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Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,

It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not

feel:

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,

An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,

Doting like me, and like me banished,

Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear

thy hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[Knocking within.

Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy[Knocking.

self.

Hark, how they knock!-Who's there?-Romeo,

arise;

Thou wilt be taken.-Stay awhile!-Stand up;
Run to my study.-By-and-by.-God's will!
What simpleness is this!-I come, I come.

[Knocking.

Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's

your will?

Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall

know my errand;

I come from Lady Juliet.

Fri.

Welcome then.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,

Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo?

Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears

made drunk.

Nurse. O! he is even in my mistress' case,

Just in her case! Even so lies she.

Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand.

Rom. Nurse!

Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir!-Well death's the end of

all.

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Now I have stained the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My concealed lady to our cancelled love?

Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and

weeps;

And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.

Rom.

As if that name,

Shot from the deadly level of a gun,

Did murder her, as that name's cursed hand
Murdered her kinsman.-O, tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.

Fri.

[Drawing his sword.

Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art :
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:

Thou hast amazed me by my holy order,

I thought thy disposition better tempered.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives?
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence, and comfort her:
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,

Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.—

Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady,

And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto :

Romeo is coming.

Nurse. O Lord! I could have stayed here all the

night

To hear good counsel: O, what learning is !—

My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir. Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit. Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this! Fri. Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:

Either be gone before the watch be set,

Or by the break of day disguised from hence :
Sojourn in Mantua: I'll find out your man,

And he shall signify from time to time

Every good hap to you that chances here.

Give me thy hand; 't is late: farewell; good night.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,

It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
Farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 3.-A Room in CAPULET'S House. Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, and PARIS. Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter. Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I.-Well, we were born to die.'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo.Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to

morrow;

To-night she's mewed up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;

Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But, soft: what day is this?

Par.

Monday, my lord.

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too

soon;

O' Thursday let it be :-o' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl.

Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado;—a friend or two ;—
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
would that Thursday were to-

Par. My lord, I

morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone :-o' Thursday be it

then.

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,

Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.—

Farewell, my lord.-Good night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 3.-JULIET'S Chamber.

ROMEO and JULIET discovered.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops:

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Jul. Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua :

Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'T is but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go:
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.—
How is 't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
O, now be gone: more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light: more dark and dark
our woes!

Nurse. Madam!

Jul. Nurse?

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your

chamber:

The day is broke; be wary, look about.

[Exit.

Jul. Then window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

[Descends.

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