I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
Jul. I met the youthful lord at Lawrence' cell,
And gave him what becoming love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
Cap. Why, I'm glad on't; this is well;
Now, afore Heav'n this reverend holy Friar-
All our whole city is much bound to him.
Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments

As

you

think fit to furnish me to-morrow. Lady C. No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.

Cap. Go, Nurse, go with her; we'll to church to[Exeunt JULIET and NURSE.

morrow.

Lady C. We shall be short in our provision;

'Tis now near night.

Cap. Tush, all things shall be well:

Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up

her;

I'll not to bed, but walk myself to Paris,

T'appoint him 'gainst to-morrow. My heart's light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

JULIET'S Chamber.

Enter JULIET and NURSE.

Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle Nurse, I pray thee leave me to myself to night;

For I have need of many orisons,

To move the Heav'ns to smile upon my state,
Which well thou know'st is cross, and full of sin.

Enter LADY CAPULET.

Lady C. What, are you busy? do you need my help?

Jul. No, madam, we have cull'd such necessa ries

As are behoveful for our state to-morrow;
So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the Nurse this night sit up with you;
For I am sure you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

Lady C. Then good night:

Get thee to bed, and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt LADY CAPULET and NURSE. Jul. Farewell-Heav'n knows when we shall meet

again!

I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the heat of life.
I'll call them back again, to comfort me.
Nurse-yet what should they do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone :

[Takes out a Phial.
Come, phial-What if this mixture do not act at all?
Shall I of force be married to the Count?
No, no, this shall forbid it; lie thou there—

[Pointing to a Dagger. What if it be a poison, which the Friar Subtly hath minister'd, to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is; and yet methinks it should not, For he hath still been tried an holy manHow, if when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo

Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth no wholesome air breathes in?
And there be strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;

G

Where bloody Tibalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festring in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort-
Oh! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tibalt from his shroud?
And in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desp'rate brains?
Oh, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost,
Seeking out Romeo-Stay, Tibalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[Drinks, and throws herself on the Bed.

SCENE IV.

A Hall.

Enter LADY CAPULET and NURSE.

Lady C. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, Nurse.

Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

Enter CAPULET.

Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir; the second cock hath crow'd,

The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:

Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica,

Spare not for cost.

Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go:

Get you to bed; faith you'll be sick to-morrow,

For this night's watching.

[Exit.

Cap. No, not a whit? what, I have watch'd ere

now

All night for a less cause, and ne'er been sick.
The County will be here with music straight,

For so he said he would.—
Nurse,

wife,

-I hear him near,

what ho? what, Nurse, I say?

Enter NURSE.

Go waken Juliet, go, and trim her up.
I'll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste:
Make haste, I say.

SCENE V.

[Music plays.

JULIET'S Chamber.

Enter NURSE.

Nurse. Mistress, what mistress! Juliet-
I warrant her:

[Exeunt.

Enter LADY CAPULET.

Lady C. What noise is here?
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Lady C. What is the matter?
Nurse. Look,-oh, heavy day!
Lady C. Oh me, my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! call help.

Fast,

Why, lamb-why, lady,-Fie, you slug-a-bedWhy, love, I say-Madam, sweetheart-why, brideWhat, not a word!

What, dress'd, and in your clothes-and down again!
I must needs wake you: Lady, lady, lady,—
Alas, alas! help! help! my lady's dead!
O well-a-day, that ever I was born!
Ho! my lord, my lady!

Enter CAPULET.

Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is

come.

Nurse. She's dead: she's dead! alack the day! Cap. Ha! let me see her-Out, alas ! she's cold, Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Accursed time! unfortunate old man!

Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and PARIS.

Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
O son, the night before thy wedding-day
Death has embrac'd thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, nipp'd in the bud by him!
Oh, Juliet, oh, my child, my child!

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's

face,

And doth it give me such a sight as this?

Cap. Most miserable hour, that time ere saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child;
But one thing to enjoy and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.

Fri. Your daughter lives in peace and happiness;
Heav'n and yourself had part in this fair maid,
Now, Heav'n hath all-dry up your fruitless tears:
Come, stick your rosemary on this fair corse;
And, as the custom of our country is,
Convey her where her ancestors lie tomb'd.
Cap. All things, that we ordain'd to festival,

Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments, to melancholy bells;