University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Street.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and servants.
Benvolio.
I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire,
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And if we meet we shall not 'scape a brawl.

Mer.

Thou art like one of those fellows, that when he
enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon
the table, and says, God send me no need of thee; and
by the operation of a second cup; draws it on the drawer,
when indeed there is no need.

Ben.

Am I like such a fellow?

Mer.

Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy
mood as any in Italy; an' there were two such, 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 less in his beard than thou hast: thou wilt
quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other
reason, but because thou hast hazel eyes; thou hast

quarrell'd with a man for coughing in the street, because
he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.
Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new
doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new
shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for
quarrelling!

Ben.

If I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man
should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour and a
quarter.

Enter Tibalt, Petruchio, and others.
Ben.
By my head, here come the Capulets.

Mer.
By my heel, I care not.

Tib.
Be near at hand, for I will speak to them:
Gentlemen, good-den, a word with one of you.

Mer.

And but one word with one of us? couple it with
something, make it a word and a blow.

Tib.

You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, if you
will give me occasion.

Mer.

Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Tib.

Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo.

Mer.

Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels! if
thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords:
here's my fiddlestick, here's that shall make you
dance, zounds! consort!

[Laying his hand on his Sword.
Ben.
We talk here in the publick haunt of men:
Either withdraw into some private place,
Or reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

Mer.
Mens eyes were made to look, and let them gaze,
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter Romeo.
Tib.
Well, peace be with you, Sir, here comes my man.

Mer.
But I'll be hang'd, Sir, if he wear your livery.

Tib.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this; thou art a villain.

Rom.
Tibalt, the reason that I have to love thee,
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting: villain I am none,
Therefore farewel, I see thou know'st me not.

Tib.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.

Rom.
I do protest I never injur'd thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise;
And so, good Capulet (whose name I tender
As dearly as my own) be satisfied.

Mer.
O calm, dishonourable vile submission!
Ha! la stoccata carries it away—Tibalt—you rat-catcher.

Tib.
What would'st thou have with me?

Mer.

Will you pluck you sword out of his pilcher by
the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere
it be out.

Tib.
I am for you, Sir.

[Drawing.
Rom.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy raper up.

Mer.
Come, Sir, your passado.

[Mer. and Tib. fight.
Rom.
Draw, Benvolio—beat down their weapons—
Gentlemen—for shame forbear this outrage—
Hold Tibalt, good Mercutio—

[Exit Tibalt.
Mer.
I am hurt—
A plague of both your houses! I am sped:
Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Rom.
What, art thou hurt?

Mer.
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry 'tis enough:
Go, fetch a surgeon.

Rom.
Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much.

Mer.

No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a
church-door, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: I am pepper'd,
I warrant, for this world: a plague of both your houses!
What? a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the
book of arithmetick? why the devil came you between
us? I was hurt under your arm.

Rom.
I thought all for the best.

Mer.
Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall fainte a plague o' both your houses!
They have made worms meat of me,
I have it, and soundly too; plague take your houses;
Your Mountagues and Capulets together!

[Exe. Mer. Ben.

SCENE II.

Rom.
This gentleman, the prince's near allie,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation's stain'd
With Tibalt's slander: O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty's power makes me effeminate,
And in my temper softned valour's steel.

Enter Benvolio.
Ben.
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead,
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

Enter Tibalt.
Ben.
Here comes the furious Tibalt back again.

Rom.
Alive? in triumph? and Mercutio slain?
Away to heaven respective lenity,
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tibalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
And thou or I, must keep him company.

Tib.
Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.

Rom.
This shall determine that.

[They fight, Tibalt falls.
Ben.
Romeo, away, begone:
The citizens are up, and Tibalt slain—
Stand not amaz'd, the prince will doom thee dead,
If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away.

Rom.
O! I am fortune's fool.
[Exit Romeo.

SCENE III.

Enter Prince, Mountague, Capulet, Citizens, &c.
Prince.
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Ben.
O noble prince, I can discover all.
The unlucky manage of this fatal quarrel:
There lies the man slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman brave Mercutio.

Cap.
Unhappy sight! alas the blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman—Now as thou art a Prince,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Mountague.

Prince.
Benvolio, who began this fray?

Ben.
Tibalt here slain;
Romeo bespake him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure: all this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not make truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tibalt, deaf to peace, but he that tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tibalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo, he cries aloud
Hold friends, friends part! and swifter than his tongue,
His agil arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tibalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tibalt fled;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like light'ning: for ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tibalt slain,
And as he fell, did Romeo turn to fly:
This is the Truth, or let Benvolio suffer.

Cap.
He is a kinsman to the Mountague,
Affection makes him false;
I beg for justice; justice, gracious Prince;
Romeo slew Tibalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin.
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
And now the price of his dear blood hath pay'd.

Mount.
Romeo but took the forfeit life of Tibalt.

Prin.
And we for that offence do banish him.
I have an int'rest in your heady brawls,
My blood doth flow from brave Mercutio's wounds.
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent my loss in him.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuse,
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase our repeal:
Therefore use none; let Romeo be gone,
Else when he is found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

An Apartment in Capulet's House.
Enter Juliet alone.
Jul.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
To Phœbus' mansion; such a waggoner
As Phaeton, would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That th'run-away's eyes may wink: and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalkt of and unseen.
Come night, come Romeo! come thou day in night!
For thou wilt lye upon the wings of night,
Whiter than snow upon the raven's back:
Give me my Romeo, night, and when he dies
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heav'n so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun:—
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; so tedious is this day,
As is the night before some festival,
To an impatient child that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O here comes my nurse!
Enter Nurse.
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heav'nly eloquence;
Now nurse, what news?
Why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse.
Ah welladay he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone—

Jul.
Can heav'n be so envious?

Nurse.
Romeo can,
Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo!

Jul.
What devil art thou, that does torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but ay,
And that bare little word shall poison more
Than the earth darting eye of cockatrice.

Nurse.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
Here on his manly breast.
A piteous coarse, a bloody piteous coarse;
I swooned at the sight.

Jul.
O break my heart—poor bankrupt, break at once!
To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty;
Vile earth to earth resign, end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!

Nurse.
O Tibalt, Tibalt, the best friend I had;
That ever I should live to see thee dead.

Jul.
What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd? and is Tibalt dead?

Nurse.
Tibalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul.
O heaven! did Romeo's hand shed Tibalt's blood?

Nurse.
It did, it did, alas the day! it did.

Jul.
O nature! what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? O that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.

Nurse.
No faith, no honesty in men;
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul.
Blister'd be thy tongue,
For such a wish, he was not born to shame,
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit:
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd,
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O what a wretch was I to chide him so?

Nurse.
Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

Jul.
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Ah poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
When I thy three hours wife have mangled it?
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you mistaking offer up to joy.
My husband lives that Tibalt would have slain,
And Tibalt's dead that would have kill'd my husband;
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was worser than Tibalt's death
That murder'd me; I would forget it fain,
But oh it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners minds;
Tibalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
That banished, that one word banished,
Hath slain ten thousand Tibalts: In that word
Is father, mother, Tibalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead!—Romeo is banished!
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse.
Weeping and wailing over Tibalt's coarse:
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Jul.
Wash they his wounds with tears? My eyes shall flow
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.

Nurse.
Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo,
To comfort you. I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him, he is hid at Lawrence' cell.

Jul.
O find him, give this ring to my true lord,
And bid him come to take his last farewel.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The Monastery.
Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.
Fri.
Romeo come forth, come forth thou fearful man,
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts;
And thou art wedded to calamity.

Rom.
Father, what news? what is the prince's doom?
What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?

Fri.
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company,
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

Rom.
What less than death can be the prince's doom?

Fri,
A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom.
Ha! banishment! be merciful, say death;
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: Do not say banishment;
'Tis death mis-term'd calling death banishment;
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden ax,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri.
O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind prince
Taking thy part hath push'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment,
This is meer mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom.
'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here
Where Juliet lives. There's more felicity
In carrion-flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
But Romeo may not, he is banished!
O father, hadst thou no strong poison mixt,
No sharp-ground knife, no present means of death,
But banishment to torture me withal.

Fri.
Fond mad-man, hear me speak.
I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adversity's sweet-milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee tho' thou art banished.

Rom.
Yet banished? hang up philosophy:
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
It helps not it prevails not, talk no more—

Fri.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Rom.
Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tibalt murthered:
Doting like me, and like me banished;
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[Throwing himself on the ground.
Fri.
Arise, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.

[Knock within.
Rom.
Not I, unless the breath of heart-sick groans,
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

Fri.
Hark how they knock—Romeo, arise.
Who's there?
Thou wilt be taken—stay a while—stand up;
[Knocks.
Run to my study—By and by—God's will;
What wilfulness is this!—I come, I come.
[Knock.
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

Nurse
[within.]
Let me come in, and you shall know my errand:
I come from lady Juliet.

Fri.
Welcome then.

Enter Nurse.
Nurse.
O 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.
O he is even in my mistress's case,
Just in her case: O Juliet, Juliet!

Rom.
Speak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Since I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood,
Where is she? how does she? what says she?

Nurse.
O 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 down falls again.

Rom.
As if that name
Shot from the deadly level of a gun
Did murder her. 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?
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 can'st 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
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy,
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse; commend me to thy lady,
And bid her hasten all the house to rest,
Romeo is coming.

Nurse.
O lord, I could have staid here all night long
To hear good counsel: oh, what learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom.
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

Nurse.
Here, Sir, a ring she bid me give you, Sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

Rom.
How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

Fri.
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewel, good-night.

Rom.
But that a joy, past joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief, so soon to part with thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

Capulet's House.
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.

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 carelesly,
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 to-morrow.

Cap.
Well, get you gone—on Thursday be it then:
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed:
[To Lady Cap.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.
Farewel, my lord—light to my chamber, hoa!
Good night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

The Garden.
Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window; a ladder of Ropes set.
Jul.
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomgranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom.
It was the Lark, the herald of the morn,
No Nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops,
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul.
Yon light is not day-light, I know it well;
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go so soon.

Rom.
Let me be ta'en; let me be put to death,
If thou wilt have it so, I am content.
I'll say yon gray is not the morning eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow,
I'll say, tis not the Lark whose notes do beat.
The vaulty heav'ns so high above our heads;
Come death and welcome: Juliet wills it so.
What says my love? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul.
It is, it is, hie hence away, be gone;
It is the Lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.

Rom.
More light and light?—more dark and dark our woes.
Farewel, my love: one kiss, and I'll be gone.

Enter Nurse.
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! ah husband, friend!
I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th'hour,
For in love's hours there are many days.
O by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom.
Farewel: I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my greetings to my love.

Jul.
O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

Rom.
I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses, in our time to come.

Jul.
O heav'n! I have an ill-divining soul,
Methinks I see thee, now thou'rt parting from me,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb!
Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Rom.
And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu!
My life, my love, my soul, Adieu!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

Juliet's Chamber.
Enter Juliet.
Jul.
Oh fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle.
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? be fickle, fortune:
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back again.

Enter lady Capulet.
La. Cap.
Ho daughter, are you up?

Jul.
Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

La. Cap.
Why how now, Juliet.

Jul.
Madam, I'm not well.

La. Cap.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?

Jul.
Yet let me weep for such a loss as mine.

La. Cap.
I come to bring thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul.
And joy comes well in such a needful 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 this?

La. Cap.
Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,
The gallant, young and noble gentleman,
The country Paris, at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride.

Jul.
I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
Ere he that must be husband comes to woo.
I pray you tell my lord and father, madam,
I cannot marry yet.

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.
How now? a conduit, girl? what still in tears,
Evermore showering? Why how now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

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 blest,
(Unworthy as she is,) that we have wrought
So worthy gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Jul.
Proud can I never be of what I hate,
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap.
Thank me no thankings,
But settle your fine joints against Thursday next,
To go with Paris to saint Peter's church:
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

La. Cap.
Fy, fy, 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,
I tell thee what; get thee to church a Thursday,
Or never-after look me in the face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.
Wife, we scarce thought us blest,
That God had sent us but this only child,
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding.

Nurse.
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.
Peace, you mumbling fool;
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

La. Cap.
You are too hot.

Cap.
Good wife, it makes me mad; day, night, late, early,
At home, abroad; alone, in company,
Waking or sleeping; still my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demeans; youthful, and nobly allied,
Proportion'd as ones thought would wish a man:
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender
To answer, I'll not wed, I cannot love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.—
But, if you will not wed, look to't, think on't,
I do not use to jest.—Thursday is near.
If you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i'th' streets;
For by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee.

[Exit.
Jul.
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 Tibalt lies.

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 heav'n! O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
Alack, alack, that heav'n should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself.

Nurse.
Rise, faith here it is:
Romeo is banish'd; 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, I think it best
You married with the count.

Jul.
Speakest thou from thy heart?

Nurse.
And from my soul too,
Or else beshrew them both.

Jul.
Amen, Amen.

Nurse.
What?

Jul.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much;
Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolved.

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,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd 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.