That same villain, Roméo. La. Cap. La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives. La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied O! how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd, and cannot come to him, To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him! La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings', girl. Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time. What are they, I beseech your ladyship? La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for. Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that? La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church Shall happily make thee a joyful bride. Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, These are news indeed! La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so yourself. And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse. Cap. When the sun sets, the earth doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son, How now! a conduit, girl? what! still in tears? Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! La. Cap. Ay, Sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would, the fool were married to her grave! Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her bless'd, So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? Jul. Not proud you have, but thankful that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. Cap. How now! how now, chop-logic! What is this? - Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! La. Cap. Fie, fie! what are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! get thee to church o' Thursday, I tell thee what, - Or never after look me in the face. Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd, That God had lent us but this only child; Nurse. God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence: smatter with your gossips; go. Nurse. I speak no treason. Cap. Nurse. May not one speak? Cap. O! God ye good den. Peace, you mumbling fool! You are too hot. Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, For here we need it not. La. Cap. Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, "I am too young," "I cannot love," "I pray you, pardon me;' But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you; Graze where you will, you shall not house with me: An you An you Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, [Exit. La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word. Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. Jul. O God! O nurse! how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? - comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack! that heaven should practise stratagems What say'st thou hast thou not a word of joy? Nurse. Faith, here't is. Romeo Is banished; and all the world to nothing, I think it best you married with the county. Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, Madam, I think you are happy in this second match, Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart? Or else beshrew them both. And from my soul too; Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in; and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession, and to be absolv'd. Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. [Exit. Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, ACT IV. [Exit. SCENE I. Fri. Friar LAURENCE'S Cell. Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS. On Thursday, Sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. Fri. You say, you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course; I like it not. Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, |