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paft compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I warrant him, as gentle as a lamb-Go thy ways, wench, ferve God-What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no.

But all this did I know before: What fays he of our marriage? What of that? Nurfe. Lord, how my head akes! what a head have I?

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

My back o' th' other fide-O my back, my back:
Befhrew your heart, for fending me about
To catch my death with jaunting up and down.
Jul. I' faith, I am forry that thou art fo ill.
Sweet, fweet, sweet nurfe, tell me, what fays my love?
Nurse. Your love fays like an honeft gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And, I warrant, a virtuous-where is your mother?
Jul. Where is my mother?-why, fhe is within;
Where fhould fhe be? how odly thou reply'ft!
Your love fays like an boneft gentleman :-
Where is your mother?—

Nurfe. Are you fo hot? marry, come up, I trow,
Is this the poul ice for my aking bones?
Hence-forward do your meffages yourself.

Jul. Here's fuch a coil. Come, what fays Ro


Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? Jul. I have.

Nurfe. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, There ftays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in fcarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church, I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Muft climb a bird's-neft foon, when it is dark. I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you fhall bear the burden foon at night.


Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell.

Jul. Hie to high fortune;-honeft nurse, fare






Changes to the Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, and R meo.

O fmile the heavens upon this holy Act,

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That after-hours with forrow chide us not! Rom. Amen, amen! but come what forrow can, It cannot countervail th' exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her fight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough, I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which, as they meet, confume. The fweeteft honey Is loathfome in its own deliciousness,

And in the taste confounds the appetite; Therefore love mod'rately, long love doth so. ? Too fwift arrives as tardy as too flow.

Enter Juliet,

Here comes the lady. O, fo light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint;
A lover may bestride the goffamer
That idles in the wanton fummer air,
And yet not fall, fo light is vanity.
Jul. Good even to my ghoftly Confeffor.

7 Too fwift arrives] He that travels too faft is as long before he comes to the end of his jour

ney, as he that travels flow. Precipitation produces mishap.


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Fri. Romeo fhall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul. As much to him, elfe are his thanks too

Rom. Ah! Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then fweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air; and let rich mufick's tongue
Unfold th' imagin'd happiness, that both
Receive in either, by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his fubitance, not of ornament :
They are but beggars, that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to fuch Excefs,

I cannot fum up fums of half my wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short


For, by your leaves, you fhall not stay alone,
'Till Holy Church incorp'rate two in one.


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Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.


Pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire;

The day is hot, the Capulets abroad;

And, if we meet, we fhall not 'fcape a brawl;
For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring.

The day is bot,] It is obferved tions are committed during the

that in Italy almost all affaflina. heat of fummer.


Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his fword upon the table, and fays, God fend me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the fecond cup, draws it on the Drawer, when, indeed, there is no need.

Ben. Am I like fuch a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as foon mov'd to be moody, and as foon moody to be mov'd.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an' there were two fuch, we should have none fhortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou haft. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reafon but because thou haft hafel eyes; what eye, but fuch an eye, would fpy out fuch a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the ftreet, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain afleep in the Sun. Didft thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Eafter? with another, for tying his new fhoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling!

Ben. If I were fo apt to quarrel as thou art, any man fhould buy the fee-fimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-fimple? O fimple!

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me clofe, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good-den, a word with one of you.


Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with fomething, make it a word and a blow.

Tyb. You fhall find me apt enough to that, Sir, if you will give me occafion.

Mer. Could you not take fome occafion without giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou confort'ft with Romeo

Mer. Confort! what doft thou make us minstrels! if thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but difcords. Here's my fiddlestick; here's that, shall make you dance. Come! confort!

[Laying his hand on his fword. Ben. We talk here in the publick haunt of men: Either withdraw into fome private place,

Or reafon coldly of your grievances,

Or elfe depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.

I will not budge for no man's pleasure. I

Enter Romeo.

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, Sir! here comes my man.

Mer. But I'll be hang'd, Sir, if he wear your li


Marry, go first to field, he'll be your follower ;
Your Worship in that fenfe may call him man.

Tyb. Romeo, the love, I bear thee, can afford
No better term than this; thou art a villain.-

Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To fuch a Greeting. Villain I am none,
Therefore, farewel. I fee, thou know'ft me not.

Tyb. Boy, this fhall not excufe the Injuries
That thou haft done me, therefore turn and draw.


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