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Or I will drag thee on a

hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! La. Cap.

Fie, fie! what are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient

wretch! I tell thee what,-get thee to church o'Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch.-Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd, That God had sent us but this only child'; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse.

God in heaven bless her!-You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your

tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse. I speak no treason.

0, God ye good den! Nurse. May not one speak? Сар. .

Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, For here we need it not. La. Cap.

You are too hot. Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night,

late, early,

Сар. .

VOL. XIII.

At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her match'd: and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff’d (as they say,) with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man,-
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer-I'll not wed,- I cannot love,
I am too young,—I pray you, pardon me ;-
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An

you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i'the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit.

Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word; Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. Jul. O God! O nurse! how shall this be pre

vented ?

51)

My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth?--comfort me, counsel me.-
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say'st thou ? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse.

'Faith, here 'tis: Romeo
Is banished; and all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you ;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair, an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels

your

first:

: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.

Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?
Nurse.

From my soul too;
Or else beshrew them both.
Jul.

Ar n!
Nurse.

To what?
Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.
Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

much.

[Exit.
Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin-to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare
So many thousand times?-Go, counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.-
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS. Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.

Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste.

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind; Uneven is the course, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, That she doth give her sorrow so much sway ; And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.

[Aside. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my

cell.

Enter JULIET.

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife!
Jul. That may be, sir,

when I

may

be a wife. Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday

next.

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