Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue, For fuch a wish! he was not born to fhame For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo? [coufin? Nurfe. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your Jul. Shall I fpeak ill of him that is my husband ? Ah, poor, my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When 1, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it! But, wherefore, villain, didft thou kill my cousin ? That villain coufin would have kill'd my husband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, miftaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain; Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death, But, oh! it preffes to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds; Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tyba't's coarse. Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine fhall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up thofe cords;-poor ropes, you are beguil'd; Both you and 1; for Romeo is exil'd. He made you for a high-way to my bed: But !, a maid, die maiden widowed. Come, cord; come, nurfe; I'll to my wedding-bed; Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewel. SCENE changes to the Monaftery. Fri. R Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo. [Exeunt. OMEO, come forth; come forth, thou fear ful man; Ro Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Rom Father, what news? what is the Prince's doom? What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? Is Fri. Too familiar my dear fon with fuch fow'r company. I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom? Rom. What lefs than dooms-day is the Prince's doom? Fri. A gentler judgment vanish d from his lips,. Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay, death; For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death. Do not fay banishment. Hence Hence banished, is banish'd from the world; . Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness! And turn'd that black word death to banishment. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here, Had' thou no poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife, O Friar, the damned use that word in hell; A fin-abfolver, and my friend profeft, Rom. O, thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word, Adverfity's fweet milk, philofophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Unless philofophy can make a Juliet, It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more Fri. O, then I fee that madmen have no ears. Ro.How fhould they, when that wife men have no eyes? Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou doft not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doating like me, and like me banished; [hair, Then might'st thou fpeak, then might'ft thou tear thy [Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arife, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyfelf. [Knocking within. Rom. Not I, unless the breath of heart-fick groans, Mift-like, infold me from the fearch of eyes. [Knock. Fri. Hark, how they knock !-(who's there?) Romeo, arife. Thou wilt be taken-(tay a while)-ftand up; [Knocks : Run to my ftudy,-(By and by)-God's will! What wilfulness is this? -I come, I come, [Knock. Who knocks fo hard? whence come you; what's your will? Nurfe. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand: I come from lady Juliet. Fri. Welcome then. Enter Nurfe. Nurje. O holy Friar, oh, tell me, holy Friar, Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo? [drunk. Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made Juft in her cafe, O woeful fympathy! Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Rom. Nurfe! Nurfe. Ah Sir! ah Sir!-Death is the end of all. Rom Rom. Speak'ft thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not the think me an old murderer, Now I have ftain'd the childhood of our joy Nurfe. O, fhe fays nothing, Sir; but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed, and then ftarts up; And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls, And then down falls again. Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her, as that name's curfed hand Murder'd her kinfman.- -Tell me, Friar, tell me, Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may fack Fri. Hold thy defperate hand: [Drawing his fword. Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote Unfeemly woman in a feeming man! Why rail'ft thou on thy birth, the heav'n, and earth, And ufeft none in that true ufe indeed, |