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Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.

[Exit Peter. Ju. Now, good sweet nurse,-0 lord! why

look'st thou sad ?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily.
If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.

Nurse. I am aweary; give me leave a while:
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I

had! Ju. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy

news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse,

speak. Nurse. Jesu! what haste ? can you not stay

awhile ? Do you not see that I am out of breath? Ju. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast

To say to me, that thou art out of breath?
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or bad ? answer to that;
Say either, and I 'll stay the circumstance.
Let me be satisfied. Is 't good or bad ?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,—though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare : he is not the flower of




back, my

courtesy; but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God.-What, have you dined at home?

Ju. No, no: but all this did I know before. What

says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head

have I ! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side ;-0,


back!Beshrew 1 your heart, for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down!

Ju. I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well : Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my

love ? Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And, I warrant, a virtuous ::

-Where is your mother? Ju. Where is my mother ?—why, she is within ; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest ! • Your love says like an honest gentleman,Where is your mother?' Nurse.

0, God's lady dear! Are you so hot ? Marry, come up, I trow! Is this the poultice for my aching bones ? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Ju. Here's such a coil ! 2-Come, what says

Romeo ?

| Ill betide.

3 Disturbance.

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to



Ju. I have.
Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence'

There stays a husband to make you a wife :
Now comes the wanton blood in


cheeks; They 'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you

to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your

love Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark. I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you

shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. Ju. Hie to high fortune!-honest nurse,

farewell. [Exeunt.


Friar Laurence's cell.

F. Lau. So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!

- Ro. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight.
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare ;
It is enough I may but call her mine.

F. Lar. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die ; like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.


Here comes the lady.-0, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.
A lover may
bestride the

gossamers 1 That idle in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

Ju. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
F. Lau. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us

both. Ju. As much to him; else are his thanks too

Ro. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagined happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Ju. Conceit,? more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
They are but beggars that can count their worth :
But my true love is grown to such excess,

1 The long white filament which flies in the air. 3 Imagination.

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