Romeo and Juliet Page #7

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sun's beams,

O God, she comes!

O, she comes!

O honey nurse,

what news?

Hast thou

met with him?

I am a-weary, give

me leave awhile:
Fie,

how my bones ache!

what a jaunt have I had!

Nay, come, I pray

thee, speak; good,

good nurse, speak.

Jesu, what haste?

can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see that

I am out of breath?

How art thou out

of breath, when thou

hast breath To say to

me that thou art out

of breath?

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?

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?

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?'

O God's lady dear!

Are you so hot?

marry, come up, I

trow; Henceforward

do your messages yourself.

Oh. Here's such a coil!

come, what says Romeo?

Have you got

leave to go to

church to-morrow?

I have.

For nought so vile

that on the earth

doth live But to the

earth some special

good doth give, Nor

aught so good but

strain'd from that

fair use Revolts from

true birth, stumbling

on abuse:
Virtue

itself turns vice,

being misapplied;

Two such opposed foes

encamp them still In

man as well as herbs,

grace and rude will

And where the worser

is predominant

It is she.

And where the worser

is predominant,

Let's go father.

And where

the worser is

predominant, Full

soon the canker death

eats up that plant.

Too swift arrives

as tardy as too slow.

So smile the heavens

upon this holy act,

That after hours with

sorrow chide us not!

Do thou but close

our hands with

holy words, Then

love-devouring death

do what he dare;

(Speaking in Latin)

Amen!

Amen.

Thank you sir.

oh, gold, come

quick, look.

Romeo, the hate I

bear thee can afford

No better term than

this,--thou art

a villain.

Tybalt, the reason

that I have to love

thee Doth much excuse

the appertaining rage

To such a greeting:

villain am I none;

Boy, this shall

not excuse the

injuries That thou

hast done me;

therefore turn and draw.

I do protest, I

never injured thee,

But love thee better

than thou canst

devise, Till thou

shalt know the reason

of my love:
And so,

good Capulet,--which

name I tender As

dearly as my own,

--be satisfied.

O calm, dishonourable,

vile submission!

Alla stoccata

carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher,

will you walk?

What wouldst

thou have with me?

Good king of cats,

Mercutio!

Good king of cats,

nothing but one of

your nine lives;

that I mean to make

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