ACT IV. SCENE I.

The Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

FRIAR.

N Thursday, Sir! the time is very short.
Par. My father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing flow to flack his hafte.
Fri. You fay you do not know the lady's mind:
Uneven is this course, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately the weeps for Tybalt's death,

And therefore have I little talk'd of love,
For Venus fmiles not in a house of tears.

Now, Sir, her father counts it dangerous

That she should give her forrow fo much fway;
And, in his wifdom, haftes 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 hafte?

Fri. I would I knew not why it fhould be flow'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, fhall be.

Fri. That's a certain text.

Par.

Par. Come you to make confeffion to this father?
Jul. To answer that were to confess to you.
Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me.
Jul. I will confefs to you that I love him.
Par. So will ye, I am fure, that you love me.
Jul. If I do fo, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
Par. Poor foul, 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 flander, Sir, which is but truth,

And what I speak, I speak it to my face.

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou haft flander'd it.
Jul. It may be fo, for it is not mine own.

Are you at leisure, holy father, now,

Or fhall I come to you at evening mass?

Fri. My leifure ferves me, penfive daughter, now. My lord, I must intreat the time alone.

Par. God fhield, I fhould disturb devotion: Juliet farewel, and keep this holy kiss.

[Exit Paris.

Jul. Go fhut the door, and when thou haft done fo,
Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help.
Fri. O Juliet, I already know your grief,

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

Jul. Tell me not, Friar, that thou hear'ft 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 ere this hand, by thee to Romeo feal'd,

Rr 2

Shall

Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this fhall flay 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 commiffion of thy years and art
Could to no iffue of true honour bring:

a

Speak not, be brief; for I defire to dye,

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 defp'rate which we would prevent.
If rather than to marry County Paris
Thou haft the strength or will to flay thy self,
Then it is likely thou wilt undertake

A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'ft with death himself, to 'scape from it:
And if thou dar❜ft, I'll give thee remedy.

Jul. O bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
"Or chain me to fome steepy mountain's top
Where roaring bears and favage lions roam;
Or fhut me nightly in a charnel house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead mens ratling bones,
With reeky fhanks, and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,

And hide me with a dead man in his fhroud;

Things that to hear them 'nam'd, have made me tremble;

And I will do it without fear or doubt,

a Be not fo long to fpeak, I long to die.

b Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk

6

It is thus the editions vary.

Where ferpents are, chain me with roaring bears,
Or bide me nightly, &c.

• told.

To

To live an unftain'd wife to my sweet love.

Fri. Hold Juliet: hye thee home, get thee to bed:
(Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy chamber:)
And when thou art alone, take thou this viol,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off,
When presently through all thy veins fhall run
A cold and drowfie humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His nat❜ral progress, but furcease to beat.
No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks fhall fade

d

To paly afhes; the eyes windows fall

Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
And in this borrowed likeness of fhrunk 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 fame 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 he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua;
If no unconstant toy nor womanish fear
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul. Give me, oh give me, tell not me of fear. [taking the vial. Fri. Hold, get you gone, be strong and profperous

In this refolve, I'll send a Friar with speed

To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.

d mealy.

Jul.

Jul. Love give me strength, and ftrength fhall help afford. Farewel, dear father

SCENE II.

Capulet's House.

[Exeunt.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and two or three

Cap⋅ So

Servants.

many guests invite as here are writ;

Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time:

What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?

Nurse. Ay forfooth.

Cap. Well, he may chance to do fome good on her: A peevish felf-will'd harlotry it is.

Enter Juliet.

Nurfe. See where fhe comes from her confeffion.
Cap. How now, my head-strong? where have you been

gadding?

Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the fin Of disobedient oppofition

To

you and your behefts; and am enjoyn'd

By holy Lawrence, to fall proftrate here,
And beg your pardon: pardon I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you,

Cap. Send for the Count, go tell him of this,

twenty cunning cooks.

Ser. You fhall have none ill, Sir, for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.
Cap. How canft thou try them fo?

Ser. Marry, Sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers, goes not with me.

Cap. Go, be gone.

We shall be much &c.

• See where he comes from fhrift, with merry look.