Go before, nurse; commend me to thy Lady,
And bid her haften all the house to bed,
Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.

Nurfe. O Lord, I could have ftaid here all night long, To hear good counfel: oh, what learning is!

My Lord, I'll tell my Lady you will come.

Rom. Do fo, and bid my fweet prepare to chide. Nurfe. Here, Sir, a ring the bid me give you, Sir: Hie you, make hafte, for it grows very late.

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
Fri. Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he fhall fignifie from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewel, good-night!
Rom. But that a joy, paft joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief, fo brief to part with thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Capulet's House.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. Cap. Things have fall'n out, Sir, fo unluckily, [ter:

That we have had no time to move our daugh

Look you, fhe lov'd her kinfman Tybalt dearly, And fo did I-Well, we were born to die'Tis very late, he'll not come down to-night.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to wooe:
Madam, good-night, commend me to your daughter.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a 'feparate tender
Of my child's love: I think fhe will be rul'd
In all refpects by me, 'nay, I not doubt it.`
But foft; what day is this?

Par. Monday, my Lord.

1 defperate.

old edit. Warb. emend.

2 nay more, I doubt it not.

Cap.

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too foon,
On Thursday let it be: you fhall be marry'd.
We'll keep no great a-do-a friend or two-
For, hark you, Tybalt being flain fo late,
It may be thought we held him careleЛly,
Being our kinfman, if we revel much :

Therefore we'll have fome half a dozen friends,
And there's an end. But what fay you to Thurfday?
Par. My Lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
Cap. Well, get you gone on Thursday be it then :
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [To Lady Capulet.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.

Farewel, my Lord-light to my chamber, hoa!
Good-night.

[Exeunt.

Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window; a ladder of ropes fet.

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

It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,

That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear:

Nightly fhe fings on yond pomgranate tree :
Believe me, love, it was the Nightingale.
Rom. It was the Lark, the herald of the morn,
No Nightingale. Look, love, what envious ftreaks
Do lace the fevering 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 ftay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well:
It is fome meteor that the fun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;

Then stay a while, thou shalt not go so foon.

Rom.

Rom. Let me then stay, let me be ta'en and die;
If thou wilt have it fo, I am content.
I'll fay yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
I'll fay it is the Nightingale that beats
The vaulty heav'ns fo high above our heads,
And not the Lark, the meffenger of morn.
Come death, and welcome: Juliet wills it fo.
What fays my love? let's talk, it is not day.

ful. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away:
It is the lark that fings fo out of tune,
Straining harfh difcords, and unpleafing fharps.
Some fay the lark makes fweet divifion;
This doth not fo: for fhe divideth us.

Some fay, the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
O now I wot they have chang'd voices too.
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom. Farewel, my love: one kifs, and I'll defcend.
[Romeo defcends.

Nurfe. Your Lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about.

Jul. Art thou gone fo? love! Lord! ah husband! friend! I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' hour,

For in a minute there are many days.

O by this count I fhall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewel: I will omit no opportunity,

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Jul. Ó think't thou we fhall ever meet again?
Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes fhall ferve
For fweet difcourfes in our time to come.

Jul. (a) Alluding to the notion of the vulgar because the lark with a freet pipe bath little ugly eyes, and the toad large and fine eyes but a dijmal croaking voice.

Warburton.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining foul;
Methinks I fee thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eye-fight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Rom. And truft me, love, in mine eye fo do you: Dry Sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! [Exeunt.

Jul. what doft thou with him

H fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle:

That is renown'd for faith? be fickle, fortune: For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long, But fend him back.

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap. Ho, daughter, are you up?

4

Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my Lady mother? What unaccustom'd caufe 'provokes her hither? La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul. Madam, I'm not well.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your coufin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? Jul. Yet let me weep for fuch a feeling lofs.

[death, La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'ft not fo much for his

As that the villain lives which flaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, Madam?

La. Cap. 'That villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles afunder.

[Afide.

La. Cap. Content thee, girl. If I could find a man,

I foon would fend to Mantua where he is,
And give him fuch an unaccuftom'd dram
That he should foon keep Tybalt company.

4 procures

Jul.

5 That fame villain,

Jul. Find you the means, and I'll find fuch a man ; For while he lives, my heart fhall ne'er be light

'Till I behold him

dead

is

my poor heart,

Thus for a kinfman vext.

La. Cap. Well, let that pass.

I come to bring thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul. And joy comes well in fuch a needful time: What are they, I befeech your Ladyship?

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 expect'ft 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 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
Ere he that must be husband comes to wooe.
I pray you, tell my Lord and father, Madam,
I will not marry yet, and when I do,

It fhall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. Thefe are news indeed.

La. Cap. Here comes your father, tell him so your self, And fee how he will take it at your hands.

Enter Capulet and Nurse.

Cap. How now? a conduit, girl? what, ftill in tears? Evermore show'ring? in one little body

Thou counterfeit'ft a bark, a fea, a wind;
For ftill thy eyes, which I may call the fea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy "'body'
Sailing in this falt flood: the winds thy fighs,
Which raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a fudden calm, will overfet

6 body is

Thy