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.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division ;9
This doth not so, for she divideth us :
Some
say,

the lark and loathed toad change eyes ;
0, now I would they had chang’d voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up' to the day.
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.

Rom. More light and light ?-more dark and dark

our woes.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Madam!
Jul. Nurse ?
Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your cham-

ber:

The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit Nurse.

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

[Romeo descends. Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my

friend!
I must hear from thee every day i'the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

9 Division was the technical phrase for musical composition. 1 A tune played to wake hunters, also a morning song to a

woman the day after marriage.

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul :
Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do

you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu ! adieu !

[Exit ROMEO Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

La. Cap. [1Vithin ] Ho, daughter! are you up?

Jul. Who is't that calls ? is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early ?
What unaccustom'd cause procures? her hither?

Enter Lady CAPULET.
La Cap. Why, how now, Juliet?
Jul.

Madam, I am not well. La.Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him live; Therefore, have done : Some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

2 Brings.

La Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep

for. Jul.

Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for

his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

Jul. What villain, madam?
La. Cap.

That same villain, Romeo,
Jul. Villain. and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.

La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives. Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these

my

hands. 'Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death! La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou

not:
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company :
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd :-
Madam, if

you

could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet.--0, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam'd, -and cannot come to him, -
To wreak the love I bore

my

cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a

man.

1

Bat now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time:
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father,

child ;
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect’st not, nor I look’d not for.

Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday

morn,
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste; that I must wed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,
It shall be Romeo, whom

you

know I hate,
Rather than Paris :-These are news indeed !
La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so

yourself.
And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET und Nurse.
Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;
But for the sunset of my brother's son,
It rains downright.-

How now ? a conduit, girl ? what, still in tears ?
Ever more showering? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind:
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
Who,-raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body.--How now, wife?
Have you delivered 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, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow face !