Part 6

y, wisely. NURSE. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO. She will endite him to some supper. MERCUTIO. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! ROMEO. What hast thou found? MERCUTIO. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. [_Sings._] An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in Lent; But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither. ROMEO. I will follow you. MERCUTIO. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. [_Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio._] NURSE. I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO. A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. NURSE. And a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure! PETER. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. NURSE. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave. Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me enquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young. And therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,— NURSE. Good heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO. What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me. NURSE. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO. Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon, And there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell Be shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains. NURSE. No truly, sir; not a penny. ROMEO. Go to; I say you shall. NURSE. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there. ROMEO. And stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall. Within this hour my man shall be with thee, And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, Which to the high topgallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains; Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. NURSE. Now God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir. ROMEO. What say’st thou, my dear Nurse? NURSE. Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO. I warrant thee my man’s as true as steel. NURSE. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a little prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO. Ay, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R. NURSE. Ah, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO. Commend me to thy lady. NURSE. Ay, a thousand times. Peter! [_Exit Romeo._] PETER. Anon. NURSE. Before and apace. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Capulet’s Garden. Enter Juliet. JULIET. The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse, In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. O, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She’d be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me. But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. Enter Nurse and Peter. O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. NURSE. Peter, stay at the gate. [_Exit Peter._] JULIET. Now, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. NURSE. I am aweary, give me leave awhile; Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! JULIET. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak. NURSE. Jesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that; Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance. Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad? NURSE. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET. No, no. But all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? What of that? NURSE. Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with jauncing up and down. JULIET. I’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love? NURSE. Your love says like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother? JULIET. Where is my mother? Why, she is within. Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest. ‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman, ‘Where is your mother?’ NURSE. O God’s lady dear, Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow. Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET. Here’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo? NURSE. Have you got leave to go to shrift today? JULIET. I have. NURSE. Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church. I must another way, To fetch a ladder by the which your love Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark. I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell. JULIET. Hie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo. FRIAR LAWRENCE. So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after-hours with sorrow chide us not. ROMEO. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAWRENCE. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately: long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter Juliet. Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint. A lover may bestride the gossamers That idles in the wanton summer air And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET. Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET. As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue Unfold the imagin’d happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET. Conceit more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament. They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Come, come with me, and we will make short work, For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. [_Exeunt._] ACT III SCENE I. A public Place. Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page 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, For now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO. Thou art like one of these 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 the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO. Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO. And what to? MERCUTIO. Nay, 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. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled 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 an old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO. And 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. MERCUTIO. The fee simple! O simple! Enter Tybalt and others. BENVOLIO. By my head, here comes the Capulets. MERCUTIO. By my heel, I care not. TYBALT. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO. Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo. MERCUTIO. Consort? What, dost tho