Romeo. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd
from the world, And world's exile is death,--then banished Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.
Friar. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part,
hath brush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou see'st
it not.
Romeo. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, And little
mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven, and may look on her; But Romeo may not.--More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies than Romeo: they may seize On the white wonder
of dear Juliet's hand, And steal immortal blessing from her lips; Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still
blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished,-- This may flies do, when I from
this must fly. And sayest thou yet that exile is not death! Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But banished to kill me; banished? O friar, the damned use
that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A
sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word banishment?
Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,--
Romeo. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Friar. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though
thou art banished.
Romeo. Yet banished? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a
prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not,--talk no more.
Friar. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Romeo. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
Friar. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Romeo. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but
married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou
tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
[Knocking within.]
Friar. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.
Romeo. Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
[Knocking.]
Friar. Hark, how they knock!--Who's there?--Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken.--Stay awhile;--Stand up;
[Knocking.]
Run to my study.--By-and-by!--God's will! What simpleness is this.--I come, I come!
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 39
[Knocking.]
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.
Friar. Welcome then.
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?
Friar. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,-- Just in her case!
Friar. O woeful sympathy! Piteous predicament!
Nurse. Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.-- Stand up, stand up; stand, an you
be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O?
Romeo. Nurse!
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir!--Well, death's the end of all.
Romeo. Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not she think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd
the childhood of our joy With blood remov'd but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she/ and
what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?
Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And
Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again.
Romeo. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman.--O, 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.
[Drawing his sword.]
Friar. Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art; Thy tears are womanish; thy wild
acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast; Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in
seeming both! Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou
slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy lady, too, that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon
thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth and heaven and earth, all three do
meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape,
thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love
sworn, but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape
and love, Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask, Is set a-fire by
thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is
alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou
slewest Tybalt; there art thou happy too: The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, And turns it to
exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array;
A best English romantic story - Romeo and Juliet
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But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:-- Take heed, take heed,
for such die miserable. 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 canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live till
we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the 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 bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt
unto. Romeo is coming.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!-- My lord, I'll
tell my lady you will come.
Romeo. 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.
[Exit.]
Romeo. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
Friar. Go hence; good night! and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the
break of day disguis'd from hence. 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; farewell; good night.
Romeo. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief so brief to part with thee: Farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV. A Room in Capulet's House.
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.]
Capulet. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you,
she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I; well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late; she'll not come
down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
Paris. These times of woe afford no tune to woo.-- Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
Lady Capulet. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.
Capulet. 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.-- Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,-- But, soft! what day is this?
Paris. Monday, my lord.
Capulet. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, Thursday let it be;--a Thursday, tell her, She shall be
married to this noble earl.-- Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or
two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if
we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to
Thursday?
Paris. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 41
Capulet. Well, get you gone: o' Thursday be it then.-- Go you to Juliet, ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife,
against this wedding-day.-- Farewell, my lord.--Light to my chamber, ho!-- Afore me, it is so very very late
That we may call it early by and by.-- Good night.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. An open Gallery to Juliet's Chamber, overlooking the Garden.
[Enter Romeo and Juliet.]
Juliet. 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 yond pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Romeo. 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.
Juliet. Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales To be to thee this night a
torch-bearer And light thee on the way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.
Romeo. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon gray is not
the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat The
vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go.-- Come, death, and welcome!
Juliet wills it so.-- How is't, my soul? let's talk,--it is not day.
Juliet. It is, it is!--hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and
unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say
the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had chang'd voices too! Since arm from arm that
voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. O, now be gone; more light and light it
grows.
Romeo. More light and light,--more dark and dark our woes!
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse. Madam!
Juliet. Nurse?
Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about.
[Exit.]
Juliet. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
Romeo. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.
[Descends.]
Juliet. Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, my friend! I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, For in a
minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo!
for such die miserable. 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 canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live till
we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the 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 bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt
unto. Romeo is coming.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!-- My lord, I'll
tell my lady you will come.
Romeo. 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.
[Exit.]
Romeo. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
Friar. Go hence; good night! and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the
break of day disguis'd from hence. 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; farewell; good night.
Romeo. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief so brief to part with thee: Farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV. A Room in Capulet's House.
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.]
Capulet. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you,
she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I; well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late; she'll not come
down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
Paris. These times of woe afford no tune to woo.-- Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
Lady Capulet. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.
Capulet. 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.-- Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,-- But, soft! what day is this?
Paris. Monday, my lord.
Capulet. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, Thursday let it be;--a Thursday, tell her, She shall be
married to this noble earl.-- Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or
two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if
we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to
Thursday?
Paris. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 41
Capulet. Well, get you gone: o' Thursday be it then.-- Go you to Juliet, ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife,
against this wedding-day.-- Farewell, my lord.--Light to my chamber, ho!-- Afore me, it is so very very late
That we may call it early by and by.-- Good night.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. An open Gallery to Juliet's Chamber, overlooking the Garden.
[Enter Romeo and Juliet.]
Juliet. 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 yond pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Romeo. 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.
Juliet. Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales To be to thee this night a
torch-bearer And light thee on the way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.
Romeo. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon gray is not
the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat The
vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go.-- Come, death, and welcome!
Juliet wills it so.-- How is't, my soul? let's talk,--it is not day.
Juliet. It is, it is!--hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and
unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say
the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had chang'd voices too! Since arm from arm that
voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. O, now be gone; more light and light it
grows.
Romeo. More light and light,--more dark and dark our woes!
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse. Madam!
Juliet. Nurse?
Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about.
[Exit.]
Juliet. Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
Romeo. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.
[Descends.]
Juliet. Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, my friend! I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, For in a
minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo!
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Re: A best English romantic story - Romeo and Juliet
Romeo. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Juliet. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
Romeo. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.
Juliet. O God! I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom
of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Romeo. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
[Exit below.]
Juliet. O 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.
Lady Capulet. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?
Juliet. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd
cause procures her hither?
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet. Why, how now, Juliet?
Juliet. Madam, I am not well.
Lady Capulet. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with
tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore have done: some grief shows much of
love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Juliet. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
Lady Capulet. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for.
Juliet. Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
Lady Capulet. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death As that the villain lives which slaughter'd
him.
Juliet. What villain, madam?
Lady Capulet. That same villain Romeo.
Juliet. Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like
he doth grieve my heart.
Lady Capulet. That is because the traitor murderer lives.
Juliet. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!
Lady Capulet. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,--
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 43
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,-- Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram That he shall soon
keep Tybalt company: And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.
Juliet. Indeed I never shall be satisfied With Romeo till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart so for a
kinsman vex'd: Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it, That Romeo
should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd,--and cannot
come to him,-- To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!
Lady Capulet. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
Juliet. And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
Lady Capulet. 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.
Juliet. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
Lady Capulet. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The
County Paris, at St. Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Juliet. Now by Saint Peter's Church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this
haste; that I must wed Ere he that should be husband comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father,
madam, I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than
Paris:--these are news indeed!
Lady Capulet. Here comes your father: tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.
[Enter Capulet and Nurse.]
Capulet. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains
downright.-- How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou
counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the
bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who,--raging with thy tears and they with
them,-- Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body.--How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to
her our decree?
Lady Capulet. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave!
Capulet. 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 bles'd, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a
gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Juliet. Not proud you have; but thankful that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even
for hate that is meant love.
Capulet. How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? Proud,--and, I thank you,--and I thank you not;-- And
yet not proud:--mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine
joints 'gainst Thursday next To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face!
Lady Capulet. Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
Juliet. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
Romeo. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.
Juliet. O God! I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom
of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Romeo. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
[Exit below.]
Juliet. O 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.
Lady Capulet. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?
Juliet. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd
cause procures her hither?
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet. Why, how now, Juliet?
Juliet. Madam, I am not well.
Lady Capulet. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with
tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore have done: some grief shows much of
love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Juliet. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
Lady Capulet. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for.
Juliet. Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
Lady Capulet. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death As that the villain lives which slaughter'd
him.
Juliet. What villain, madam?
Lady Capulet. That same villain Romeo.
Juliet. Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like
he doth grieve my heart.
Lady Capulet. That is because the traitor murderer lives.
Juliet. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!
Lady Capulet. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,--
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 43
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,-- Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram That he shall soon
keep Tybalt company: And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.
Juliet. Indeed I never shall be satisfied With Romeo till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart so for a
kinsman vex'd: Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it, That Romeo
should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd,--and cannot
come to him,-- To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!
Lady Capulet. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
Juliet. And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
Lady Capulet. 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.
Juliet. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
Lady Capulet. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The
County Paris, at St. Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Juliet. Now by Saint Peter's Church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this
haste; that I must wed Ere he that should be husband comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father,
madam, I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than
Paris:--these are news indeed!
Lady Capulet. Here comes your father: tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.
[Enter Capulet and Nurse.]
Capulet. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains
downright.-- How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou
counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the
bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who,--raging with thy tears and they with
them,-- Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body.--How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to
her our decree?
Lady Capulet. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave!
Capulet. 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 bles'd, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a
gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Juliet. Not proud you have; but thankful that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even
for hate that is meant love.
Capulet. How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? Proud,--and, I thank you,--and I thank you not;-- And
yet not proud:--mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine
joints 'gainst Thursday next To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face!
Lady Capulet. Fie, fie! what, are you mad?