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Perchance, she cannot meet him ;--that 's pot so, -
Enter NURSE and PETER.
O God, she comes !-O honey nurse, what news ?
Hast thou inet with him ? Send thy man away. NURSE. Peter, stay at the gate.
[E.cit PETER. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse,-0 Lord ! why look'st thou sad ?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had !
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak ;-good, good nurse, speak.
not see that I am out of breath ?
To say to me- that thou art out of breath ?
Let me be satisfied, Is 't good or bad ?
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.
Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before ;
What says he of our marriage ? what of that?
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
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.
There stays a husband to make you a wife:
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.
SCENE VI.-Friar Laurence's Cell.
Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO a.
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
It is enough I may but call her mine.
And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder,
Here comes the lady; -0, so light a foot
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
BEN. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let 's retire;
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, “God send me no need of thee!” and, by the operation of the second cap, draws it on the drawer,
when, indeed, there is no need. BEN. Am I like such a fellow? 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 fee
simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MER. The fee-simple? O simple!
Enter Tybalt and others.
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.
a word and a blow.
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 else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Marry, go before to field, he 'll be your follower;
man. TYB. Romeo, the love a I bear thee can afford
No better term than this—Thou art a villain.
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage