So many thousand times? Go, counsellor!

Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.

I’ll to the friar, to know his remedy.

If all else fail, myself have power to die. Exit

4.1 Enter Friar Laurence and Paris

FRIAR LAURENCE

On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.

PARIS

My father Capulet will have it so,

And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE

You say you do not know the lady’s mind?

Uneven is the course. I like it not.

PARIS

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death,

And therefore have I little talked of love,

For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.

Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous

That she do give her sorrow so much sway,

And in his wisdom hastes our marriage

To stop the inundation of her tears,

Which, too much minded by herself alone,

May be put from her by society.

Now do you know the reason of this haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE (aside)

I would I knew not why it should be slowed.—

Enter Juliet

Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.

PARIS

Happily met, my lady and my wife.

JULIET

That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.

PARIS

That ’may be’ must be, love, on Thursday next.

JULIET

What must be shall be.

FRIAR LAURENCE That’s a certain text.

PARIS

Come you to make confession to this father?

JULIET

To answer that, I should confess to you.

PARIS

Do not deny to him that you love me.

JULIET

I will confess to you that I love him.

PARIS

So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.

JULIET

If I do so, it will be of more price,

Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.

PARIS

Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.

JULIET

The tears have got small victory by that,

For it was bad enough before their spite.

PARIS

Thou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.

JULIET

That is no slander, sir, which is a truth,

And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

PARIS

Thy face is mine, and thou hast slandered it.

JULIET

It may be so, for it is not mine own.—

Are you at leisure, holy father, now,

Or shall I come to you at evening mass?

FRIAR LAURENCE

My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.

My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

PARIS

God shield I should disturb devotion!—

Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye.

(Kissing her) Till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss.

Exit

JULIET

O, shut the door, and when thou hast done so,

Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!

FRIAR LAURENCE

O Juliet, I already know thy grief.

It strains me past the compass of my wits.

I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,

On Thursday next be married to this County.

JULIET

Tell me not, friar, that thou hear’st of this,

Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.

If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,

Do thou but call my resolution wise,

She draws a knife

And with this knife I’ll help it presently.

God joined my heart and Romeo‘s, thou our hands,

And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s sealed,

Shall be the label to another deed,

Or my true heart with treacherous revolt

Turn to another, this shall slay them both.

Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time,

Give me some present counsel; or, behold,

’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife

Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that

Which the commission of thy years and art

Could to no issue of true honour bring.

Be not so long to speak. I long to die

If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Hold, daughter, I do spy a kind of hope

Which craves as desperate an execution

As that is desperate which we would prevent.

If, rather than to marry County Paris,

Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,

Then is it likely thou wilt undertake

A thing like death to chide away this shame,

That cop‘st with death himself to scape from it;

And, if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy.

JULIET

O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,

From off the battlements of any tower,

Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk

Where serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears,

Or hide me nightly in a charnel house,

O’ercovered quite with dead men’s rattling bones,

With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;

Or bid me go into a new-made grave

And hide me with a dead man in his tomb—

Things that, to hear them told, have made me

tremble—

And I will do it without fear or doubt,

To live an unstained wife to my sweet love.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent

To marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow.

Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone.

Let not the Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.

Take thou this vial, being then in bed,

And this distilling liquor drink thou off,

When presently through all thy veins shall run

A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse

Shall keep his native progress, but surcease.