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,—
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.
Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
Capulet.
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what,—get thee to church o’ Thursday,