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SCENE IV.

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A Room in Capulet's House. Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, and PARIS. Cap. Things have fallen 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 I;-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

morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
child's

's love 49: I think, she will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere 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?
Pur.

Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too

Of my

soon, O'Thursday let it be;-o'Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl:

.

Will you

be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado;-—a friend, or two:For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we reve! much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to

morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone :-O'Thursday be it

then :-
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.-
Farewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by:-Good night.

[Exeunt. SCENE V.

Juliet's Chamber.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe 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 east:

:

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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 die.

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 Mantua:
Therefore stay 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 so.
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so 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 sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say,

the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some
say,

the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had chang'd voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth 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.

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50

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