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Proud,-and, I thank you,—and, I thank you not ;-
Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
God in heaven bless her!-
tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips ; go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
1 Base woman.
0, God ye good den! Nurse. May not one speak ? Cap.
Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, For here we need it not. L. Cap.
You are too hot. Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad : day, night,
late, early, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her match'd ; and having now provided A gentleman of princely parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honorable parts, Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man ;And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer—'I'll not wed;- I cannot love ;I am too young ;-I pray you, pardon me.' But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you : Graze where you will, you shall not house with
me; Look to't, think on 't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart; advise : An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; An you
be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowlege thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : Trust to't; bethink you ; I'll not be forsworn.
[Erit. Ju. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
word : Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Erit. Ju. O God !-O nurse ! how shall this be pre
Faith, here 'tis : Romeo
I think you are happy in this second match,
Ju. Speakest thou from thy heart?
From my soul too;
ACT I V.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS.
F. Lau. On Thursday, sir ? the time is very
short. Pa. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. F. Lau. You say, you do not know the lady's
mind : Uneven is the course ; I like it not.
Pa. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, That she doth give her sorrow so much sway; And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears ; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society. Now do you know the reason of this haste. F. Lau. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
[aside. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.