Enter ROMEO.

Signior Romeo, bonjour, there's a French salutation for you.

Rom. Good-morrow to you both.

Mer. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. Rom. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip: can you not conceive ? Rom. Pardon, Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

I

Enter NURSE and PETER.

Ben. A sail! a sail!

Mer. Two, two, a shirt and smock.

Nurse. Peter!

Pet. Anon.

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

Mer. Do, good Peter, to hide her face. Nurse. Good ye good-morrow, gentlemen. Mer. Good ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse. Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where may find young Romeo? Rom. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of

a worse.

Nurse. You say well. If you be he, sir,

I desire some confidence with you.

Ben. She will indite him to supper presently.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd: So ho.
Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, sir, but a bawd.

Romeo, will

you

come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady.

[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO.

Nurse. I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was

this, that was so full of his roguery?

Rom. A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear him

self talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An' a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an' he were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills; and thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure! [TO PETER.

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion, in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me inquire you out. What she bid me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye shall lead her into fool's paradise, as they say; it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young, and therefore if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady and mistress, I protest unto thee

Nurse. Good heart, and i'faith I will tell her as much; lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman.

Rom. What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift This afternoon.

And there she shall, at Friar Lawrence' cell,
Be shriv'd and married; here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir, not a penny.

Rom. Go to, I say, you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir; well, she shall be there.

Rom. And stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee, And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, Which to the high top gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell, be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.

Nurse. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady: lord, lord, when 'twas a little prating thing-Oh, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him: I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady--[Exit ROMEO. Nurse. A thousand times. Peter!

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send the
Nurse,

In half an hour she promis'd to return.

Perchance she cannot meet him-That's not so-
Oh, she is lame; love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun-beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.
Therefore do nimble pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill

Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve

Is three long hours-and yet she is not come;
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;

My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me.

Enter NURSE.

O Heav'n! here she comes. O honey Nurse, what

news?

Hast thou met with him?

Nurse. I am a-weary, give me leave awhile:
Fie, how my bones ache, what a jaunt have I had!
Jul. Nay, come, I pray thee speak-Good, good
Nurse, speak.

Is thy news good or bad? answer to that,
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad:

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice: you know not how to chuse a man:- -What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no-but all this did I know before:. What says he of our marriage? what of that?

Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head. have I!

back:

It beats, as it would fall in twenty pieces;
My back o't'other side-Q my back, my
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death, with jaunting up and down.
Jul. I'faith, I'm sorry that thou art so ill;
Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love.
Nurse, Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And I warrant a virtuous-where is your mother?
Jul. Where is my mother? why, she is within,
Where should she be? how oddly thou repliest?
"Your love says, like an honest gentleman:
"Where is your mother?-

Nurse. Oh, our lady dear!

Are you so hot? marry, come up! I trow.
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.

Jul. Here's a coil; come, what says Romeo? Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? Jul. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence, to Friar Lawrence' cell, There stays a husband, to make you a wife. Hie you to church, I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark. Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell.

Jul. Hie to high fortune: honest Nurse, farewell.

[Exeunt,

SCENE VI.

The Monastery.

Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and ROMEO.

Fri. So smile the heav'ns upon this holy act, That after hours of sorrow chide us not!

Rom. Amen, amen; but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail th' exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die: like fire and powder;
Which, as they meet, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in its own deliciousness,

And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore love moderately.
[Exit ROMEO.
Here comes the lady. Oh so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint
A lover may bestride the gossamer