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Ro. Father what newes? what is the princes doome ?
Fri, Too familiar
Ro. What leffe then doomesday is the princes doome?
Fri. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips,
Ro. Ha, banishment ? be mercifull, fay death :
Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:
Ro. There is no world without Verona walles,
Fri. O deadly fin, O rude vnthankefulnesse,
Ro. Tis torture and not mercy, heauen is here
On the white wonder of deare Iuliets hand,
Fri. Then fond mad man, here me a little speake.
Fri. Ile giue thee armour to keepe off that word,
Ro. Yet banished ? hang vp philosophie,
Fri. O then I fee, that mad men haue no cares.
Ro. Thou canst not speake of that thou dost not feele,
Then mightest thou speake,
Enter * Nurse, and * knockes.
Fri. Arise one knocks, good Romeo hide thy selfe,
Ro. Not I, volesse the breath of hartsicke grones Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
Fri. Harke how they knocke (whose there) Romeo arise, Thou wilt be taken, (stay a while) stand vp,
Slud knocke. †
Run to my study by and by f, Gods will
Who knocks so hard ? whence come you? whats your will ?
Nur. Let me come in, and you mall know my errant: I come from lady luliet.
Fri. Welcome then.
Nur. O holy frier, O tell me holy frier,
Fri. There on the ground,
Nur. O he is euen in my mistresse case,
Enter, and, omitted
t knock againe.
I (by and by)
Pitious predicament, euen so lies the,
stand and you be a man, For Iuliets sake, for her fake rise and stand : Why should you fall into so deepe an 0:
Ro. Spakelt thou of Iulict? how is it t with her ?
Nur. O she sayes nothing fir, but weeps and weeps,
Ro. As if that name fhot from the deadiy leuell of a gun,
Fri. Hold thy desperate hand :
dearb is. + i. I childbead.
By doing damned hate vpon thy felfe? Why rayleft thoa on thy birth? the heauen and earth ? Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three doe meet In thee at once, which thou at once wouldst loose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy loue, thy wit, Which like a vsurer aboundit in all : And vsest none in that true vse indeed, Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit : Thy noble shape, is but a forme of waxe, Disgressing from the valour of a man, Thy deare loue sworne but hollow periurie Killing that love which thou hast vowd to cherith, Thy wit, that ornament, to fhape and loue, Milhapen in the conduct of them both : Like powder in a skillesse fouldiers flaske, Is fet a fier by thine owne ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence. What rowse thee man, thy Juliet is alive, For whose deare fake thou wast but lately dead. There art thou happy, Tibalt would kill thee, But thou Newest Tibalt, there art thou happie. The law that threatned death becomes thy friend, And turne it to exile, there art thou happy. A packe of blessing light vpon thy backe, Happinesse courts thee in her best array, But like a mifbaued * and sullen wench, Thou puts vet thy fortune and thy loue: Take heede, take heede, for such die miserable. Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But looke thou stay not till the watch be fet, For then thou canst not passe to Mantua, Where thou Malt liue till wee can find a time
t pours upon.