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ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Friar LAURENCE's Cell.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and Paris.
Fri. 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, And therefore have 1 little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, That she doth give her sorrow so much sway; And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too inuch minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste.

Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.

[ Aside

Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

Enter Juliet.
Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife!

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 text.
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.

Jul. 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 re

port. 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 Par.

Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; Past hope, past cure, past help!

Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
It strains me past the compass of my wits :
I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it;

On Thursday next be married to this county.

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; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seald, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, Give me some present counsel; or, behold, 'Twixt iny extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that, Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.

Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry 'county Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself; Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.

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 skulls ;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
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
To marry Paris : Wednesday is to-morrow;
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in tby chamber :
Take thou this phial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off:
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His natural progress, but surcease to beat :
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death :
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours,
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there thou art dead:
Then (as the manner of our country is,)
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,

Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift;
And hither shall he come; and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul. Give me, I give me! tell me not of fear.

Fri. Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve : I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall help

afford. Farewell, dear father!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A room in CAPULET's house.

Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, Nurse, and Servants. Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.

[Exit Servant. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

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 ?

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.

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