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    Act 4. Scene 1

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    Chapter 19
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    SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell.

    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 talk'd of love;
    For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
    Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
    That she doth 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 slow'd.
    Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

    Enter JULIET

    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 slander'd 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:
    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
    Ah, 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,
    And with this knife I'll help it presently.
    God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
    And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
    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 copest with death himself to scape from it:
    And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.

    JULIET
    O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
    From off the battlements of yonder tower;
    Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
    Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
    Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
    O'er-cover'd 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 shroud;
    Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble;
    And I will do it without fear or doubt,
    To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

    FRIAR LAURENCE
    Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
    To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow:
    To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;
    Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
    Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
    And this distilled 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:
    No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
    The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
    To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall,
    Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
    Each part, deprived of supple government,
    Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
    And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
    Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,
    And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
    Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
    To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
    Then, as the manner of our country is,
    In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier
    Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
    Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
    In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
    Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,
    And hither shall he come: and he and I
    Will watch thy waking, and that very night
    Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
    And this shall free thee from this present shame;
    If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
    Abate thy valour in the acting it.

    JULIET
    Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!

    FRIAR LAURENCE
    Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous
    In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed
    To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.

    JULIET
    Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.
    Farewell, dear father!

    Exeunt
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