Nurse. Lord, how my head akes! what a head have I? It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. Jul. 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? Jul. Where is my mother? - why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st? Your love says like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother? Nurse. O, God's lady dear! Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aking bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Jul. Here's such a coil 8, - come, what says Romeo? Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? Jul. I have. Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, There stays a husband to make you a wife : 7 Ill betide. 8 Noise, bustle, I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell. Jul. Hie to high fortune! - honest nurse, fare well. SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's Cell. [Exeunt. Enter Friar Laurence and ROMEO. Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after-hours with sorrow chide us not! Rom. 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. Fri. 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. Enter JULIET. Here comes the lady: - O, so light a foot 9 The long white filament which flies in the air. Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. both. Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much. Rom. 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 neighbour air, and let rich musick's tongue, Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, ACT III. SCENE I.- A Public Place. Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants. Paint, display. 2 Imagination. when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, God send me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need. Ben. Am I like such a fellow? Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. Ben. And what to? Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: What eye, but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling ! Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. Mer. The fee-simple? O simple! Enter TYBALT, and Others. Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion. Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving? Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo, Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort. Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. Enter ROMEO. Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes my man. Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; |