SCENE IV.

A room in Capulet's house.

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET,

and PARIS.

Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter. Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:-Well, we were born to die.'Tis very late; she 'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company,

I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Pa. These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter. L. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to

morrow;

To-night she 's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate 1 tender Of my child's love. I think, she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;

Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;

And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But, soft; what day is this?

Pa.

Monday, my lord.

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too

soon;

O' Thursday let it be ;-o' Thursday, tell her,

1 Bold.

She shall be married to this noble earl :-
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado;-
-a friend or two:
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much :

Therefore we 'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Pa. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-

Go

morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone :-o' Thursday be it then.

you to Juliet 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 we

May call it early by and by.-Good night. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Juliet's chamber.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET.

Ju. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear: Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Ro. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops:
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Ju. Yon light is not daylight; I know it, I:
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 need'st not to be gone.
Ro. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye;
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow:
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go.-
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.-
How is 't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

3

1

Ju. It is, it is: hie hence; be gone; away: It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark makes sweet division; 3 This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.

1 Reflection of the moon.

2 Iuclination.

3 Division was the technical phrase for the pauses or parts of a musical composition.

O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.

Ro. More light and light?-more dark and dark

our woes.

Enter NURSE.

Nurse. Madam!

Ju. Nurse?

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your

chamber:

The day is broke: be wary; look about.

[Exit Nurse. Ju. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Ro. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll de[Romeo descends. Ju. Art thou gone so? my lord! my love! my

scend.

friend!

I must hear from thee every day i' the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Ro. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Ju. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? Ro. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall

serve

For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Ju. O God! I have an ill-divining soul: Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.