Fri.
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 Tibalt'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.
Now do you know the reason of this haste.

Fri.
I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
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 Thursday next.

Jul.
What must be, shall be.

Par.
Come you to make confession to this father?

Jul.
To answer that were to confess to you:
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 entreat the time alone.

Par.
Heav'n shield, I should disturb devotion:
Juliet, Farewel. [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.

Jul.
Tell me not, friar, that thou know'st my grief,
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 steel I'll help it presently.
Heav'n 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,
Give to another, this shall slay them both:

Therefore out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel, or behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me, this bloody dagger
Shall play the umpire.—

Fri.
Hold, daughter; I do espy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution,
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If rather than to marry County Paris,
Thou hast the strength or will to slay thyself,
Then it is likely thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to free thee from this marriage;
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:* ^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-men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless sculls;
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; look thou lye alone.
(Let not thy nurse lye with thee in thy chamber.)
And when thou art alone, take thou this phial,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy 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 liv'st;
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;

And in this borrow'd 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 rouze 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,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
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, O give me, tell me not of fear. [Taking the phial.

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 &lblank; [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

Cap.
What, is my daughter gone to friar Lawrence?

Nurse.
Ay, forsooth.

Cap.
Well, he may chance to do some good on her;
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Enter Juliet.

Nurse.
See, where she comes from shrift, with merry look!

Cap.
How now, my head-strong? Where have you been gadding?

Jul.
Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests;† ^note and am enjoin'd
By holy Lawrence, to fall prostrate here,
And beg your pardon; pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

Cap.
Send for the County, go tell him of this,
I'll have this knot knit up, to-morrow morning.

Jul.
I met the youthful lord at Lawrence' cell,
And gave him what becoming love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

Cap.
Why, I am glad on't, this is well, Stand up;
Now, afore Heav'n, this reverend holy friar,—
All our whole city is much bound to him.

Jul.
Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments,
As you think fit, to furnish me, to-morrow?

La. Cap.
No, not 'till Thursday, there is time enough.

Cap.
Go, nurse, go with her; we'll to church, tomorrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.

La. Cap.
We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.

Cap.
Tush, all things shall be well.
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck her up;
I'll not to bed, but walk myself to Paris,
T' appoint him 'gainst to-morrow. My heart's light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt Capulet and Lady Capulet. Scene SCENE, Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet and Nurse.

Jul.
Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee leave me to myself, to-night;
For I have need of many orisons,‡ ^note
To move the Heav'ns to smile upon my state,
Which well thou know'st is cross and full of sin.

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What, are you busy? Do you need my help?

Jul.
No, madam, we have cull'd such necessaries,
As are behoveful for our state, to-morrow:
So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night set up with you;
For I am sure you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

La. Cap.
Then good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt.

Jul.
Farewel—Heav'n knows, when we shall meet again!* ^note
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the heat of life.
I'll call them back again, to comfort me.
Nurse!—Yet what should they do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone. [Takes out the phial.
Come, phial—What if this mixture do not work, at all?
Shall I of force be married to the count?
No, no, this shall forbid it; lie thou there— [Pointing to a dagger.
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath ministerd, to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is; and yet methinks it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man—
How, if when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Comes to redeem me? There's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there be strangled, ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like

The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,
(As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tibalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night, spirits resort—
Or, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
(Invironed with all these hideous fears)
And madly play with my forefathers' joints,
And pluck the mangled Tibalt from his shroud?
And in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desp'rate brains?
O look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo—Stay, Tibalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. [Drinks. [She throws herself on the Bed.
O, potent draught! thou hast* ^note
Chill'd me to my heart! my head turns round,
My senses fail me—O, Romeo, Romeo— [The Scene shuts on her. Scene SCENE, a Hall. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

La. Cap.
Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

Nurse.
They call for dates and quinces, in the pastry. Enter Capulet and Lady, meeting.

Cap.
Come, stir, stir, stir, the second cock hath crow'd,
The curfew bell† ^note hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.

Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica,
Spare not for cost.

Nurse.
Go, go, you cot-quean, go;
Get you to bed? faith you'll be sick to-morrow,
For this night's watching. [Exit.

Cap.
No, not a whit. What! I have watch'd, e're now,
All night, for a less cause, and ne'er been sick. [Play Music.
The county will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would,—I hear him near,
Nurse,—wife,—What, hoa? What, nurse, I say? Enter Nurse.
Go waken Juliet, go, and trim her up.
I'll go, and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste:
Make haste, I say. [Exit Capulet. Scene SCENE draws, and discovers Juliet on a Bed.

Nurse.
Mistress, what mistress Juliet—Fast, I warrant her,
Why, lamb—why l,ady—Fy, you flug-a-bed—
Why, love, I say—Madam, sweet-heart—why, bride—
What, not a word! you take your penny-worths now.
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
That you shall rest but little—Heav'n forgive me—
Marry and amen—How sound is she asleep?
I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed—
He'll fright you up, i'faith. Will it not be?
What! drest, and in your clothes—and down again!
I must needs wake you. Lady, lady, lady—
Alas, alas! Help! help! my lady's dead,
O, well a-day, that ever I was born?
Hoa! my lord, my lady! Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What noise is here?

Nurse.
O, lamentable day!

La. Cap.
What is the matter?

Nurse.
Look—oh, heavy day!

La. Cap.
Oh me, my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! call help. Enter Capulet.

Cap.
For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.

Nurse.
She's dead; she's dead. Alack the day!

Cap.
Ha! let me see her—Out, alas, she's cold,
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man! Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris, with Musicians.

Fri.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Cap.
Ready to go, but never to return.
O son, the night before the wedding day,
Death has embrac'd thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, nipp'd in the bud by him!
Oh Juliet, oh, my child, my child!

Par.
Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this.

Cap.
Most miserable hour, that time e'er saw,
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to enjoy, and solace in,
And cruel death hath catcht it from my sight.

Fri.
Your daughter lives in peace and happiness;
Heav'n and yourself had part in this fair maid,
Now, Heav'n hath all—Dry up your fruitless tears.
Come, stick your rosemary on this fair corps,
And as the custom of our country is,
Convey her where her ancestors lie tomb'd.

Cap.
All things that we ordain'd to festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:

Our instruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast:
Our solemn hymns, to sullen dirges change;
And bridal flowers serve for a burial coarse.

Fri.
Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him;
And go, sir Paris, every one prepare
To follow this fair coarse unto her grave.
The Heav'ns do low'r upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.* ^note [Exeunt. End of the Fourth Act.

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