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Ro. Father what newes? what is the princes doome ?
What forrow craues acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?

Fri, Too familiar
Is my deare fonne with such fowre company?
I bring thee tidings of the princes doome.

Ro. What leffe then doomesday is the princes doome?

Fri. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips,
Not bodies death, but bodies banishment.

Ro. Ha, banishment ? be mercifull, fay death :
For exile hath more terror in his looke,
Much more then death, do not say banishment.

Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Ro. There is no world without Verona walles,
But purgatorie, torture, hell it felfe :
Hence banished, is banisht from the world.
And worlds exile is death. Then banished
Is death, mistearmd, calling death banished,
Thou cutst my head off with a golden axe,
And smilest vpon the stroke that murders mé.

Fri. O deadly fin, O rude vnthankefulnesse,
Thy falt our law calles death, but the kind prince
Taking thy part, hath rusht aside the law,
And turnd that blacke word death to banishment.
This is deare mercy, and thou seest it not.

Ro. Tis torture and not mercy, heauen is here
Where Iuliet lives and euery cat and dog,
And little mouse, euery vnworthy thing
Live here in heauen and may looke on her.
But Romeo may not. More validitie,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
la carrion flies, then Romeo : they may feaze


On the white wonder of deare Iuliets hand,
And steale immortall blessing from her lips,
Who euen in pure and vestall modestie
Still blush, as thinking their owne kisses sin.
This may flies doe, when I from this muft Aie,
And failt thou yet that exile is not death ?
But Romeo may not, hee is banished.
Flies may doe this, but I from this must flie:
They are freemen, but I am banished.
Hadst thou no poyfon mixt no sharp ground knife,
No sudden meane of death, though nere so meane,
But banished to kill me : banished ?
O frier, the damned vse that word in hell :
Howling attends it, how haft thou the heart
Being a diuine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin obsoluer, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word banished ?

Fri. Then fond mad man, here me a little speake.
Ro. O thou wilt speake againe of banishment.

Fri. Ile giue thee armour to keepe off that word,
Aduersities sweete milke, philosophie,
To comfort thee though thou art banished.

Ro. Yet banished ? hang vp philosophie,
Vnlesse philosophie can make a Iuliet,
Displant a towne, reuerse a princes doome,
It helpes not, it preuailes not, talke no more.

Fri. O then I fee, that mad men haue no cares.
Ro. How should they, when wise men haue no eyes.
Fri, Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Ro. Thou canst not speake of that thou dost not feele,
Wert thou as young as I, Iuliet thy loue,
An hour but married, Tibalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,


Then mightest thou speake,
Then mightest thou teare thy hayre,
And fall vpon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an vomade graue.

Enter * Nurse, and * knockes.

Fri. Arise one knocks, good Romeo hide thy selfe,

Ro. Not I, volesse the breath of hartsicke grones Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.

They knockc.

Fri. Harke how they knocke (whose there) Romeo arise, Thou wilt be taken, (stay a while) stand vp,

Slud knocke. †

Run to my study by and by f, Gods will
What simplenesse is this : I come, I come.


Who knocks so hard ? whence come you? whats your will ?

Enter Nurse.

Nur. Let me come in, and you mall know my errant: I come from lady luliet.

Fri. Welcome then.

Nur. O holy frier, O tell me holy frier,
Wheres my ladies lord, wheres Romeo,

Fri. There on the ground,
With his owne teares made drunke.

Nur. O he is euen in my mistresse case,
Iust in her case. O wofull simpathy:

Enter, and, omitted

t knock againe.

I (by and by)


Pitious predicament, euen so lies the,
Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring,


stand and you be a man, For Iuliets sake, for her fake rise and stand : Why should you fall into so deepe an 0:

Rom. Nurse.
Nur. Ah sir, ah Gr, deaths * the end of all.

Ro. Spakelt thou of Iulict? how is it t with her ?
Doth not she thinke me an old murtherer,
Now I haue staind the childhood I of our ioy,
With blood remoued, but little from her owne ?
Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayes
My conceald lady to our canceld love?

Nur. O she sayes nothing fir, but weeps and weeps,
And now fals on her bed, and then starts vp,
And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
And then downe falls againe.

Ro. As if that name fhot from the deadiy leuell of a gun,
Did murther her, as that names cursed hand
Murdred her kinsman. Oli tell me frier, tell me,
In what wile part of this anatomie
Doth my name lodge ? Tell me, that I may facke
The hatefull mansion.

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand :
Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art :
Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts deuote
The vnreasonable furie of a beast.
Vnseemely woman in a seeming man,
And ill beseeming beast in seeming both,
Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temperd.
Hast thou Naine Tybalt ? wilt thou say thy felfe ?
And Nay thy lady, that in thy life lies,

dearb is. + i. I childbead.


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By doing damned hate vpon thy felfe? Why rayleft thoa on thy birth? the heauen and earth ? Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three doe meet In thee at once, which thou at once wouldst loose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy loue, thy wit, Which like a vsurer aboundit in all : And vsest none in that true vse indeed, Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit : Thy noble shape, is but a forme of waxe, Disgressing from the valour of a man, Thy deare loue sworne but hollow periurie Killing that love which thou hast vowd to cherish, Thy wit, that ornament, to fhape and loue, Milhapen in the conduct of them both : Like powder in a skillesse fouldiers flaske, Is fet a fier by thine owne ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence. What rowse thee man, thy Juliet is alive, For whose deare sake thou wast but lately dead. There art thou happy, Tibalt would kill thee, But thou Newest Tibalt, there art thou happie. The law that threatned death becomes thy friend, And turne it to exile, there art thou happy. A packe of blessing light vpon thy backe, Happigesse courts thee in her best array, But like a mifbaued * and sullen wench, Thou puts vet thy fortune and thy loue: Take heede, take heede, for such die miserable. Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But looke thou stay not till the watch be fet, For then thou canst not passe to Mantua, Where thou Malt liue till wee can find a time


t pours upon.




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