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It helps not, it prevails not, talk. no more

Fri. O, then I see that mad-men have no ears.
Ro. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou doft not feel :
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doating like me, and like me banished ; [hair,
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arise, one knocks ; good Romeo, hide thyself.

[Knocking within. Rom. Not ), unless the breath of heart-fick groans, Mift-like, infold me from the search of eyes. (Knock. Fri. Hark, how they knock!--(who's there :) ---Romeo,

arise, Thou wilt be taken-(stay a while)-stand up ; [Knocks.. Run to my study-(By and by)-God's will! What wilfulness is this I come, I come. [Knock. Who knocks so hard? whencecome you; what's your will? Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you all know

my errand : I come from lady Juliet. Fri. Welcome then.

Enter Nurfe. Nurse. O holy Friar, oh, tell me, holy Friar; Where is my lady's lord ? where's Romeo? [drunk.

Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears. made

Nurse. O he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her cafe, Owoful sympathy!
Piteous predicament! ev'n so lies ihe,
Blubb’ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand

up,
stand
up;

Stand, an' you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her fake, rise and stand.
Why should

you fall into so deep an oh! Rom. Nurse ! Nurse. Ah Sir! ah Sir!-Death is the end of a'l.

Rom

Rom. Speak'it thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not The think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood, remov'd but little from her own ? Where is she? and how does she? and what says My conceald lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse. O, she says nothing, Sir; but weeps and weeps ; And now falls on her bed, and then starts up; And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls, And then down falls again.

Row. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her, as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. -Tell me, Friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge! tell me, that I may

fack The hateful mansion.

[Druuing his sword. Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote Th' unreasonable fury of a beast. Unseemly woman in a seeming man! And ill-beseeming beast in feeming both! Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper’d. Haft thou slain 7jbalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And flay thy lady, that in thy life lives, By doing damned hate upon thyself? 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 usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed, Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit. Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digreffing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn, but hollow perjury, Killing that love, which thou haft vow'd to cherish. Thy wit, that ornament to Mape and love, Mil-thapen in the conduct of them both,

Like powder in a skill-lefs foldier's flask,
is set on fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear fake thou waft but lately dead :
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou sew it Tybalt; there thou’rt happy too.
The' law, that threatned death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy ;
A pack of bleslings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her best array,
But, like å misbehay'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon 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 fet;
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua :
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'ft forth in lamentation.
Go beforë, nurse; commend me to thiy lady,
And bid her halten all the house to bed,
Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming

Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all night long,
To hear good counsel: oh, what learning is!
My Lord, l'll tell my Lady you will come.

Ron. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

Nuif. Here, 'ir, a ring the bid me give you, Sir: Hie you,

make haste, for it grows very late.
Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this !

Fri. Sojourn in Mantua; l'll find out your man,
And he shall signify 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. [Exeunt,

SCENE changes to Capulet's Houfe.

Ca; T

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.
THINGS have fal’n out, Sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our

daughter:
Look
you,

the 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 wode : Madain, good night; commend me to your daughter.

La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrowsTo-night The's 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 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 with my son Paris' love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,
Eut, soft; what day is this?

Par. Monday, my Lord.

Cap. Monday? Ha! ha! well, Wednefday is too soon, On Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble Earl. Will you be ready? do you like this hafte ? We'll keep no great a-do-a friend or two For, hark you, Tybalt being lain so late, It may be thought we held him carelesly, 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 on Thursday be it then : Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [T. Lady Cap. Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewel, my Lord light to my chamber, hoa!

'Fore

Fore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by. Good night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, Juliet's Chamber looking to the Garden.

Enter Romeo and Juliet, above at a window; a ladder

of ropes fet. Jul. LT 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 pomgranate 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 :
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountains' tops,
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well :
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 ;
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go

fo foon,
Rom. Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death,
I am content, if thou wilt have it fo.
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye,
'lis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heav'ns 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, begone, away :
It is the lark that fings 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 ;
Oy, now I would they had chang'd voices too!

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