Nurse. My fan, Peter. Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer of the two. Nurse. Give ye good-morrow, gentlemen. Mer. Give ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse. Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo ? Rom. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse. You say well. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. Mer. Romeo, will you come to your father's ?-we'll to dinner thither. Rom. I will follow you. Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell. [Exeunt MERCUTIO, and BENVOLIO. Nurse. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his roguery? Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month. Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down.— Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee, Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: oh, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse. I will tell her, sir,—that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift This afternoon; And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny. Rom. Go to; I say, you shall. Rom. Farewell!-Commend me to thy lady. Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. Nurse. Ay, a thousand times.-Peter! Peter. Anon? Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before. [Exit. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Capulet's Garden. Enter JULIET. Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse; Perchance, she cannot meet him :-that's not so.- Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve Enter Nurse. O, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news? Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave a while;— Fye, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! Do you not see, that I am out of breath? Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay, Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad? Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man.-Go thy ways, girl; serve Heaven.--What, have you dined at home? Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before; What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Oh, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. Beshrew your heart, for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down? Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st? Where is your mother? Nurse. Jul. Here's such a coil.--Come, what says Romeo? Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, 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. Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Enter JULIET. Here comes the lady ;—O, so light a foot And yet not fall; so light is vanity. Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, [Exeunt Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth. Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, Till holy church incorporate two in one. ACT III. [Exeunt. Tybalt, indignant at Romeo's intrusion at Capulet's feast, seeks occasion to quarrel with him; Romeo refuses to fight,-Mercutio challenges Tybalt and falls in the encounter. Romeo avenges his death by slaying Tybalt, and is condemned by the Duke to perpetual banishment from Verona. SCENE II.—A Room in Capulet's House. Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, O, here comes my nurse, Enter Nurse. And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks Ah me! why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone ! Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! Nurse. Romeo can, Though heaven cannot :- -O Romeo, Romeo! Whoever would have thought it ?-Romeo! Jul. What demon art thou, that dost torment me thus ? Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but ay, And that bare little word shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes;-I swooned at the sight. Jul. O break, my heart!--poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary? Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Jul. O heaven! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? O, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse. No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd. Jul. There's no trust, Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame! Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honor may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a wretch was I to chide at him! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin ? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain, And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, But, O! it presses to my memory, Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears, mine shall be spent When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Nurse. Hie to your chanber: I'll find Romeo |