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To blaze your marriage reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of thy I prince and call thee backe,
With twenty hundred thousand times more ioy
Then thou wentst forth in lamentation.
Goe before ourse, commend me to thy lady,
And bid her halten 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 counsell, oh what learning is :
My lord, Ile tell my lady you will come.

Ro. Do so, and bid my sweete prepare to chide.

Nur. Here fir, a ring she bid me giue you sir : 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 stands all your state : Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the breake of day disguisd from hence, Soiourne in Mantua, lle find out your man, And he shall signifie 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 palt ioy calls out on me, It were a griefe, so briefe to part with thee : Farewell.


Enter old Capulet, his wife and Paris.

Ca. Things haue faloe out for so vnluckily,
That we haue had no time to moue our daughter,
Looke you, she lou'd her kinsman Tybalt dearely,
And so did I. Well we were borne to die.
Tis very late, sheele not come downe to night :

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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

childes loue : I thinke she 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 soft, what day is this?

Paris. Monday my lord.

Ca. Monday, ha ha, well Wendsday is too soone,
A Thursday let it be, a Thursday tell her,
She shall 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 slaine so late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,
Being our kinsman, if we reuell much :
Therefore weele haue fome halfe a dozen friends,
And there an end, but what say you to Tharsday ?

Paris. My lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow.

Ca. Well, get you gone, a Thursday, be it then : Go you to luliet 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.

Exeunt. Enter Romeo and Iuliet aloft. Iu. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet neare day:

* berewitb. Vol. IV.



It was the nightingale, and not the larke,
That pierst the fearefull hollow of thine eare,
Nightly she sings 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 streakes
Do lace the feuering cloudes in yonder eaft:
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 1:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore stay yet, thou needft 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 say yon gray is not the mornings eye,
Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow.
Nor that is not the larke whole noates doe beate
The vaulty heauen so high aboue our heads,
I haue more care to stay then will to go :
Come death and welcome, Juliet wills it so.
How ift my soule, lets talke it is not day.

Tu. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away:
It is the larke that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and vnpleasing sharpes.
Some say the larke makes sweete diuifion.
This doth not so: for the deuideth vs.
Some say 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 huntsup to the day,
O now be gone, more light and light it growes.
Romco. More light and light, more darke and darkeour woes.


Enter madame and Nurse.

Nur. Madam. lu. Nurse.

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 descend.

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 thinkest thou we shall euer meete againe ?

Ro. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall seruc
For sweete discourses in our time to come.

Ro. O God I haue an ill diuining foule,
Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe,
As one dead in the bottome of a tombe,
Either my eye-light failes, or thou lookest pale.

Rom. And trust me loue, in my eye so doe you :
Drie sorrow drinkes our bloud. Adue, adue.

lu. O fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle,
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renowmd for faith? be fickle fortune ;
For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long,
But send him backe.


Enter mother.

La. Ho daughter, are you vp?
lu. Who ist that calls ? it is my lady mother,

Is she not downe so late or vp so early ?
What vnaccustomd cause procures her either * ?

La. Why how now Iuliet.
Ju. 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 couldst, thou could not make him liue :
Therefore haue done, some griefe Thewes much of loue,
But much of griefe, shewes still some want of wit.

lu. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling loffe,

La. So ihall you feele the losse, but not the friend
Which you weepe for.

Iu. Feeling so the losse,
I cannot chuse but euer weepe the friend.

La. Well girle, thou weepst not so much for his death,
As that the villaine liues which Naughtered him.

Ju. What villaine madam ?
La. That same villaine Romeo.

Iu. Villaine and he be many miles a sunder:
God pardon, I doe withall my heart :
And yet no man like he, doth grieue my heart.

La. That is because the traitor liues.
lu. I madam from the reach of these


hands : Would none but I might venge my cozins death.

La. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not.
Then weepe no more, lle send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banisht runnagate doth live,
Shall giue him such an vnaccustomd dram,
That he fall foone keepe Tibalt company :
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.

lu. Indeede I neuer shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him. Dead
Is my poore heart fo for a kinsman vext:
Madam if you could find out but a man

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