To blaze your marriage reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of thy prince and call thee backe,
With twenty hundred thousand times more ioy
Then thou wentst forth in lamentation.
Goe before nurfe, commend me to thy lady,
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heauy forrow makes them apt vnto,
Romeo is comming.
Nur. O Lord, I could haue staid here all the night,
To heare good counfell, oh what learning is :
My lord, Ile tell my lady you will come.
Ro. Do fo, and bid my fweete prepare to chide.
Nur. Here fir, a ring fhe bid me giue you fir:
Hie you, make haste, for it growes very late.
Ro. How well my comfort is reuiu'd by this.
Fri. Go hence, goodnight, and here ftands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be fet,
Or by the breake of day disguisd from hence,
Soiourne in Mantua, Ile find out your man,
And he shall fignifie from time to time,
Euery good hap to you, that chaunces here:
Giue me thy hand, tis late, farewell, goodnight.
Ro. But that a ioy past ioy calls out on me,
It were a griefe, fo briefe to part with thee:
Farewell.
Enter old Capulet, his wife and Paris.
Ca. Things haue falne out fir fo vnluckily,
That we haue had no time to moue our daughter,
Looke you, fhe lou'd her kinfman Tybalt dearely,
And fo did I. Well we were borne to die.
Tis very late, sheele not come downe to night :
I promise you, but for your company,
I would haue bin a bed an houre ago.
Paris. These times of wo, affoord no times to wooe;
Madam goodnight, commend me to your daughter.
La. I will, and know her mind early to morrow,
To night she is mewed vp to her heauines.
Ca. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
my childes loue: I thinke fhe will be rulde In all respects by me: nay more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed.
Acquaint her hereof *, my sonne Paris loue,
And bid her, marke you me, on Wendsday next,
But foft, what day is this?
Paris. Monday my lord.
Ca. Monday, ha ha, well Wendsday is too foone,
A Thursday let it be, a Thurfday tell her,
She fhall be married to this noble earle :
Will you be ready? do you like this haste ?
Weele keepe no great adoe, a friend or two,
For harke you, Tybalt being flaine so late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,
Being our kinfman, if we reuell much :
Therefore weele haue fome halfe a dozen friends,
And there an end, but what fay you to Thursday?
Paris. My lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow.
Ca. Well, get you gone, a Thursday, be it then :
Go you to Iuliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her wife, against this wedding day.
Farewell my lord, light to my chamber ho,
Afore me, it is so very late, that me may call it early by and by, Goodnight.
Enter Romeo and Iuliet aloft.
Iu. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet neare day:
It was the nightingale, and not the larke,
That pierft the fearefull hollow of thine eare,
Nightly the fings on yond pomgranet tree,
Beleeue me loue, it was the nightingale.
Ro. It was the larke the herauld of the morne,
No nightingale, looke loue what enuious freakes
Do lace the feuering cloudes in yonder east:
Nights candles are burnt out, and iocond day
Stands tipto on the mystie mountaines tops,
I must be gone and liue, or stay and die.
lu. Yond light is not day light, I know it I:
It is fome meteor that the fun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore ftay yet, thou needst not to be gone.
Ro. Let me be tane, let me be put to death,
I am content, fo thou wilt haue it so.
Ile fay yon gray is not the mornings eye,
Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow.
Nor that is not the larke whofe noates doe beate
The vaulty heauen fo high aboue our heads,
I haue more care to stay then will to go:
Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it fo.
How ift my foule, lets talke it is not day.
Iu. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away:
It is the larke that fings fo out of tune,
Straining harfh difcords, and vnpleafing fharpes.
Some fay the larke makes fwecte diuifion.
This doth not fo: for the deuideth vs.
Some fay the larke and loathed toad change eyes,
O now I would they had changde voyces too :
Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray,
Hunting thee hence, with huntfup to the day,
O now be gone, more light and light it growes.
Romeo. More light and light, more darke and darkeour woes.
Nur. Your lady mother is cumming to your chamber,
The day is broke, be wary, looke about,
lu. Then window let day in, and let life out.
Ro. Farewell, farewell, one kiffe and Ile defcend.
Iu. Art thou gone fo, loue, lord, ay husband, friend,
I must heare from thee euery day in the houre,
For in a minute there are many daies,
O by this count I shall be much in yeares,
Ere I againe behold my Romeo.
Ro. Farewell:
I will omit no oportunitie,
That may conuey my greetings loue to thee.
Iu. O thinkeft thou we shall euer meete againe ?
Ro. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall ferue
For fweete difcourfes in our time to come.
Ro. O God I haue an ill diuining foule,
Me thinkes I fee thee now, thou art so lowe,
As one dead in the bottome of a tombe,
Either my eye-fight failes, or thou lookest pale.
Rom. And truft me loue, in my eye fo doe you:
Drie forrow drinkes our bloud. Adue, adue.
lu. O fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle,
If thou art fickle, what doft thou with him
That is renowmd for faith? be fickle fortune;
For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long,
But fend him backe.
La. Ho daughter, are you vp?
Iu. Who ift that calls? it is my lady mother.
Is fhe not downe fo late or vp fo early?
What vnaccustomd cause procures her either * ?
La. Why how now Iuliet.
Iu. Madam I am not well.
La. Euermore weeping for your cozins death?
What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares?
And if thou couldft, thou couldft not make him liue:
Therefore haue done, fome griefe fhewes much of loue,
But much of griefe, fhewes ftill fome want of wit.
Iu. Yet let me weepe, for fuch a feeling loffe,
La. So fhall you feele the loffe, but not the friend
Which you weepe for.
Iu. Feeling fo the loffe,
I cannot chufe but euer weepe the friend.
La. Well girle, thou weepft not fo much for his death, As that the villaine liues which flaughtered him.
Iu. What villaine madam?
La. That fame villaine Romeo.
Iu. Villaine and he be many miles a funder :
God pardon, I doe withall my heart:
And yet no man like he, doth grieue my heart.
La. That is because the traitor liues.
Iu. I madam from the reach of these my hands:
Would none but I might venge my cozins death.
La. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not.
Then weepe no more, Ile fend to one in Mantua,
Where that fame banisht runnagate doth liue,
Shall give him fuch an vnaccuftomd dram,
That he faall foone keepe Tibalt company:
And then I hope thou wilt be fatisfied.
Iu. Indeede I neuer fhall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him. Dead
Is my poore heart fo for a kinfman vext:
Madam if you could find out but a man
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