Friar.
On Thursday, Sir! the time is very short.

Par.
My father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.

Fri.
You say, you do not know the lady's mind:
Uneven in this course, I like it not.

Par.
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 should 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?

Fri.
I would, I knew not why it should be slow'd. [Aside.
Look, Sir, here comes the lady tow'rds my cell. Enter Juliet.

Par.
Welcome, my love, my lady and my wife!

Jul.
That may be, Sir, when I may be a wife.

Par.
That may be, must be, Love, on Thurdsay next.

Jul.
What must be, shall be.

Fri.
That's a certain text.

Par.
Come you to make confession to this father?

Jul.
To answer That, were to confess to you.

Par.
Do not deny to him, that you love me.

Jul.
I will confess to you, that I love him.

Par.
So will ye, I am sure that you love me.

Jul.
If I do so, it will be of more price
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.

Par.
Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.

Jul.
The tears have got small victory by that:
For it was bad enough before their spight.

Par.
Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

Jul.
That is no slander, Sir, which is but truth,
And what I speak, I speak it to my face.

Par.
Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.

Jul.
It may be so, for it is not mine own.
Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?

Fri.
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
My lord, I must intreat the time alone.

Par.
God shield, I should disturb devotion:
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you:
'Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss. [Exit Paris.

Jul.
Go, shut the door, and when thou hast done so,
Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help.

Fri.
O Juliet, I already know thy grief,
It strains me past the Compass of my Wits.
I hear, you must, and nothing, may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this Count.

Jul.
Tell me not, Friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.

If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's; thou, our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
Therefore out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extreams and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that,
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honour bring:
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

Fri.
Hold, daughter, I do 'spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution,
As That is desp'rate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry County Paris,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thy self,
Then it is likely, thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st with death himself, to 'scape from it:
And if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.

Jul.
O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower:
^{5 note}


Or chain me to some steepy mountain's top,
Where roaring bears and savage lions roam;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead mens' ratling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made Grave,

And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
(Things, that to hear them nam'd, have made me tremble;)
And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

Fri.
Hold, then, go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris; Wednesday is to morrow;
To morrow Night, look, that thou lye alone.
(Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy chamber:)
Take thou this vial, being then in Bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsie humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no Pulse shall keep
His nat'ral progress, but surcease to beat.
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each Part, depriv'd of supple Government,
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold appear like Death:
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,
And then awake, as from a pleasant sleep.
Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
Then, as the manner of our Country is,
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,
Be borne to burial in thy kindred's Grave:
Thou shalt be borne to that same antient vault,
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lye.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,
And hither shall he come; and he and I
Will watch thy Waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua;
And This shall free thee from this present Shame,

If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul.
Give me, oh give me, tell me not of fear. [Taking the vial.

Fri.
Hold, get you gone, be strong and prosperous
In this Resolve; I'll send a Friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.

Jul.
Love, give me strength, and strength shall help afford.
Farewel, dear father!— [Exeunt.

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