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Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting:-Villain am I none;
Therefore farewell; I see, thou know'st me not.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw.
Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee;
But love thee better than thou canst devise,
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender
As dearly as mine own,-be satisfied.

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! A la stoccata' carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

[Draws.

And in my temper soften'd valour's steel. Re-enter Benvolio.

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead; That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend;

This but begins the wo, others must end.

Re-enter Tybalt.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain' Away to heaven, respective lenity,

And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!-
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a littte way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company;
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort
him here,
Shalt with him hence.

Rom.

This shall determine that. Tyb. What would'st thou have with me? [They fight; Tybalt falls. Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your Ben. Romeo, away, be gone! nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and, The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain: as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of Stand not amaz'd:-the prince will doom thee the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his

death,

pilcher2 by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about If thou art taken :-hence!-be gone!-away! your ears ere it be out. Rom. O! I am fortune's fool! Ben.

[Drawing.

Tyb. I am for you.
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight.
Rom. Draw, Benvolio;

Beat down their weapons:-Gentlemen, for shame
Forbear this outrage;-Tybalt-Mercutio-
The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying
In Verona streets :-Hold, Tybalt;-good Mercutio.
[Exeunt Tybalt and his Partizans.

Mer. I am hurt:

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A plague o'both the houses!-I am sped :-
Is he gone, and hath nothing?
Ben.
What, art thou hurt?
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis
enough.-

Where is my page ?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
[Exit Page.
Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide
as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask
for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave
man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world:-
A plague o'both your houses?-Zounds, a dog, a
rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a
braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book
of arithmetic!-Why, the devil, came you between
us? I was hurt under your arm.

Rom. I thought all for the best.

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint-A plague o'both your houses!
They have made worm's meat of me:
I have it, and soundly too :-Your houses!

[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd

With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been my kinsman :-O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,

(1) The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier. (2) Case or scabbard.

Why dost thou stay? [Exit Romeo. Enter Citizens, &c.

1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? Ben. There lies that Tybalt.

I

1 Cit.

Up, sir, go with me; charge thee in the prince's name, obey.

Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their wives, and others.

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin!-O my brother's child! Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd Of my dear kinsman!-Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.O cousin, cousin!

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;

Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure:-All this-uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly
bow'd,-

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point.
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo, he cries aloud,

(3) Cool, considerate gentleness.
(4) Conduct for conductor. (5) Accompany.
(6) Just and upright. (7) Slight, unimportant.

Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than

his tongue,

His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And, twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly:
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true:
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life:
I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's
friend;

His fault concludes but, what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.

Prin.

And, for that offence,
Immediately we do exile him hence:

I have an interest in your hates' proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding;
But I'll amerce' you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine:
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;

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This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I,"
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice :
I am not I, if there be such an I;
Or those eyes shut, that make the answer, I.
If he be slain, say I; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my weal, or wo.
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine

eyes,

Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses,
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will;
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
[Exeunt. God save the mark!-here, on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Enter Pale, pale, as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swooned at the sight.
Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break

SCENE II.-A room in Capulet's house.

Juliet.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' mansion; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately.Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! That run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen!Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night.-Come, civil2 night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,3 With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown

bold,

Think true love acted, simple modesty.

Come, night!-Come, Romeo!-come, thou day in night!

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.-
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd
night,

Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,
Take him, and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish' sun.-
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold,
(1) Punish by fine. (2) Grave, solemn.
These are terms of falconry.
Gaudy, showy.

at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier!
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord ?-
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain!O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book, containing such vile matter, So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell

(5) In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was usually written 1, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling.

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In such a gorgeous palace!
Nurse.

There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd
All fors worn, all naught, all dissemblers.-
Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vile :-
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul.

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 honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?'

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy

name,

When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?-
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring:
Your tributary drops belong to wo,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus-
band:

All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my menory,

Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished;

That-banished, that one word-banished,

Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.

Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's
doom?

What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Fri.
Too familiar

I

Is my dear son with such sour company:
bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's
doom?

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips;
Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death:
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: do not say-banisment.
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exíle is death:-then banishment
Is death mis-term'd: calling death-banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,

Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.' Tybalt's death But Romeo may not.-More validity,

Was wo enough, if it had ended there:

Or, if sour wo delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,-
Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead,
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern2 lamentation might have mov'd?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished,-to speak that word,

Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead :-Romeo is banished,-
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,

4

More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,

In that word's death; no words can that wo No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,

sound.

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.
Take up those cords:-Poor ropes, you are beguil'd,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
To comfort you:-I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.

[Exe. Enter

Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last fareyell.
SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's cell.
Friar Laurence and Romeo.
Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou

ful man;

But-banished-to kill me; banished?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word-banishment?
Fri. Thou fond madman, hear me but speak a
word.

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again on banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Rom. Yet banished?-Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;
It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. 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 dost

not feel:

fear-Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,

(1) i. e. Is worse than the loss of ten thousand Tybalts.

(2) Common. (3) Know. (4) Worth, value

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Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear | Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet

thy hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide
thyself.
[Knocking within
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick
groans,

Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

[Knocking.

Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a while: stand up;

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[Knocking.

In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie! 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,
Digressing from the valour of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish.
Fri. Hark, how they knock!-Who's there?-Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Romeo, arise;
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier'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 sake thou wast but lately dead;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behav'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 set,
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 the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy

Run to my study :-By and by :-God's will!
What wilfulness is this ?-I come, I come.

[Knocking.
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's
your will?

Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall
know my errand;
I come from lady Juliet.
Fri.

Welcome then.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?
Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears
made drunk.

Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her case!

Fri.

Piteous predicament!

Nurse.

O woful sympathy!

Even so lies she,

Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubber-Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.

ing:

Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep an O?

Rom. Nurse!

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Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth she not 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 doth she? and what says
My conceal'd 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 calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.

Rom.

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.-O tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[Drawing his sword.
Fri.
Hold thy desperate hand :
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?

Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?

(1) Torn to pieces with thine own weapons.

VOL. 11.

Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.

Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the
night,

To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!-
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

[Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all your state;2

Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua; I'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: farewell; good night.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
Farewell.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV-A room in Capulet's house. En-
ter 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 wo afford no time to woo: Madam, good night: commend me to your daugh

ter.

(2) The whole of your fortune depends on this. 3 S

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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 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 of my son Paris' love;

Rom. More light and light ?-more dark and dark our woes.

Nurse. Madam!

Jul. Nurse?

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your

And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-The day is broke; be wary, look about. But, soft; What day is this?

Par.

Monday, my lord.

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too 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 too :-
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel 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-

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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; 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. (2) Bold.

(1) Shut up.

(3) Reflection of the moon. (4) Inclination. (5) Division was the technical phrase for musical composition.

[Exit Nurse. Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. [Romeo descends.

Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my friend!

I must hear from thee every day i'the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?
Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul: Methinks, I see thee now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb; Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. Rom. And trust me, love, in my eyes so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! [Exit Romeo. Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures' her hither? Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet?
Jul.
Madam, I am not well.
La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's
death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
An if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him live;
Therefore, have done: Some grief shows much of
love;

But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the
friend

Which you weep for.

Jul.

Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much
for his death,

As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, madam?

La. Cap.

That same villain, Romeo. Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.

La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives.

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands.

'Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death!

(6) A tunc played to wake hunters, also a morning song to a woman the day after marriage. (7) Brings.

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