Rom. Farewell:
I will omit no oportunitie,
That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee
Iul. O thinkest thou we shall euer meet againe?
Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serue
For sweet discourses in our time to come
Iuliet. O God! I haue an ill Diuining soule,
Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe,
As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe,
Either my eye-sight failes, or thou look'st pale
Rom. And trust me Loue, in my eye so do you:
Drie sorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue.
Enter.
Iul. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle,
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? be fickle Fortune:
For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long,
But send him backe.
Enter Mother.
Lad. Ho Daughter, are you vp?
Iul. Who ist that calls? Is it my Lady Mother.
Is she not downe so late, or vp so early?
What vnaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
Lad. Why how now Iuliet?
Iul. Madam I am not well
Lad. Euermore weeping for your Cozins death?
What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares?
And if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him liue:
Therefore haue done, some griefe shewes much of Loue,
But much of griefe, shewes still some want of wit
Iul. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling losse
Lad. So shall you feele the losse, but not the Friend
Which you weepe for
Iul. Feeling so the losse,
I cannot chuse but euer weepe the Friend