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In carrion-flics, than Romeo: they may seize
Run to my study—By and by—God's will;
Nurse. Oh, holy Friar, oh tell me, holy Friar, Where is my lady's lord where's Romeo? Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse. Oh, he is even in my mistress’ case ; Just in her case: Oh, Juliet, Juliet ! Rom. Speak'st thou of Juliet ! how is it with her Since I’ve sustain'd the childhood of our joy With blood, Where is she How does she what says she? Nurse. Oh, she says nothing, sir, but weeps, and weeps, And now falls on her bed, and then starts up, And Tibalt cries, and then on Romeo calls, And then falls down again. Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her. Oh tell me, Friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. Fri. Hold thy desperate hand : Art thou a man thy form cries out thou art; Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts note Th'unreasonable fury of a beast. Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tibalt wilt thou slay thyself f And slay thy lady too, that lives in thee? What, rouse thee, man, thy Juliet is alive; Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed; Ascend her chamber ; hence, and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua, Where thou shalt live till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee back,
Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIs.
Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tibalt dearly, And so did I–Well, we were born to die— 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night. Par. These times of grief afford no time to woo: Madam, good night, commend me to your daughter. F
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be rul’d In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. But, soft; what day Well, Wednesday is too soon, On Thursday, let it be, you shall be marry'd. We'll keep no great ado—a friend or two— For, hark you, Tibalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much ; Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday? Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow. Cap. Wol, get you gone—on Thursday be it then : Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed: [To LADY CAPULET. Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. Farewell, my lord—Good night. [Ereunt.
SCEN E V.
Enter Romeo and JULI ET.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:
Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
Stands tip-toe on the misty mountain tops.
Nurse. Madam. Jul. Nurse. Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber : The day is broke, be wary, look about. Jul. Art thou gone so love lord l ah, husband, friend I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th’ hour, For in love's hours there are many days. Oh! by this count I shall be much in years, Ere I again behold my Romeo. Rom. Farewell ; I will omit no opportunity, That may convey my greetings to thee, love.