Is my poor Heart, fo for a Kinfman vext:
Madam, if you could find out but a Man
To bear a Poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon fleep in quiet. O how my Heart abhors
To hear him nam'd, and cannot come to him,
To wreak the love I bore my Coufin Tybalt,
Upon his Body that hath flaughter'd him.

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find fuch a Man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, Girl.

Jul. And Joy comes well in fuch a needy time. What are they, I beseech your Ladyfhip?

La. Cap, Well, well, thou haft a careful Father, Child; One, who to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath forted out a fudden day of Joy,

That thou expects not, nor I look'd not for.

Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is this? La. Cap. Marry, my Child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young, and noble Gentleman,

The County of Paris, at St. Peter's Church,

Shall happily make thee a joyful Bride.

Jul. Now by St. Peter's Church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful Bride.
I wonder at this hafte, that I muft wed
E'er he that should be Husband comes to woe.
I pray you tell my Lord and Father, Madam,
I will not marry yet, and when I do, I fwear
It fhall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. Thefe are News indeed.

La. Cap. Here comes your Father, tell him fo your felf, And fee how he will take it at your hands.

Enter Capulet and Nurfe.

Cap. When the Sun fets, the Earth doth drizzle Dew; But for the Sunfet of my Brother's Son,

It rains down-right.

How now? a Conduit, Girl? what, ftill in tears?
Evermore show'ring in one little Body?
Thy Counterfeit's a Bark, a Sea, a Wind;
For ftill thy Eyes, which I may call the Sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears, the Bark thy Body
Sailing in this falt Flood, the Winds thy Sighs,

Who

Who raging with the Tears, and they with them,
Without a fudden Calm will over-fet
Thy tempeft-toffed Body. How now, Wife?
Have you delivered to her our Decree?
La. Cap. Ay, Sir;

But the will none, the 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 the none? doth the not give us thanks? Is the not proud? doth fhe not count her bleft, Unworthy as the is, that we have wrought So worthy a Gentleman to be her Bridegroom? Jul. Not proud, you have; But thankful, that Proud can I never be of what I hate, But thankful even for Hate, that is meant Love. Cap. How now?

you have.

How now? chopt Logick? what is this?
Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not!
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine Joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church:
Or I will drag thee on a Hurdle thither.
Out you Green-fickness Carrion, out you Baggage,
Out you Tallow-face.

La. Cap. Fie, fie, what are you mad?

Jul. Good Father, I befeech you on my Knees, Hear me with patience, but to speak a word.

Cap. Hang thee, young Baggage, difobedient Wretch, I tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thursday, Or never after look me in the Face.

Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.

My Fingers itch, Wife: we fcarce thought us bleft,
That God had lent us but this only Child,

But now I fee this one is one too much,
And that we have a Curfe in having her;
Out on her, Hilding.

Nur. God in Heav'n blefs her,

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

Cap. And why, my Lady Wifdom? hold your tongue,

Good Prudence, fmatter with your Goffip, go.

Nur. I fpeak no Treafon,

O God-ye-good-den

May not one fpeak?

Cap. Peace you mumbling Fool,

Utter your Gravity o'er a Goffip's Bowl,
For here we need it not.

La. Cap. You are too hot.

Cap. God's Bread, it makes me mad :
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
Alone, in company, ftill my care hath been
To have her match'd, and having now provided
A Gentleman of Noble Parentage,

Of fair Demeans, Youthful, and nobly Allied,
Stuff'd, as they fay, with honourable Parts,
Proportion'd as ones thought would wish a Man:
And then to have a wretched puling Fool,
A whining Mammet, in her Fortunes tender,
To answer I'll not wed, I cannot Love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.
But, and you will not wed, I'll pardon you-
Graze where you will, you fhall not Houfe with me:
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jeft.
Thursday is near, lay Hand on Heart, advise;
And you be mine, I'll give you to my Friend:
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the Streets,
For, by my Soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine, fhall never do thee good:
Truft to't, bethink you, I'll not be forfworn.
Jul. Is there no pity fitting in the Clouds,
That fees into the bottom of my Grief?
O fweet my Mother, caft 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 lyes.

La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
Jul. O God!

O Nurfe, how fhall this be prevented?
My Husband is on Earth, my Faith in Heav'n,
How fhall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unlefs that Husband fend it me from Heav'n,

[Exit.

[Exit.

By

By leaving Earth? Comfort me, counfel me,
Alack, alack, that Heav'n fhould practise Stratagems
Upon fo foft a Subject as my self.

What fay't thou? haft thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, Nurfe.

Nur. Faith here it is:

Romeo is banish'd, 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 fince the cafe fo ftands as now it doth,
I think it beft you married with the Count.
Oh he's a lovely Gentleman;

Romeo's a Dish-clout to him; an Eagle, Madam,
Hath not fo green, so quick, so fair an Eye
As Paris hath: befhrew my very Heart,
I think you are happy in this fecond Match,
For it excels your firft: Or if it did not,
Your first is dead, or 'twere as good he were,
As living here, and you no ufe of him.
Jul. Speakeft thou from thy Heart?
Nur. And from my Soul too,

Or elfe befhrew them both.

Jul. Amen.

Nur. What ?

Jul. Well, thou haft comforted me marvellous much; Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone,

Having difpleas'd my Father, to Lawrence Cell,
To make Confeffion, and to be Abfolved.

Nur. Marry I will, and this is wifely done.
Jul. Ancient Damnation! O moft wicked Fiend!

Is it more Sin to wish me thus forfworn,
Or to difpraise my Lord with that fame Tongue
Which he hath prais'd him with above compare,
So many thousand times? Go, Counsellor,
Thou and my bofom henceforth fhall be twain:
I'll to the Friar to know his remedy.

If all elle fail, my felf have power to die.

[Exit.

[Exeunt.

ACT

Fri.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

SCENE the Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

N Thursday, Sir! the time is very short.
Par. My Father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing flow to flack his hafte.
Fri. You fay you do not know the Lady's mind:
Uneven is the courfe, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately fhe weeps for Tybalt's Death,
And therefore have I little talk of Love,
For Venus fmiles not in a Houfe of Tears:
Now, Sir, her Father counts it dangerous
That the fhould give her Sorrow fo much fway;
And, in his Wifdom, haftes our Marriage,
To ftop the Inundation of her Tears,
Which too much minded by her felf alone,
May be put from her by Society.

Now do you know the reason of this hafte?

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be flow'd. Look, Sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell. Enter Juliet.

Par. Happily met, my Lady and my Wife.

Jul. That may be,

Par. That may be,

Sir, when I may be a Wife.

muft be, Love, on Thursday next.

ful. What must be, shall be.

Fri. That's a certain Text.

Par. Come you to make Confeffion to this Father?
Jul. To anfwer that, I fhould confefs to you.
Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me.
Jul. I will confefs to you that I love him.
Par. So will ye, I am fure, that you love me.
Jul. If I do fo, 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 fmall Victory by that:

For it was bad enough before their spight.

Par. Thou wrong'ft it, more than Tears, with that report.