I'll to the friar, to know his remedy; If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit ACT IV. SCENE 1.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS. Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind; Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, Now do you know the reason of this haste. Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. Enter JULIET. Par. Happily met, iny lady, and my wife! [Asiae. 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 shall be. Fri. That's a certain tex⭑ Par. Come you to make confession 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 confess to you, that I love him. Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. Jut. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough, before their spite. Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.— Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now:— My lord, we must entreat the time alone. Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion!— Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss. [Exit PARIS. It strains me past the compass of my wits: Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st 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; Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope, Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless sculls; And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble· ́ And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, And hither shall he come; and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night And this shall free thee from this present shame; Jul. Give me, O give me! tell me not of fear. To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! SCENE II-A room in Capulet's house. [Exeunt. Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, Nurse, and Servant. Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. [Exit Servant. 2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. Cap. How canst thou try them so? 2 Serv. 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, begone. [Exit Servant. We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time. What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence? Nurse. Ay, forsooth. Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. |