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 lowring 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—
Ay three long honrs—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; Enter Nurse.
* ^noteO God, she comes. What news?
Hast thou met with him? send thy man away.

Nurse.
Peter, stay at the gate.

Jul.
Now good sweet nurse—
O lord, why look'st thou sad?

Nurse.
I am a weary, let me rest a while;
Fy, how my bones ake, what a jaunt have I had?

Jul.
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:
Nay come, I pray thee speak—Good nurse speak.

Nurse.
Give me some Aqua vitæ.

Jul.
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: Romeo! no not he, though his face be better than any man's, yet his legs excel all mens, and for a hand and a foot, and a bo-dy, tho' they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtsie, but I warrant him as gentle as a lamb—Go thy ways wench, serve God—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 a t'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 am 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.
O god's lady dear,
Are you so hot? marry come up I trow,
Is this the poultis for my aking bones?
Hence-forward do your messages your self.

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

Nurse.
Have you got leave to go to shrift 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,
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
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 burthen soon at night.
Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell.

Jul.
Hie to high fortune; honest nurse farewel. [Exeunt.

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