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Fa. Tush, I will stirre about,
And all things shall be well, I warrant thee wife :
Go thou to luliet, helpe to decke vp her,
Ile not to bed to night, let me alone :
Ile play the huswife for this once, what ho ?
They are all forth, well I will walke my felfe
To countie Paris, to prepare vp him
Against to morrow, my heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward gyrle is fo reclaimed.
lu. I those attires are best, but gentle nurse
I pray thee leaue me to my felfe to night:
For I haue need of many orysons,
To moue the heavens to smile vpon my state,
Which wel thou knowest, is crofse and ful of fin.
Mo. What are you busie ho ? need you my help?
Iu. No madam, we haue culd such necessaries
As are behoofefull for our state to morrow :
So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night sit vp with you,
For I am sure, you haue your hands full all,
In this so sudden businelle.
Mo. Good night.
Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.
Iu. Farewell, God knowes when we shall meete againe.
I haue a faint cold feare thrills through my veines,
That almost freezes
the heate of life :
Ile call them backe againe to comfort me.
Nurse, what should she do here?
My dismall sceane I needs must act alone.
Come viall, what if this mixture do not workc at all ?
Shall I be married then to morrow morning ?
No, no, this shall forbid it, lie thou there,
What if it be a poyson which the frier
Subtilly hath ministred, to haue me dead,
Least in this marriage he should be dishonourd,
Because he married me before to Romeo ?
I feare it is, and yet me thinks it should not,
For he hath still beene tried a holy man.
How if when I am làid into the tombe,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeeme me, theres a fearefull point :
Shall I not then be stiffled in the vault?
To whose foule mouth no healthsome ayre breaths in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes.
Or if I liue, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,
As in a vaulte, an ancient receptacle,
Where for these many hundred yeeres the bones
Of all my buried auncestors are packt,
Where bloody Tybalt yet but greene in earth,
Lies festring in his shrowd, where as they say,
At some houres in the night, fpirits resort :
Alacke, alacke, is it not like that I
So early waking, what with loathsome smels,
And shrikes like mandrakes torne out of the earth,
That liuing mortalls hearing them run mad,
Or if I walke, shall I not be distraught,
Iauironed with all these hidious feares,
And madly play with my forefathers ioynts ?
And plucke the mangled Tybalt from his shrowde,
And in this rage, with some great kinsmans bone,
As with a club dash out my desperate braines.
O looke, me thinks I see my cozins ghost,
Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body
Vpon a rapiers point : stay Tybalt, stay;
Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, heres drinke, I drinke to thee.
Enter lady of the house and Nurse.
La. Hold, take these keies, and fetch more spices nurse,
Nur. They call for dates and quinces in the pastrie.
Ca. Come stir, stir, stir, the second cocke hath crowed,
The curphew bell hath roung, tis three a clocke:
Looke to the bakte meates, good Angelica,
Spare not for cost.
Nur. Go you cot-queane, go,
Get you to bed, faith youle be ficke to morrow
For this nights watching.
Ca. No not a whit, what? I haue watcht ere now
All night for lesse cause, and nere beene ficke.
La. I you haue bin a mouse-hunt in your time, But I will watch you from such watching now.
Exit lady and Nurse. Ca. A jealous hood, a iealous hood, now fellow, what is there?
Enter three or foure with spits and logs and baskets.
Fel. Things for the cooke fir, but I know not what.
Ga. Make haste, make haste sirra, fetch drier logs. Call Peter, he will shew thee where they are.
Fel. I haue a head fir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter.
Ca. Masse and well said, a merrie horfon, ha, Thou shalt be loggerhead; good father tis day. VOL. IV.
The countie will be here with musicke straight,
For so he said he would, I heare him neere.
Nurse, wife, what ho, what nurse I say?
Go waken Iuliet, go and trim her vp,
Ile go and chat with Paris, hie, make haste,
Make hafte, the bridegroome, he is come already, make halte
Nur. Miftris, what mistris, Iuliet, fast I warrant her fae,
Why lambe, why lady, fie you suggabed,
Why loue I say, madam, sweet heart, why bride :
What not a word, you take your peniworths * now,
Sleepe for a weeke, for the next night I warrant
The countie Paris hath set vp his rest,
That you shall rest but little, God forgive me.
Marrie and amen : how sound is she a sleepe :
I must needs wake her : madam, madam, madam,
I, let the countie take you in your bed,
Heele fright you vp yfaith, will it not be ?
What drest, and in your clothes, and downe againe ?
I must needs wake you, lady, lady, lady.
Alas, alas, helpe, helpe, my ladyes dead.
Oh weleaday, that euer I was borne,
Some aqua-vitæ ho, my lord, my lady.
Mo. What noise is heere ?
Nur. O lamentable day.
Mo. What is the matter ?
Nur. Looke, looke, oh heavie day.
Mo. O me, O me, my child, my onely life:
Reuiue, looke vp, or I will die with thee :
Helpe, helpe, call helpe.
Fa. For shame bring Iuliet forth, her lord is come :
Nur. Shees dead : deceast, shees dead, alacke the day.
M. Alack the day, shees dead, shees dead, shees dead.
Fa. Hah let me see her, out alas shees cold,
Her blood is setled and her ioynts are stiffe:
Life and these lips haue long bene seperated,
Death lies on her like an yntimely frost
Vpon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Nur. O lamentable day.
Mo. O wofull time.
Fa. Death that hath tane her hence to make me waile,
Ties vp my tongue and will not let me speake.
Enter Frier and the Countie *
Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Fa. Ready to go, but neuer to returne.
O sonne, the night before thy wedding day,
Hath death laine with thy wife, there she lies
Flower as she was, deflowred by him,
Death is my sonne in law, death is my heire,
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die,
And leaue him all life living, all is deaths.
Paris. Haue I thought long to see this mornings face,
And doth it giue me such a fight as this?
Mo. Accurft, vnhappie, wretched hatefull day,
Most miserable houre that ere time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage,
But one poore one, one poore and louing child,
• Counsie with musicians,