6-fo keen,] Hanmer. In the other editions, so green.

7 As living bere,] Sir T. Hanmer reads, as living hence; thas

is, at a diftance, in banishment, but here may fignify, in this world.

Or

Or to difpraise my Lord with that fame tongue
Which the hath prais'd him with above compare,
So many thousand times? Go, Counsellor,
Thou and my bosom henceforth fhall be twain:
I'll to the Friar, to know his remedy;
If all elfe fail, myself have power to die.

[Exit.

N Thursday, Sir? The time is very short.

ΟΝ Par. My father Capulet will have it fo,

And I am nothing flow to flack his hafte.

I.

Fri. You fay, you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is this courfe, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately fhe weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love,

For Venus fmiles not in a houfe of tears.

Now, Sir, her father counts it dangerous,

That the fhould give her forrow so much sway;
And, in his wifdom, haftes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,

May be put from her by fociety..

Now do you know the reafon of this hafte?

Fri. I would, I knew not why it should be flow'd.

Look, Sir, here comes the lady tow'rds

8 And I om, &c.] His hafle hall not be abated by my flowness. It might be read,

And I am nothing flow to back

[Afide. my cell.

bis bafte. That is, I am diligent to abet and enforce his hafte.

Enter