That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, fhe lov'd her kiniman Tybalt dearly,
And fo did I.-Well, we were born to die.
'Tis very late, the'll not come down to-night.
1 promife you, but for your company,

I would have been a bed an hour ago.

Par. Thefe times of woe afford no time to wooe. Madam, gcod night; commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow. To-night the 's mew'd up to her heavinefs.

Gap. Sir Paris, I will make separate tender
Of my child's love. I think he will be rul'd
In all refpects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;

Acquaint her here with my fon Paris' love,

And bid her, mark you me, on Wednelday next,----But, foft; what day is this?

Par. Monday, my Lord.

Cap Monday? Ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too On Thurfday let it be: o' Thurfday, tell her, [foon, She fhall be married to this Noble Earl.

Will you be ready? Do you like this hafte?
We'll keep no great a-do-a friend or two
For, hark you, Tybalt being flain to late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
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 ? hursday? Par. My Lord, I would that Thursday were to mor

row.

Cap. Well, get you gone-on Thursday be it then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed. [To Lady Cap.

Prepare her, wife, againit this wedding-day.

Farewel, my Lord Light to my chamber, hoa! 'Fore me, it is fo very late, that we

May call it early by and by. Good night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Juliet's chamber locking to the garden. 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 the fings on yon 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 mountains' tops.

'I must be gone; and live; or flay, and die.

Jul. • Yon light is not day-light, I know it well:: • It is some meteor that the fun exhales,

To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua ;

Then itay a while, thou shalt not go fo foon. Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; ་ I am content, if thou wilt have it fo.

I'll fay, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whofe notes do beat.
The vaulty heav'ns fo high above our heads.
I have more care to ftay, than will to go.
Come, death, and welcome: Juliet wills it fo.
How is't, my foul? let's talk, it is not day.'
Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away:
It is the lark that fings fo out of tune,
Straining harsh difcords, and unpleafing fharps.
Some fay, the lark makes fweet division;
This doth not fo: for fhe divideth us.

Some fay, the lark and lothed toad change eyes;
O, now I wot they have chang'd voices too* !
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light? More dark and dark <

Nurfe. Your Lady-mother's coming to your chamber:

Alluding to the notion of the vulgar; becaufe the lark, with a fweet pipe, hath little uggly eyes; and the toad large and fine cyes, but.. a difmal croaking voice.

The day is broke, be wary, look about. [Exit Nurfe..
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
Rom. Farewel, farewel; one kifs, and I'll defcend.
[Romeo defcends.
Jul. Art thou gone fo? love! lord! ah hufband !

I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' hour,
For in a minute there are many days.

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

[friend ! :

Rom. Farewel: I will on it no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Jul. O think't thou we fhall ever meet again?
Rom. I doubt it not; and all thefe woes fhall ferve
For fweet difcourfes, in our time to come.

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 trust me, love, in mine eye to do you:-
Dry Sorrow drinks our blood, Adieu, adieu.

SCEN E VIII.

[Exit Romeo...

Jul. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle :
If thou art fickle, what doft thou with him

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

Enter Lady Capulet.

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

*

Jul. Who is t that calls? is it niy Lady-mother ?
What unaccustom'd caule procures her hither?
La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul. Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your coufin'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 fhews much of love; But much of grief fhews ftill fome want of wit. Jul. Yet let me weep for fuch a feeling lofs.

*procures, for brings.

La. Cup, So fhall you feel the lofs, but not the friend Which you do weep for.

Jul. Feeling fo the lofs,

I cannot chufe but ever weep the friend.

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep't not fo much for his As that the villain lives which flanghter'd him. [death, Jul. What villain, Madam?

La. Cap. That fame villain, Romeo,

Jul. Villain and he are many miles afunder. [Afide. 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 lives.

Jul. I, Madam, from the reach of these my hands:Would none but I might 'venge my coufin's death! La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll fend to one in Mantua, Where that fame banith'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom`d dram, That he thall foon keep Tybalt company, And then I hope thou wilt be fatisfied. Jul. Indeed I never fhall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him—deadIs my poor heart fo for a kinsman vex'd ? Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poifon, I would temper it ; That Romeo fhould, upon receipt thereof, Soon fleep in quiet-O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd-and cannot come to himTo wreak the love I bore my flaughter'd coufin, Upon his body that hath flaughter'd him.

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

[man:

Jul. And joy comes well in fuch a needful time.

What are they, I beseech your Ladyfhip?

La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child : One who, to put thee from thy heavinefs,

Hath forted out a fudden day of joy,

That thou expect'ft not, nor 1 look'd not for.

Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is this?

La. Cap Marry, my child, early next Thuriday 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 fhall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this hate, 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.-These are news indeed!

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

Enter Capulet, and Nurfe.

Cap. When the fun fets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the funfet of my brother's fon

It rains downright.

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

Thou counterfeit'it 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 is,
Sailing in this falt flood: the winds thy fighs,
Which, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a fudden calm, will overfet

Thy tempeft-toffed body-How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

Sa. Cap. Ay, Sir; but fhe will none, the gives you
I would the fool were married to her grave! [thanks:
Gap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife..
How, will fhe none? doth the not give us thanks,?
Is the not proud, doth fhe not count her blefs'd,
Unworthy as the 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 logic? what is Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not! [this? And yet not proud!--Why, mistress Minion, you, 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: