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Why rail'ft thou on thy Birth the Heav'n and Earth?
Since Birth, and Heav'n, and Earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which thou at once would'ft lose.
Fy, fy, thou sham'st thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit;
Which like an Ulurer abound'st in all,
And useft none in that true use indeed,
Which should bedeck thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit:
Thy noble Shape is but a Form of Wax,
Digrelling from the Valour of a Man;
Thy dear Love sworn, but hollow Perjury,
Killing that Love which thou hast vokv'd to cherish;
Thy Wit, that Ornament to Shape and Love,
Mil-shapen in the Conduđ of them both,
Like Powder in a skilless Soldier's Flask,
Is set a fire by thine own Ignorance,
And thou dismembred with thine own Defence.
What, rouse thee, Man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear fake thou wast but lately dead.
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou flew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too,
The Law that threatned Death became thy Friend,
And turn'd it to Exile; there art thou happy.
A pack of Blessings light upon thy Back,
Happiness courts thee in her best Array,
But like a mis-hav'd and a fullen Wench,
Thou putteft up thy Fortune and thy Love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go get thee to thy Love, as was decreed,
Ascend her Chamber, hence and comfort her:
But look thou stay not 'till the Watch be set, 1
For then thou canst not pass to Mantna,
Where thou shalt live, 'till we can find a time
To blaze your Marriage, reconcile your Friends,
Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee back,
With twenty hundred thousand times more Joy:
Than thou went it forth in Lamentation.
Go before, Nurse, commerd me to thy Lady,
And bid her halten all the House to Bed,
Which heavy Sorrow makes them apt untos
Romes is coming

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grows very late,

Nur. O Lord, I could have staid here all Night,
To hear good Counsel: Oh, what Learning is!
My Lord, I'll tell my Lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my Sweet prepare to chide,

Nur. Here, Sir, a Ring te bid me give you, Sir; Hie you, make haste, for it

Rom. How well my Comfort is reviv'd by this,

Fri. Go hence.
Good Night, and here stands all your State:
Either be gone before the Watch be set,
Or by the break of Day disguis'd, from hence,
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your Man,
And he shall fignifie from time to time,
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy Hand, 'tis late, farewel, Good Night.

Rom. But that a Joy, past Joy, calls out on me,
It were a Grief, fo brief to part with thee:

SCENE IV. Capulet's House.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.
Cap. Things have faln out, Sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our Daughter:
Look you, she lov'd her Kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did 1-Well, we were born to die.
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to Night:
I promise you, but for your Company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par. These times of Woe afford no time to Woo:
Madam, good Night, commend me to your Daughter.

La. Cap. I will, and know her Mind early to Morrowi
To Night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my Child's Love: I think she will be ruld
In all respects by me, nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her' e'er you go to Bed,
Acquaint her here of my Son Paris Love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next
But soft ; what day is this?
par. Monday, my Lord.

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Cap. Monday? ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too soon,
'A Thursday let it be: A Thursday cell her
She shall be married to this Noble Earl:
Will you be ready? Do you like this haste ?
We'll keep no great a-do-a Friend or two
For, hark you, Tybalt being Nain so late,

may be thought we held him carelefly,
Being our Kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen Friends,
And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday?

Par. My Lord,
I would that Thursday were to Morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone...a Thursday be it then:
Go you to Juliet e'er you go to Bed, [To Lady Capulet.
Prepare her, Wife, against this Wedding day:

, my Lord-light to my Chamber, hoa !
'Afore me, it is fo late, that we may call it early by and by.
Good Night.

SCENE V. The Garden.
Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a Window; a Ladder of

Ropes set.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone?
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine Ear,
Nightly she sings on yond Pomgranate Trees
Belicve me Love, it was the Nightingale.

Rom. It was the Lark, the Herald of the Morn,
No Nightingale. Look, Love, what envious Streaks
Do lace the severing Clouds in yonder Eaft:
Night's Candles are burnt out, and jocund Day
Stands tiptoe on the misty Mountain tops,
I must be gone and live, or stay and dye.

Jul. Yon Light is not Day-light, I know it, I.
It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales,
To be to thee this Night a Torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantna,
Therefore ftay, yet thou need'st not to be gone.

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to Death,
I am content, so thou wilt have it fo.
I'll say yon gray is not the Morning's Eye,

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'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's Brow,
Nor that is not the Lark whose Notes do beat
The vaulty Heav'ns fo high above our Heads,
I have more care to stay, than will to go:
Come Death and welcome, Juliet wills it so.
How is't, my Soul? let's talk, it is not Day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away:
It is the Lark that Gogs so out of Tune,
Straining harsh Discords, and unpleasing Sharps.
Some say the Lark makes sweet Division;
This doch nor so: For The dividech us.
Some say, the Lark, and Icathed Toad change Eyes,
O now I would they had chang’d Voices too:
Since, arm from arm, that Voice doch us affray,
Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-up to the Day,
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light, more dark and dark our Woes.

Enter Nurse.
Nui. Madam.
Jul. Nurse.
Nur. Your Lady Mother is coming to your Chamber :
The Day is broke, be wary, look about.

Jul. Then Window let Day in, and let Life out.
Rom. Farewel, farewel, one Kiss, and I'll Defcend.

Jul. Art thou gone fo? Love! Lord! ah Husband! Friend!
I must hear from thee every Day in the Hour,

[Romeo comes down by the Ladder into the Garden,
For in a Minute there are many Days,
O by this count I shall be much in Years,
E’er I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewel:
I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my Greetings, Love, to thee,

Jul. O thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not, and all these Woes shall serve
For sweet Discourses, in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill Divining Soul,
Methinks I see thee now, thou art lo low,
As one dead in the bottom of a Tomb:

my Eye-fight fails; or. thou look' t pale. Rom. And trust me, Love, in mine Eye fo do you: Dry Sorrow drinks our Blood. Adieu, adieu. Exeunt.



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SCENE VI. Juliet's Chamber.

Enter Juliet.
Jul. O Fortune, Fortune, ali Men call thee fickle,
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for Faith? be fickle Fortune
For then I hope thou wilt nor 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?
Is The not down so late, or up so early ?
What unaccustom'd Caule procures her hither?

La. Cap. Why how now, Juliet?
Jul. Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your Cousin's Death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his Grave with Tears?
And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live:
Therefore have done, fome Grief shews much of Love,
But much of Grief shews still some want of Wit.

Jul. Yet let me weep, for such a feeling loss.

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the Friend
Which you weep for.

Jul. Feeling so the loss,
I cannot chuse but ever weep the Friend.
· La. Cap. Well Girl, thou weep'ít not so much for his death,
As that the Villain lives which slaughter'd him.

Jul. What Villain, Madam?
La. Cap. That same Villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he be 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 Traitor lives.

Jul. Ay, Madam, from the reach of these my Hands:
Would none but I might venge my Cousin's Death.

La. Cap. We will have Vengeance for it, fear thou not;
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantuan
Where that fame banish'd Runnagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd Dram,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt Company:
And then I hope thou wilt be latisfied,

Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo. 'uill I behold him Dead


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