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Perchance, she cannot meet him ;-that's not so,
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts a,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love 37,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings..
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours, yet she is not come,
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball ;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me:
But old folks, many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

Enter NURSE and PETER. O God, she comes !-0 honey nurse, what news ?

Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away. NURSE. Peter, stay at the gate.

[Exit PETER. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse,-0 Lord ! why look’st thou sad ?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news

By playing it to me with so sour a face.
NURSE. I am aweary, give me leave a while ;-

Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had ! JUL. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news :

Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ;-good, good nurse, speak.
NURSE. Jesu, what haste ? can you not stay a while ?

Do you not see that I am out of breath ?
Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath

To say to me--that thou art out of breath ?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to that;
Say either, and I 'll stay the circumstance:

Let me be satisfied, Is 't good or bad ?
NURSE. Well you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a

man: Romeo ! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,—though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy,—but, I 'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.-Go thy ways, wench ; serve God.-What, have you dined at home?

* In (A), Juliet's soliloquy ends here.

4

Jul, No, no: But all this did I know before ;

What says he of our marriage ? what of that?
NURSE. Lord, how my head aches ! what a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o't' other side,-0, my back, my back!--
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,

To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well:

Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love ? NURSE. Your love says like an honest gentleman,

And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,

And, I warrant, a virtuous :—Where is your mother? Jul. Where is my mother ?--why, she is within ;

Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest : “ Your love says like an honest gentleman,

Where is your mother?” NURSE.

0, God's lady dear! Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

Henceforward do your messages yourself.
Jul. Here's such a coil,—Come, what says Romeo ?
NURSE. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day ?
JUL. I have.
NURSE. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell,

There stays a husband to make you a wife:
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They 'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church ; I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark :
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burthen soon at night.

Go, I 'll to dinner ; hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortune !-honest nurse, farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.-Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO 4. Fri. So smile the Heavens upon this holy act

That after-hours with sorrow chide us not ! Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,

This scene was entirely re-written, after the first copy.

It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight :
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare,

It is enough I may but call her mine.
Fri. These violent delights have violent ends,

And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite :
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

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Enter JULIET.
Here comes the lady;–0, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint :
A lover may bestride the gossamers
That idle in the wanton summer air,

And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
JUL. As much to him, else are his thanks too much.
Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy,

Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both

Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JUL. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,

Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth ;
But my true love is grown to such excess,

I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
Fri. Come, come, with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
Till holy church incorporate two in one.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—A public Place. Enter MERCUTIo, BENvolio, Page, and Servants.

BEN. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire;
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl;
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

MER. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, “God send me no need of thee!” and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need.

BEN. Am I like such a fellow 2

MER. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

BEN. And what to ?

MER. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a | man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye, but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling ! BEN. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the feesimple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MER. The fee-simple? O simple!

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Enter TYBALT and others.

BEN. By my head, here come the Capulets.
MER. By my heel, I care not.
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.
MER. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it
a word and a blow.
TVB. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion.
MER. Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYB. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,
MER. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels' an thou make minstrels
of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that
shall make you dance. Zounds, consort'
BEN. We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either withdraw unto some private place,
Or reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MER. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter RomEo.

TyB. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes my man.
MER. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery:
Marry, go before to field, he 'll be your follower;
Your worship in that sense, may call him—man.
TYB. Romeo, the love" I bear thee can afford
No better term than this—Thou art a villain.
Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting:—Willain am I none;
Therefore, farewell; I see thou know'st me not.

* (A), hate.

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