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 is the course, I like it not.

Par.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's Death,
And therefore have I little talk 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 her self 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.
Look, Sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell. Enter Juliet.

Par.
Happily met, 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.

Fri.
That's a certain Text.

Par.
Come you to make Confession to this Father?

Jul.
To answer that, I should 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 rowze ye,
'Till then adieu, and keep this holy kiss. [Exit Paris.

Jul.
O 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 thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this Count.

Jul.
Tell me not, Friar, that thou hearest 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 e'er 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 desperate 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 any Tower,
Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk
Where Serpents are: Chain me with roaring Bears,
Or hide me nightly in a charnel House,
O'er covered 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 Grave,
Things that to hear them told, 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 Viol being then in Bed,
And this distilling Liquor drink thou off,
When presently, through all thy Veins, shall run
A cold and drowsie Humour: For no Pulse
Shall keep his Native Progress, but surcease:
No warmth, no breath shall testifie thou livest;
The Roses in thy Lips and Cheeks shall fade
To mealy Ashes, the 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 rowse 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 born to Burial in thy Kindreds Grave:
Thou shalt be born 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 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, give me, O tell not me of fear.

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.

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