Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she 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 she not proud? doth she not count her bless'd, Unworthy as she 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-logick! What

is this?

Proud, and, I thank you,-and, I thank you not;-
And yet not proud;-Mistress minion, you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
go with Paris to Saint Peter's church,

To

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow face!

La. Cap.

Fye, fye! what are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word.

Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient 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 scarce thought us bless'd,
That God had sent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding!

VOL. IX.

H

Nurse.

God in heaven bless her!-

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

Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse. I speak no treason.

Cap.

Nurse. May not one speak?

Cap.

O, God ye good den!

Peace, you mumbling fool!

You are too hot.

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,

For here we need it not.

La. Cap.

Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, late, early,

At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her match'd: and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,

Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd (as they say,) with honourable parts
Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man,-
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer-I'll not wed,—I cannot love,
I am too young,-I pray you, pardon me ;-
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit.
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast 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 speak a word;

Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. Jul. O God!-O nurse! how shall this be pre

vented?

My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth?-comfort me, counsel me.-
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!—

What say'st thou hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.

Nurse.

'Faith, here 'tis: Romeo

Is banished; and 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, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.'
O, he's a lovely gentleman!

Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?

1 I think it best you married with the county.] The character of the Nurse exhibits a just picture of those whose actions have no principles for their foundation. She has been unfaithful to the trust reposed in her by Capulet, and is ready to embrace any expedient that offers, to avert the consequences of her first infi. delity. STEEVENS.

Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,

Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

[Exit. Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin-to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath prais'd him with above compare So many thousand times?-Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.I'll to the friar, to know his remedy;

If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS.

Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste.*

Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind; Uneven is the course, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,

2 And I am nothing slow, &c.] His haste shall not be abated by my slowness.

And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous,
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society:

Now do you know the reason of this haste.
Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.

[Aside. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

Enter JULIET.

Par. Happily met,

Jul. That may be,
Par. That may be,

next.

my lady, and my wife!
sir, when I may be a wife.
must be, love, on Thursday

Jul. What must be shall be.

Fri.

That's a certain text, Par. Come you to make confession 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 you, I am sure, that you love me. Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with

tears.

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough, before their spite.

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

Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth;

And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.