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Ro. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you : Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu !

[Erit Romeo. Ju. O Fortune, Fortune! all men call thee

fickle :
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, Fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.

L. Cap. [within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?

Ju. Who is 't that calls ? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures 1 her hither?


L. Cap. Why, how now,

Juliet? Ju.

Madam, I am not well. L. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's

death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with

tears ? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of

But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

Ju. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
L. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the


1 Brings.


L. Cap.

Which you weep for.

Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. L. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for

his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. Ju. What villain, madam ?

That same villain, Romeo. Ju. Villain and be are many miles asunder. God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart. L. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer

lives. Ju. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my

hands. Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death! L. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou

not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, That shall bestow on him so sure a draught, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

Ju. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor

heart so for a kinsman vex'd.
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
To hear him named; and cannot come to him,-

To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him !

L. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such

a man.

But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

Ju. And joy comes well in such a needful time:
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
L. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father,

One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.

Ju. Madam, in happy time; what day is that?
L. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday

The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The county Paris, at saint Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

Ju. Now, by saint Peter's church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste; that I must wed,
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
pray you,


lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!
L. Cap. Here comes your father ; tell him so

yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.

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Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle


Have you

But for the sunset of my brother's son,
It rains downright.-
How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears ?
Evermore showering? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears: the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs ;
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body.-How now, wife?

deliver'd to her our decree? L. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives

you thanks. I would, the fool were married to her grave ! Cap. Soft, take me with

me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks ? Is she not proud ? doth she not count her bless'd, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? Ju. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you


Proud can I never be of what I hate;
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.
Cap. How now, how now, chop-logic! What is


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