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Nur. I am a weary, give me leave a while ;
Jul. I would thou hadit my Bones, and I thy News: Nay come, I pray thee Speak Good Nurle speak.
Nur. Jifu! what haste? can you not stay a while? Do you not see how I am out of Breath?
Jul. How alt thou out of Breath, when thou hast Breath To say to me, that thou art out of Breath? The Excuse that thou doft make in this delay, Is longer than the Tale thou doft 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?
Nur. Well, you have made a simple Choice; you know not how to chuse a Man: Rome ? no not he, though his Face be better than any Man's, yet his Legs excel all Mens, and for a Hand and a Foot, and a Baw-dy, tho'tbey be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare. He is not the Flower of Courtefie, but I warrant him as gentle a Lamb-Go thy ways Wench, ferve God: What, have you dined at home?
Jul. No, no -But all this did I know before:
Nur. Lord how my Head akes! what a Head have I?
Jul. I'faith I am sorry that thou art so ill,
Nur. Your Love says like an honest Gentleman,
Jul. Where is my Mother? Why she is within,
Nur. O God's Lady dear,
so hot? marry come up I trow, Is this the Poultis for my aking Bones?
Hence-forward, do your Massages your
Nur. Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence's Cell,
Rom. Amen, Amen; but come what Sorrow can,
Fri. Thise violent Delights have violent Ends,
Here comes the Lady. o lo light a foot
, fo light is Vanity.
Jul. Good-even to my ghostly Confessor.
Rom. Ah Juliet, if the measure of thy Joy
Jul. Conceit more rich in Matter than in Words,
A C T III. SC EN E I.
SCENE The Street:
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.
The Day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
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 a second Cup, draws him on the Drawer, wben indeed there is no need.
Ben. Am I like fuch 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 mov’d.
Ben. And what too?
Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill che other. Thou! why thou
wile 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 Nurs, having no other reason, but because thou hast hasel Eyes; what Eye, but such an Eye, would ípy out such a quarrel? Thy Head is as full of quarrels, as an Egg is fun of Meat, and yet 'thy Head hath been beaten as addle as an Egg for quarrelli g: Thou hast quarrellid 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 Ribband? And yet thou wilt Tutor me from quarrelling!
Ben. And 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, Petruchio, 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, God-din, a Word with one of you.
Mer. And but one Word with one of us? couple it with som tbig, make it a Word and a Blow.
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, and you will give me occasion.
Mer. Could you not take fome occafion without giving?
Tyb. Mercutio, thou confort'st with Romeo
Mer. Confort! Whar, dost thou make us Minstrels! And thou make Mnstrels of us, look to hear nothing but Dilcords: Here' my Fiddlestick; here's that hall make you dance. Come, Conlo t.
[Laying his Hand on his Sword, Ben. W talk here in the publick haunt of Men: Either withdraw unto some private place, Or realon coldly of your Grievances, Or e'le d-part; here all Eyes gazo on us.
Mer. Mens 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: Mairy go before to Field, hy'll be your Follower, Your Worship in that sense may cail him Man.
Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
Rom. Tybale, the reason that I have to love thee,
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the Injuries
Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee,
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile Submission!
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me?
Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine Lives, that I mean to make bold withal; and as you shall use me, hereafter dry beat the reft of the eight. Will you pluck your Sword out of his Pilcher by the Ears ? Make haste, left mine be about your Ears e'er it be out. Tyb. I am for you.
[Drawing. Rom, Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier up. Mer. Come, Sir, your Pallado. [Mer. and Tyb. fight.
Rom. Draw, Benvolio-beat down their Weapons-
Ben. What, art thou hurt?
Mer. Ay, ay, a Scratch, a Scratch; marry 'tis enough. Where is my Page? Go, Villoin, fetch a Surgeon.