Exeunt.
Iul. Farewell:
God knowes when we shall meete againe.
I haue a faint cold feare thrills through my veines,
That almost freezes vp the heate of fire:
Ile call them backe againe to comfort me.
Nurse, what should she do here?
My dismall Sceane, I needs must act alone:
Come Viall, what if this mixture do not worke at all?
Shall I be married then to morrow morning?
No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there,
What if it be a poyson which the Frier
Subtilly hath ministred to haue me dead,
Least in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I feare it is, and yet me thinkes it should not,
For he hath still beene tried a holy man.
How, if when I am laid into the Tombe,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeeme me? There's a fearefull point:
Shall I not then be stifled in the Vault?
To whose foule mouth no healthsome ayre breaths in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes.
Or if I liue, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,
As in a Vaulte, an ancient receptacle,
Where for these many hundred yeeres the bones
Of all my buried Auncestors are packt,
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but greene in earth,
Lies festring in his shrow'd, where as they say,
At some houres in the night, Spirits resort:
Alacke, alacke, is it not like that I
So early waking, what with loathsome smels,
And shrikes like Mandrakes torne out of the earth,
That liuing mortalls hearing them, run mad.
O if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Inuironed with all these hidious feares,
And madly play with my forefathers ioynts?
And plucke the mangled Tybalt from his shrow'd?
And in this rage, with some great kinsmans bone,
As (with a club) dash out my desperate braines.
O looke, me thinks I see my Cozins Ghost,
Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body
Vpon my Rapiers point: stay Tybalt, stay;
Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, here's drinke: I drinke to thee.
Enter Lady of the house, and Nurse.
Lady. Hold,
Take these keies, and fetch more spices Nurse
Nur. They call for Dates and Quinces in the Pastrie.
Enter old Capulet.
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir,
The second Cocke hath Crow'd,
The Curphew Bell hath rung, 'tis three a clocke:
Looke to the bakte meates, good Angelica,
Spare not for cost
Nur. Go you Cot-queane, go,
Get you to bed, faith youle be sicke to morrow
For this nights watching
Cap. No not a whit: what? I haue watcht ere now
All night for lesse cause, and nere beene sicke
La. I you haue bin a Mouse-hunt in your time,
But I will watch you from such watching now.
Exit Lady and Nurse.
Cap. A iealous hood, a iealous hood,
Now fellow, what there?
Enter three or foure with spits, and logs, and baskets.