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 stayed 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 offers to go in, and turns again⌉

NURSE (giving the ring)

Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.

Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

ROMEO

How well my comfort is revived by this. Exit Nurse

FRIAR LAURENCE

Go hence, good night, and here stands all your state.

Either be gone before the watch be set,

Or by the break of day disguised 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 ⌈severally⌉

3.4 Enter Capulet, his Wife, and Paris

CAPULET

Things have fall’n out, sir, so unluckily

That we have had no time to move our daughter.

Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,

And so did I. Well, we were born to die.

’Tis very late. She’ll not come down tonight.

I promise you, but for your company

I would have been abed an hour ago.

PARIS

These times of woe afford no times to woo.

Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.

CAPULET’S WIFE

I will, and know her mind early tomorrow.

Tonight she’s mewed up to her heaviness.

⌈Paris offers to go in, and Capulet calls him again⌉

CAPULET

Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender

Of my child’s love. I think she will be ruled

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.

O’ Thursday let it be. 0’ 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 tomorrow.

CAPULET

Well, get you gone. O’ Thursday be it, then.

(To his Wife) 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 late that we

May call it early by and by. Good night.

Exeunt ⌈Capulet and his wife at one door, Paris at another door⌉

3.5 Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft ⌈with the ladder of cords⌉

JULIET

Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,

That pierced the fear-full hollow of thine ear.

Nightly she sings on yon pom’granate 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

Yon light is not daylight; I know it, I.

It is some meteor that the sun exhaled

To be to thee this night a torchbearer

And light thee on thy 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 grey 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 changed eyes.

O, now I would they had changed 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 the Nurse ⌈hastily⌉

NURSE Madam.