Romeo and Juliet

Capulet

                                          Sirrah, fetch drier logs.
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

Second Servant

I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter.
[Exit]

Capulet

Mass, and well said! A merry whoreson, ha!                 
Thou shalt be ‘loggerhead.’ Good faith, 'tis day.

Capulet

Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crowed,
The curfew-bell hath rung; 'tis three o'clock.
Look to the baked meats, good Angelica.
Spare not for cost.

Nurse

Capulet

Lady Capulet

[Exit Lady Capulet and Nurse]

Capulet

[Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets]

First Servant

Capulet

[Exit First Servant]

Second Servant

[Exit]

Capulet

[Music off stage]
[Re-Enter Nurse]
[Exit]

Juliet

Or if I live, is it not very like
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place —
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed;                          
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort —
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad —

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 darest, I'll give thee remedy.

Juliet

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 honor bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

Paris

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk 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.

Lady Capulet

What say you? Can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast.
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen.
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content.
And, what obscured in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover.

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