Jul.
Oh fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? be fickle, fortune:

For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back. Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
Ho, daughter, are you up?

Jul.
Who is't that calls? Is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause ^{2 note}procures her hither?

La. Cap.
Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul.
Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his Grave with tears?
An' if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;
Therefore, have done. Some Grief shews much of Love;
But much of Grief shews still some want of Wit.

Jul.
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

La. Cap.
So shall you feel the Loss, but not the Friend
Which you do weep for.

Jul.
Feeling so the Loss,
I cannot chuse but ever weep the Friend.

La. Cap.
Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

Jul.
What villain, Madam?

La. Cap.
That same villain, Romeo.

Jul. [Aside.]
Villain and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my Heart:
And, yet, no Man like he doth grieve my Heart.

La. Cap.
That is, because the Traitor lives.

Jul.
^{3 note}I, Madam, from the Reach of these my hands—
'Would, none but I might venge my Cousin's Death!

La. Cap.
We will have Vengeance for it, fear thou not.
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish'd Runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an ^{4 note}unaccustom'd Dram,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt Company.
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfy'd.

Jul.
Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him, dead—
Is my poor heart so for a Kinsman vext?
Madam, if you could find out but a Man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should upon Receipt thereof
Soon sleep in Quiet.—O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam'd,—and cannot come to him—
To wreak the Love I bore my Cousin,
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him.

La. Cap.
Find thou the Means, and I'll find such a Man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful Tidings, Girl.

Jul.
And joy comes well in such a needful time.
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

La. Cap.
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child,
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.

Jul.
Madam, ^{5 note}in happy time, what day is this?

La. Cap.
Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,
The gallant, young and noble gentleman,
The County Paris, at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride.

Jul.
Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
Ere he, that must be husband, comes to wooe.
I pray you, tell my Lord and father, Madam,
I will not marry yet: and when I do,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris.—These are news, indeed!

La. Cap.
Here comes your father, tell him so yourself,
And see, how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet, and Nurse.

Cap.
When the Sun sets, the Air doth drizzle Dew;
But for the Sunset of my Brother's Son
It rains downright.—
How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring? in one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds thy sighs,
Which, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a sudden calm will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body—How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

La. Cap.
Ay, Sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
I would, the fool were married to her Grave!

Cap.
Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife.
How, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?
Is she not proud, doth she not count her blest,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Jul.
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have.
Proud can I never be of what I hate,
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap.
How now! how now! Chop Logick? What is This?
Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not!
And yet not proud!—Why, Mistress Minion, You,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to St. Peter's church:
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!
You Tallow-face!

La. Cap.
Fy, fy, what, are you mad?

Jul.
Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience, but to speak a word.

Cap.
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what, get thee to church o' Thursday,
Or never after look me in the face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.
My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest,
That God hath sent us but this only child;
But now I see this One is one too much,
And that we have a Curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding!—

Nurse.
God in heaven bless her!
You are to blame, my Lord, to rate her so.

Cap.
And why? my lady Wisdom hold your tongue,
Good Prudence, smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse.
I speak no treason—O, god-ye-good-den—
May not one speak?

Cap.
Peace, peace, you mumbling fool;
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

La. Cap.
You are too hot.

Cap.
It makes me mad: day, night, hour, tide, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesns, youthful, and nobly-allied,
Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man:
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's Tender,
To answer, I'll not wed,—I cannot love,—
I am too young,—I pray you, pardon me—
But, if you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise;
If you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' th' streets;
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall ever do thee good.
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit.

Jul.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away,
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dun monument where Tybalt lies.

La. Cap.
Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit.

Jul.
O God!—O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My Husband is on Earth; my Faith in Heav'n;
How shall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unless that Husband send it me from Heav'n,
By leaving Earth?—Comfort me, counsel me.

Alack, alack, that heav'n should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of Joy?
Some Comfort, Nurse.—

Nurse.
Faith, here it is:
Romeo is banish'd; all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then since the case so stands, as now it doth,
I think it best, you married with the Count.
Oh, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dish-clout to him; an eagle, Madam,
Hath not ^{6 note}so keen, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you happy in this second match,
For it excels your first; or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
^{7 note}As living here, and you no use of him.

Jul.
Speak'st thou from thy heart?

Nurse.
And from my Soul too,
Or else beshrew them both.

Jul.
Amen.

Nurse.
What?

Jul.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much;
Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nurse.
Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. [Exit.

Jul.
Ancient Damnation! O most wicked Fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,

Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare,
So many thousand times? Go, Counsellor,
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain:
I'll to the Friar, to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit.

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