That you shall rest but little-God forgive me--
Marry, and amen!
How found is the asleep?

I must needs wake her : Madam, Madam, Madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed.

He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?
What! drefs'd, and in your cloaths-and down again
1 must needs wake you: Lady, Lady, Lady.
Alas! alas! help! help! my Lady's dead.
O well a-day that ever I was born?

Some aqua vita, ho! my Lord, my Lady!
Enter Lady Capulet.

La Cap. What noife is here? :
Nurfe. O lamentable day!

La. Cap. What's the matter?

Nurfe. Look,oh heavy day!

La. Cap. Oh me, oh me, my child, my only life! : Revive, look up, or I will die with thee;

Help, help! call help.

Enter Capulet.

Cap. For fhame, bring Juliet forth; her Lord is come Nurfe. She's dead, deceas'd, fhe's dead: alack the day!

Cap. Ha! let me fee her-Out, alas! fhe's cold; Her blood is fettled, and her joints are stiff:

Life and these lips have long been feparated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely froft
Upon the sweetelt flow'r of all the field...
Accurfed time! unfortunate old man!
Nurfe. O lamentable day!

La. Cap. O wotul time!

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me Ties up my tongue, and will not let me fpeak,

wail,

Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris, with musicians.

Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Gap, Ready to go, but never to return.

O fon, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath death lain, with thy wife: fee, there fhe lies,
Flower as fhe was, deflower'd now by him:
Death is my fon-in-law...

Par. Have I thought long to fee this morning's face, And doth it give me fuch a fight as this!

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day !: Moft milerable hour that Time e'er faw

In lafting labour of his pilgrimage!

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and folace in,

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my fight.
Nurje. O wo! oh woful, woful, woful day!
Molt lamentable day! moft woful day!
That ever, ever, I did yet behold.

Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was feen fo black a day as this:

Oh woful day, oh woful day!

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, fpighted, flain,. Moft deteftable Death, by thee beguil'd,

By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown:

O love, O life, not life, but love in death!

Cap. Defpis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd,.
Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now
To murther, murther our folemnity?

O child! O child! My foul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! dead; alack! my child is dead;
And with my child, my joys are buried.

Fri. Peace. ho, for flame! confufion's cure lives not

In these confufions; heaven and yourself

Had part in this fair maid; now beav'n hath all ́; .

And all the better is it for the maid.

Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But heav'n keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you ought, was her promotion;
For 'twas your heav'n, fhe fhould be advanc'd::
And weep you now, feeing fhe is advanc'd
Above the clouds, as high as heav'n itself?
Oh, in this love you love your child fo ill,
That you run mad, feeing that she is well.
She's not well married that lives married long;:
But she's belt married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corfe; and, as the custom is,
And in her beft array, bear her to church,
For tho' fome nature bids us all lament,

Yet nature's tears are reafon's merriment.

Cap. All things that we ordained feftival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our intruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding-chear to a fad funeral feaft;
Our folemn hymns to fullen dirges change,
Our bridal flow'rs ferve for a buried corfe;
And all things change them to the contrary.

Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris, every one prepare

To follow this fair corfe unto her grave,
The heav'ns do lower upon you for tome ill;
Move them no more, by crofling their high will.

[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar. SCENE VI. Manent Muficians and Nurse. Muf. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. Nurje, Honeft good fellows ah, put up, put up; For well you know this is a pitiful cafe. [Exit Nurse. Muf. Ay, by my troth, the cafe may be amended,

Enter Peter.

Pet. Muficians, oh musicians, heart's eafe, heart's ease: Ch, an' you will have me live, play heart's cafe. Muf. Why heart's cafe?

Pet. O muficians, because my heart itself plays, My heart itself is full of woe. O, play me fome merry dump to comfort me!

Maf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now,
Pet. You will not then?

Muf. No.

Pet. I will then give it you foundly.

Muf. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek: I will give you the minitrel.

Muf. Then will I give you the ferving creature. Pet. Then will I lay the ferving creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?

Muf. And you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Pet. Then have at you withiny wit: I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger :anfwer me like men:

When gripping grief the heart doth wound,

Then mufic with her filver found

Why, filver found? why, mufic with her filver found? What fay you, Simon Catling?

Muf. Marry, Sir, because filver hath a fweet found. Pet. Pretty! what fay you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Muf. I fay, filver found, becaufe muficians found for filver

Pet, Pretty too! what fay you, Samuel Soundboard? 3 Muf. Faith, I know not what to fay.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will Say for you. It is mufic with her filver found, because fuch fellows as you have no gold for founding. The mufic with her filver found

Doth lend redress.

[Exit finging.

Muf. What a peftilent knave is this fame?

2 Muf. Hang him, Jack; come we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

[Exeunt.

ACT

V.

SCENE L

Mantua.

Enter Romeo.

FI may trut the flattering ruth of fleep,
My dreams prefage fome joyful news at hand:
My bofom's Lord fits lightly on his throne,
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit

Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.
I dream'd, my Lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think),
And breath'd fuch life with kiffes in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me how fweet is love itself poflefs'd,
When but love's fhadows are to rich in joy?

Enter Balthafar.

News from Verona

-How now,

Balthafar?

Doft thou not bring me letters from the Friar?
How doth my Lady? is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? that I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if the be well,

Balth. Then fhe is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body fleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I faw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took poft to tell it you.
O pardon me for bringing thefe ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, Sir.

Rom. Is it even fo? then I defy you, ftars!
Thou know't my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire poft horfes. I will hence to-night.

Balth. Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus, Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some mifadventure.

Rom. Tufh, thou art deceiv'd;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do :
Haft thou no letters to me from the Friar?
Balth. No, my good Lord.

Rom. No matter: get thee gone,

And hire those horses; - I'll be with thee ftrait.

[Exit Balthafar. Well, Joliet, I will lie with thee to night; Let's fee for means-O Mischief! thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

I do remember an apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks;
Sharp Mifery had worn him to the bones:
• And in his needy fhop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other fkins
Of ill-fhap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes;

• Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
• Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rofes
• Were thinly scatter'd to make up a fhow.
Noting this penury, to myleitt faid,
An' if a man did need a poifon now,
W hofe fale is present death in Mantua,