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Fr. Stay Juliet, I doo spie a kinde of hope,
Which craues as desperate an execution,

As that is desperate we would preuent.
If rather than to marrie countie Paris

Thou haft the strength or will to flay thy felfe,
Tis not vnlike that thou wilt vndertake.
A thing like death to chyde away this shame,
That coapft with death itselfe to flye from blame.
And if thou dooft, Ile giue thee remedie.

Jul. Oh bid me leape (rather than marrie Paris)
From off the battlements of yonder tower:
Or chaine me to fome steepie mountaines top,
Where roaring beares and fauage lions are:
Or fhut me nightly in a charnell-house,

With reekie shankes, and yeolow chaples fculls :
Or lay me in tombe with one new dead :

Things that to heare them namde haue made me tremble;

And I will doo it without feare or doubt,

To keep my felfe a faithfull vnftaind wife
To my deere lord, my deereft Romeo.

Fr. Hold Iuliet, hie thee home, get thee to bed,
Let not thy nurse lye with thee in thy chamber:
And when thou art alone, take thou this violl,
And this distilled liquor drinke thou off:
When presently through all thy veynes shall run
A dull and heauie flumber, which shall seaze
Each vitall spirit: for no pulfe fhall keepe
His naturall progresse, but furcease to beate:
No figne of breath fhall teftifie thou liuft.
And in this borrowed likenes of fhrunke death,
Thou shalt remaine full two and fortie houres.
And when thou art laid in thy kindreds vault,

Ile fend in haft to Mantua to thy lord,

And he shall come and take thee from thy graue,

Iul. Frier I goe, be fure thou fend for my deare Romeo.


Enter olde Capolet, his wife, Nurse, and feruingman. Capo. Where are you firra?

Ser. Heere forfooth.

Capo. Goe, prouide me twentie cunning cookes.

Ser. I warrant you fir, let me alone for that, Ile knowe them by licking their fingers.

Capo. How canft thou know them fo?

Ser. Ah fir, tis an ill cooke cannot licke his owne fingers. Capo. Well get you gone.

Exit feruingman.

But wheres this head-strong ?

Moth. Shees gone (my lord) to frier Laurence cell

To be confeft.

Capo. Ah, he may hap to doo fome good of her, A headstrong felfewild harlotrie it is.

Enter Iuliet.

Moth. See here fhe commeth from confeffion,

Capo. How now my head-ftrong, where haue you bin gadding?

Iul. Where I haue learned to repent the fin

Of froward wilfull oppofition

Gainft you and your behefts, and am enioynd
By holy Laurence to fall proftrate here,
And craue remission of so foule a fact.

She kneeles downe.

Moth. Why thats well faid.

Capo. Now before God this holy reuerent frier


All our whole citie is much bound vnto.
Goe tell the countie presently of this,

For I will haue this knot knit vp to morrow.

Jul. Nurse, will you go with me to my closet,
To fort fuch things as shall be requifite
Against to morrrow,

Moth. I pree thee do, good nurse goe in with her,
Helpe her to fort tyres, rebatoes, chaines,

And I will come vnto you presently,

Nur. Come fweet hart, fhall we goe:

Iul. I pree thee let vs.

Exeunt Nurfe and Iuliet.

Moth. Me thinks on Thursday would be time enough.
Capo. I fay I will haue this dispatcht to morrow,
Goe one and certefie the count thereof.

Moth. I pray my lord, let it be Thursday.
Capo. I fay to morrow while fhees in the mood,
Moth. We fhall be short in our prouifion.
Capo. Let me alone for that, goe get you in,
Now before God, my heart is paffing light,
To see her thus conformed to our will.

Enter Nurse, Iuliet,

Nur. Come, come, what need you anie thing else?
Iul. Nothing good nurse, but leaue me to my felfe:

For I doo meane to lye alone to night.


Nur. Well theres a cleane fmocke vnder your pillow, and

fo good night.

Enter Mother.

Moth. What are you bufie, doo you need my helpe?

Iul. No madame, I defire to lye alone,

For 1 haue manie things to thinke vpon.



Moth. Well then good night, be stirring Juliet, The countie will be earlie here to morrow.


Iul. Farewell, God knowes when wee fhall meete againe.

Ah, I doo take a fearfull thing in hand.

What if this potion fhould not worke at all,

Muft I of force be married to the countie?
This fhall forbid it. Knife, lye thou there.
What if the frier fhould giue me this drinke
To poyfon mee, for feare I fhould difclofe
Our former marriage? Ah, I wrong him much,
He is a holy and religious man:

I will not entertaine fo bad a thought.
What if I should be ftifled in the toomb?
Awake an houre before the appointed time:
Ah then I feare I shall be lunaticke :
And playing with my dead forefathers bones,
Dash out my franticke braines. Me thinkes I fee
My cofin Tybalt weltring in his bloud,
Seeking for Romeo: stay Tybalt stay.

Romeo I come, this doe I drinke to thee.

She fals upon her bed within the curtaines.

Enter Nurfe with hearbs, Mother.

Moth. Thats well faid nurse, fet all in redines, The countie will be heere immediatly.

Enter Oldeman.

Cap. Make haft, make hast, for it is almost day, The curfewe bell hath rung, t'is foure a clocke,

Looke to your bakt meates good Angelica.

Nur. Goe get you to bed you cotqueane. I faith you will be ficke anone.


Cap. I warrant thee nurse I haue ere now watcht all night, and haue taken no harme at all.

Moth. I you haue beene a mouse hunt in your time.

Enter Seruingman with logs and coales.

Cap. A ielous hood, ielous hood: How now firra?

What haue you there?

Ser. Forfooth logs.

Cap. Goe, goe choose dryer. Will will tell thee where thou fhalt fetch them.

Ser. Nay I warrant let me alone, I haue a heade I troe to choose a log.


Cap. Well goe thy way, thou shalt be logger head. Come, come, make haft call vp your daughter, The countie will be heere with muficke ftraight. Gods me hees come, nurfe call vp my daughter. Nur. Goe, get you gone. What lambe, what lady birde ? faft I warrant. What Iuliet ? well, let the county take you in your bed: yee sleepe for a weeke now, but the next night, the countie Paris hath set vp his reft that you fhal rest but little. What lambe I fay, faft ftill: what lady, loue, what bride, what luliet? Gods me how found fhe fleeps? Nay then I fee I must wake you indeed. Whats heere, laide on your bed, dreft in your cloathes and down, ah me, alack the day, fome aqua vitæ hoe.

Enter Mother.

Moth. How now whats the matter?

Nur. Alack the day, fhees dead, fhees dead, fhees dead. Moth. Accurft, vnhappy, miferable time.

Enter Oldeman.

Cap. Come, come, make haft, wheres my daughter?
Moth. Ah fhees dead, fhees dead.


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