The Quintessential Shakespeare: 11 Most Famous Plays in One Edition. William Shakespeare
this hour my man shall be with thee,
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell; be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains:
Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse.
Now God in heaven bless thee!—Hark you, sir.
Romeo.
What say’st thou, my dear nurse?
Nurse.
Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
Romeo.
I warrant thee, my man’s as true as steel.
Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady.—Lord, Lord! when ‘twas a little prating thing,—O, there’s a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?
Romeo.
Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.
Nurse. Ah, mocker! that’s the dog’s name. R is for the dog: no; I know it begins with some other letter:—and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.
Romeo.
Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse.
Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo.]—Peter!
Peter.
Anon?
Nurse.
Peter, take my fan, and go before.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Capulet’s Garden.
[Enter Juliet.]
Juliet.
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.—
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.
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;
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.—
O God, she comes!
[Enter Nurse and Peter].
O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse.
Peter, stay at the gate.
[Exit Peter.]
Juliet.
Now, good sweet nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
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 jaunt have I had!
Juliet.
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:
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?
Juliet.
How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out of breath?
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?
Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; rhough 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?
Juliet.
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!—
Beshrew your heart for sending me about
To catch my death with jauncing up and down!
Juliet.
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?
Juliet.
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!
Are you so hot? marry,come up, I trow;
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
Henceforward,do your messages yourself.
Juliet.
Here’s such a coil!—come, what says Romeo?
Nurse.
Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Juliet.
I have.
Nurse.
Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ 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.
Hie you to church; I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love