Iuli. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away: It is the Larke that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes. Some say the Larke makes sweete Diuision; This doth not so: for she diuideth vs. Some say, the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, O now I would they had chang'd voyces too: Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-vp to the day, O now be gone, more light and it light growes
Rom. More light & light, more darke & darke our woes. Enter Madam and Nurse.
Nur. Your Lady Mother is comming to your chamber, The day is broke, be wary, looke about
Iul. Then window let day in, and let life out
Rom. Farewell, farewell, one kisse and Ile descend
Iul. Art thou gone so? Loue, Lord, ay Husband, Friend, I must heare from thee euery day in the houre, For in a minute there are many dayes, O by this count I shall be much in yeares, Ere I againe behold my Romeo
Rom. Farewell: I will omit no oportunitie, That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee
Iul. O thinkest thou we shall euer meet againe? Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serue For sweet discourses in our time to come
Iuliet. O God! I haue an ill Diuining soule, Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe, As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe, Either my eye-sight failes, or thou look'st pale
Rom. And trust me Loue, in my eye so do you: Drie sorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue. Enter.
Iul. 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 keepe him long, But send him backe. Enter Mother.
Lad. Ho Daughter, are you vp? Iul. Who ist that calls? Is it my Lady Mother. Is she not downe so late, or vp so early? What vnaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Lad. Why how now Iuliet? Iul. Madam I am not well
Lad. Euermore weeping for your Cozins death? What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares? And if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him liue: Therefore haue done, some griefe shewes much of Loue, But much of griefe, shewes still some want of wit
Iul. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling losse
Lad. So shall you feele the losse, but not the Friend Which you weepe for
Iul. Feeling so the losse, I cannot chuse but euer weepe the Friend
La. Well Girle, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the Villaine liues which slaughter'd him
Iul. What Villaine, Madam? Lad. That same Villaine Romeo
Iul. Villaine and he, be many miles assunder: God pardon, I doe with all my heart: And yet no man like he, doth grieue my heart
Lad. That is because the Traitor liues
Iul. I Madam from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my Cozins death
Lad. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not. Then weepe no more, Ile send to one in Mantua, Where that same banisht Run-agate doth liue, Shall giue him such an vnaccustom'd dram, That he shall soone keepe Tybalt company: And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied
Iul. Indeed I neuer shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him. Dead Is my poore heart so for a kinsman vext: Madam, if you could find out but a man To beare a poyson, I would temper it; That Romeo should vpon receit thereof, Soone sleepe in quiet. O how my heart abhors To heare him nam'd, and cannot come to him, To wreake the Loue I bore my Cozin, Vpon his body that hath slaughter'd him