Jul.
The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse:
In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him—That's not so—
Oh, she is lame; love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun-beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills.
Therefore do nimble pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours—and yet she is not come;
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball,
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me.* ^note Enter Nurse.
O Heav'n! she comes. Oh honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Now, good sweet nurse—
O lord, why look'st thou sad?

Nurse.
I am weary, let me rest, awhile:
Fy, how my bones ake, what a jaunt have I had!

Jul.
Nay, come, I pray thee speak—Good, good nurse, speak.
Is thy news good or bad? answer to that.
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?

Nurse.

Well, you have made a simple choice? you know not how to chuse a man—What, have you dined at home?

Jul.
No, no—but all this did I know before:
What says he of our marriage? What of that?

Nurse.
Lord, how my head akes what a head have I?
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces;
My back, o'th' other side—O my back, my back:
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down.

Jul.
I'faith, I'm sorry that thou art so ill;
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 odly thou reply'st!
Your love says like an honest gentleman:
Where is your mother—

Nurse.
Oh, our lady dear,
Are you so hot? marry, come up! I trow.
Is this the poultice for my aking bones?
Hence-forward do your messages yourself.

Jul.
Here's such a coil; come, what says Romeo?

Nurse.
Have you got leave to go to shirt, to-day?

Jul.
I have.

Nurse.
Then hie you hence to friar Lawrence' cell,
There stays a husband to make you a wife.
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks—
Hie you to church, I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark.
I am the drudge and toil in your delight,
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.* ^note
Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell.

Jul.
Hie to high fortune: honest nurse, farewel. [Exeunt.

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