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But for the Sunset of my Brother's Son
It rains downright.-

How now? a conduit, girl? what, ftill in tears;
Evermore show'ring? in one little body

Thou counterfeit'ft a bark, a fea, a wind;
For ftill thy eyes, which I may call the fea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this falt flood: the winds thy fighs,
Which, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a fudden calm, will overfet

Thy tempeft-toffed body-How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

La. Cap. Ay, Sir; but he will none, fhe gives you thanks:

I would, the fool were married to her Grave!

Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you,

wife.

How, will she none? doth she not give us thanks?
Is the not proud, doth fhe not count her bleft,
Unworthy as he is, that we have wrought

So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you'

have.

Proud can I never be of what I hate,

But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap. How now! how now! Chop Logic? What
is This?

Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not!
And yet not proud!-Why, Miftrefs Minion, You,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints 'gainft Thursday next,
go with Paris to St. Peter's church:

Το

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-fickness-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.

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! difobedient

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 fcarce thought us bleft,.
That God hath fent us but this only child;
But now I fee this One is one too much,
And that we have a Gurfe in having her:
Out on her, hilding!

Nurfe. God in heaven blefs her!

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her fo.

Cap. And why, my lady Wisdom? hold your tongue,

Good Prudence, fmatter with your goffips, go.
Nurfe. I fpeak no treafon-O, god-ye-good-den-
May not one speak?

Cap. Peace, peace, you mumbling fool;
Utter your gravity o'er a goffip'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,

At home, abroad, alone, in company,

Waking, or fleeping, ftill my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,

Of fair demeafns, youthful, and nobly-allied,
Stuff'd, as they fay, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought would with a man:
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's Tender,
To anfwer, I'll not wed,I cannot love,
I am too young,- I pray you pardon me-
But, if you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will,
will, you
fhall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jeft.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advife;

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If you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, ftarve, die i' th' ftreets;
For, by my foul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine fhall ever do thee good:
Truft to't, bethink you, I'll not be forfworn. [Exit.
Jul. Is there no pity fitting in the clouds,
That fees into the bottom of my grief?
O, fweet my mother, caft 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 fpeak á
word:

Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.

[Exit.

Jul. O God! O Nurfe, how shall this be prevented?
My husband is on Earth; my Faith in Heav'n;
How fhall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unless that Husband send it me from Heav'n,
By leaving Earth?

Comfort me, counsel me,
Alack, alack, that heav'n fhould practise ftrategems
Upon fo foft a fubject as myfelf!

What fay'ft thou? haft thou not a word of Joy?
Some Comfort, Nurfe-

Nurfe. Faith, here it is:

Romeo is banifh'd; 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 fince the cafe fo ftands, as now it doth,
I think it beft, you married with the Count.
Oh, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a difh-clout to him: an eagle, Madam,
Hath not fo keen, fo quick, fo fair an eye
As Paris hath. Befhrew my very heart,
I think you happy in this fecond match,
For it excels your first; or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living hence, and you no ufe of him.
Jul. Speak it thou from thy heart?

Nurfe.

Nurse. And from my Soul too,

Or elfe befhrew them both.

Jul. Amen.

Nurse. What?

Jul. Well, thou haft comforted me marvellous much Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,

Having difpleas my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confeffion, and to be abfolved.

Nurfe. Marry, I will; and this is wifely done.
[Exit.
Jul. Ancient Damnation! O moft wicked Fiend!
Is it more fin to wish me thus forfworn,

Or to difpraise my lord with that fame tongue
Which the hath prais'd him with above compare,
So many thoufand times? go, Counfellor,
Thou and my bofom henceforth shall be twain:
I'll to the Friar, to know his remedy:

If all else fail, myself have power to die,

[Exit.

A C T IV. SCENE I.

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The MONASTERY.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

FRIAR.

N Thursday, Sir! the time is very fhort. Par. My father Capulet will have it fo, And I am nothing flow to flack his hafte.

Fri. You fay, you do not know the lady's mind Uneven in this courfe, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately the weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love, For Venus fmiles not in a houfe of tears. Now, Sir, her father counts it dangerous, That the fhould give her forrow so much fway; And, in his wifdom, haftes our marriage,

1

To flop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by fociety.

Now do

you know the reafon of this hafte?

Fri. I would, I knew not why it fhould be flow'd.

[Afide. Look, Sir, here comes the lady tawius my cell..

Enter Juliet.

Par. Welcome, my love, my lady and my wife!
Jul. That may be, Sir, when I may be a wife.
Par. That may be, muft be, Love, on Thursday
Jul. What must be, fhall be.

[next.

Fri. That's a certain text. Par. Come you to make confeffion to this father? Jul. To answer That, were to confess to you. Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him. Par. So will ye, I am fure that you love me. Jul. If I do fo, it will be of more price Being fpoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor foul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. Jul. The tears have got small victory by that: For it was bad enough before their spight.

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

Jul. That is no flander, Sir, which is but truth, And what I fpeak, I speak it to my face.

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou haft flander'd it. Jul. It may be fo, for it is not mine own.

Are you at leifure, holy father, now,

Or fhall I come to you at evening mafs?

Fri. My leifure ferves me, penfive daughter, now.. My lord, I muft intreat the time alone.

Par. God fhield, I fhould disturb devotion: Juliet, on Thurfday early will I rouse you: 'Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kifs.

[Exit Paris.

Jul..

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