Jul.
Ay, those Attires are best; but, gentle Nurse,
I pray thee leave me to my self To-night:
For I have need of many Orisons
To move the Heavens to smile upon my State,
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of Sin. Enter Lady Capulet.

L. 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.

L. Cap.
Good-night,
Get thee to Bed and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt.

Jul.
Farewell—Heaven knows when we shall meet again!
I have a faint cold Fear thrills thro' my Veins,
That almost freezes up the Heat of Life.
I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Nurse—what shou'd she do here?
My dismal Scene I needs must act alone:
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: [Conceals a Dagger under her Robe.
What if it be a Poison, which the Friar
Subt'ly hath ministred, to have me dead,
Least in this Marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?

I fear it is; and yet, methinks it shou'd not,
For he hath still been try'd 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:
Or, if I live, it is 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 fest'ring in his Shroud, where as they say,
At some Hours of the Night Spirits refort—
Alas! alas! is it not like, that I
So early waking, what with loathsome Smells,
And Shrieks like Mandrakes torn out of the Earth,
That living Mortals hearing them run mad—
Or, if I 'wake, shall I not be distraught,
(Inviron'd 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—Tibalt, get thee gone,
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

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