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The Same. CAPULET’S Garden. | |
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Enter JULIET. | |
| Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; | |
| In half an hour she promis’d to return. | |
| Perchance she cannot meet him: that’s not so. | 5 |
| O! she is lame: love’s heralds should be thoughts, | |
| Which ten times faster glide 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. | 10 |
| 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; | 15 |
| 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. | |
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Enter Nurse and PETER. | 20 |
| 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. | |
| Jul. Now, good sweet nurse; O Lord! why look’st thou sad? | |
| Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; | 25 |
| 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 jaunce have I had! | |
| Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news. | 30 |
| Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. | |
| Nurse. Jesu! what haste? can you not stay awhile? | |
| Do you not see that I am out of breath? | |
| Jul. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath | |
| To say to me that thou art out of breath? | 35 |
| 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? | 40 |
| 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? | |
| Jul. 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! | 45 |
| Beshrew your heart for sending me about, | |
| To catch my death with jauncing up and down. | |
| Jul. 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? | 50 |
| Jul. 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, | 55 |
| Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow; | |
| Is this the poultice for my aching bones? | |
| Henceforward do your messages yourself. | |
| Jul. Here’s such a coil! come, what says Romeo? | |
| Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? | 60 |
| Jul. I have. | |
| Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence’ 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. | 65 |
| 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. | 70 |
| Go; I’ll to dinner: hie you to the cell. | |
| Jul. Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. [Exeunt. | |
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