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Enter Capulet and 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? Evermore 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?
deliver'd to her our decree? La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives
I would, the fool were married to her grave!
Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that
Proud can I never be of what I hate;
is this? Proud,and, I thank you,-and, I thank you not;
And yet not proud;-Mistress minion, you,
Fie, fie! what are you mad?
God in heaven bless her!
Nurse. I speak no treason.
O, God ye good den!
Peace, you mumbling fool!
You are too hot
Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day,
night, late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her match’d: and having now provided A gentleman of princely parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd (as they say,) with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man,And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer—I'll not wed,- I cannot love, I am too young, -I pray you, pardon me;But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will, you shall not house with
me; Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit.
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? (), sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a
word; Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Erit.
Jul. O God!-0 nurse! how shall this be pre
'Faith, here 'tis: Romeo
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?
From my soul too;
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,