Graze where you will, you shall not house with me:
Look to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,
For, by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to’t, bethink you; I’ll not be forsworn. Exit.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
Talk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word:
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit.
O God!—O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say’st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banish’d; and all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne’er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.
O, he’s a lovely gentleman!
Romeo’s a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first; or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or ’twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.
And from my soul too;
Or else beshrew them both.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeased my father, to Laurence’ cell,
To make confession and to be absolved.
Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath praised him with above compare
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
I’ll to the friar, to know his remedy:
If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit.
Act IV
Scene I
Friar Laurence’s cell.
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris. | |
Friar Laurence | On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. |
Paris |
My father Capulet will have it so; |
Friar Laurence |
You say you do not know the lady’s mind: |
Paris |
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death, |
Friar Laurence |
Aside. I would I knew not why it should be slow’d. |
Enter Juliet. | |
Paris | Happily met, my lady and my wife! |
Juliet | That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. |
Paris | That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. |
Juliet | What must be shall be. |
Friar Laurence | That’s a certain text. |
Paris | Come you to make confession to this father? |
Juliet | To answer that, I should confess to you. |
Paris | Do not deny to him that you love me. |
Juliet | I will confess to you that I love him. |
Paris | So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. |
Juliet |
If I do so, it will be of more price, |
Paris | Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. |
Juliet |
The tears have got small victory by that; |
Paris | Thou wrong’st it, more than tears, with that report. |
Juliet |
That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; |
Paris | Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it. |
Juliet |
It may be so, for it is not mine own. |
Friar Laurence |
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. |
Paris |
God shield I should disturb devotion! |
Juliet |
O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, |
Friar Laurence |
Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; |
Juliet |
Tell me not, friar, that thou hear’st of this, |
Friar Laurence |
Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, |