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MERCUTIO: Right.
ROMEO: Why, then is my pump well flowered.
MERCUTIO: Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.
ROMEO: O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness.
MERCUTIO: Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.
ROMEO: Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.
MERCUTIO: Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose?
ROMEO: Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose.
MERCUTIO: I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
ROMEO: Nay, good goose, bite not.
MERCUTIO: Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
ROMEO: And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?
MERCUTIO: O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!
ROMEO: I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
MERCUTIO: Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
BENVOLIO: Stop there, stop there.
MERCUTIO: Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
BENVOLIO: Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
MERCUTIO: O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.
ROMEO: Here's goodly gear!
MERCUTIO: A sail, a sail!
BENVOLIO: Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
Nurse: Peter!
PETER: Anon!
Nurse: My fan, Peter.
MERCUTIO: Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face.
Nurse: God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
MERCUTIO: God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse: Is it good den?
MERCUTIO: 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
Nurse: Out upon you! what a man are you!
ROMEO: One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
Nurse: By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?
ROMEO: I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.
Nurse: You say well.
MERCUTIO: Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse: if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
BENVOLIO: She will indite him to some supper.
MERCUTIO: A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho!
ROMEO: What hast thou found?
MERCUTIO: No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither...
ROMEO: I will follow you.
MERCUTIO: Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, 'lady, lady, lady.'
Nurse: Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?
ROMEO: A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Nurse: An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?
PETER: I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
Nurse: Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross ki...
ROMEO: Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee--
Nurse: Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.
ROMEO: What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.
Nurse: I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
ROMEO: Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse: No truly sir; not a penny.
ROMEO: Go to; I say you shall.
Nurse: This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
ROMEO: And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within 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 is 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'...
ROMEO: Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.
Nurse: Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--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. Peter!
PETER: Anon!
Nurse: Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace.
JULIET: The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised 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 louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves...
Nurse: Peter, stay at the gate.
JULIET: Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse: I am a-weary, 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; though 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 warr...
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 jaunting 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 Laurence' 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 Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the ...
JULIET: Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.
FRIAR LAURENCE: So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not!
ROMEO: Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine.
FRIAR LAURENCE: These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Her...
JULIET: Good even to my ghostly confessor.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
JULIET: As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
ROMEO: Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JULIET: Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one.
BENVOLIO: I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
MERCUTIO: Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
BENVOLIO: Am I like such a fellow?
MERCUTIO: Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.