She'd be as fwift in motion as a ball;

My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me;

But old folks, marry, feign as they were dead,
Unwieldy, flow, heavy, and pale, as lead.

Enter Nurfe, with Peter.

L'Exit Peter.

O good, fhe comes. O honey Nurse, what news?
Haft thou met with him? fend thy man away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.
Jul. Now, good fweet Nurfe,
O Lord, why look'st thou fad?

Tho' news be fad, yet tell them merrily:
If good, thou fham'ft the mufick of sweet news,
By playing 't to me with fo four a face.

Nurfe. I am a weary, let me rest a while;

Fy, how my bones ake, what a jaunt have I had? ful. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy

news!

Nay, come, I pray thee, fpeak-Good, good nurse,

fpeak.

Nurse. What hafte? Can you not stay a while? Do you not fee, that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou haft breath

To fay to me, that thou art out of breath?
Th' Excufe, that thou doft make in this delay,
Is longer than the Tale thou doft excuse.
Is thy news good or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll ftay the circumstance:
Let me be fatisfied. Is't good or bad?

Nurfe. Well, you have made a fimple choice; you know not how to chufe a man: Romeo, no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his legs excel all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, tho' they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are

8

past

past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I warrant him, as gentle as a lamb-Go thy ways, wench, ferve God-What, have you dined at home?

Jul. No, no. But all this did I know before: What fays he of our marriage? What of that? Nurfe. Lord, how my head akes! what a head have I?

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

My back o' th' other fide-O my back, my back:
Befhrew your heart, for fending me about
To catch my death with jaunting up and down.
ful. I 'faith, I am forry that thou art fo ill.
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurfe, tell me, what fays my love?
Nurfe. Your love fays like an honeft gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handfome,
And, I warrant, a virtuous-where is your mother?
Jul. Where is my mother?-why, fhe is within;
Where fhould fhe be? how odly thou reply'ft!
Your love fays like an boneft gentleman:

Where is your mother?

Nurfe. Are you fo hot? marry, come up, I trow, Is this the poultice for my aking bones? Hence-forward do your meffages yourself.

Jul. Here's fuch a coil. Come, what fays Ra

meo ?

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to fhrift to-day? Jul. I have.

Nurfe. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell, There stays a husband to make you a wife.

Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They'll be in fcarlet ftraight at any news.
Hie you to church, I muft another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love:
Muft climb a bird's-neft foon, when it is dark.
I am the drudge and toil in your delight,
But you fhall bear the burden foon at night.

W

A

Go,

Go, I'll to dinner, hie you to the cell.

ful, Hie to high fortune?honest nurse, fare

wel.

[Exeunt.

Fri.(

SCENE VI.

Changes to the Monaftery.

Enter Friar Lawrence, and Romeo.

O fmile the heavens upon this holy Act,

FriST

That after-hours with forrow chide us not! Rom. Amen, amen! but come what forrow can, It cannot countervail th' exchange of joy, That one fhort, minute gives me in her fight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough, I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which, as they meet, confume. The sweetest honey Is loathfome in its own deliciousness,

And in the taste confounds the appetite; Therefore love mod'rately, long love doth fo. ? Too fwift arrives as tardy as too flow.

Enter Juliet.

Here comes the lady. O, fo light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlafting flint;
A lover may bestride the goffamer
That idles in the wanton fummer air,
And yet not fall, fo light is vanity.
Jul. Good even to my ghoftly Confeffor.

7 Ton Swift arrives] He that travels too faft is as long before he comes to the end of his jour

ney, as he that travels flow. Precipitation produces mishap.

Fri. Romeo fhall thank thee, daughter, for us both. Jul. As much to him, elfe are his thanks too much.

Rom. Ah! Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then fweeten with thy breath This neighbour air; and let rich musick's tongue Unfold th' imagin'd happiness, that both "Receive in either, by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his fubstance, not of ornament : They are but beggars, that can count their w orth But my true love is grown to fuch Excess,

I cannot fum up fums of half my wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you fhall not stay alone, 'Till Holy Church incorp'rate two in one. [Exeunt.

Pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire;
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad;

And, if we meet, we fhall not 'scape a brawl;
For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring.

The day is hot,] It is obferved tions are committed during the

than in Italy almost all affaffina- heat of fummer.

Mer.

Mer. Thou art like one of thofe fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his fword upon the table, and fays, God fend me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the fecond cup, draws it on the Drawer, when, indeed, there is no need. Ben. Am I like fuch a fellow ?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as foon mov'd to be moody, and as foon moody to be mov'd.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an' there were two fuch, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair lefs, in his beard, than thou haft. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reafon but because thou haft hafel eyes; what eye, but fuch an eye, would fpy out fuch a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain afleep in the Sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Eafter? with another, for tying his new fhoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling;

Ben. If I were fo apt to quarrel as thou art, any man fhould buy the fee-fimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-fimple? O fimple!

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me clofe, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good-den, a word with one of you.

Mer.