Nur: Well, to morrow morning she shall not faile.
Rom: Farewell, be trustie, and Ile quite thy paine. Exit.
Nur: Peter, take my fanne, and goe before. Ex. omnes.
[Sc. IX.]
Enter Iuliet.
Jul: The clocke stroke nine when I did send my Nursse
In halfe an houre she promist to returne.
Perhaps she cannot finde him. Thats not so.
Oh she is lazie, Loues heralds should be thoughts,
And runne more swift, than hastie powder fierd, 5
Doth hurrie from the fearfull Cannons mouth.
Enter Nurse.
Oh now she comes. Tell me gentle Nurse,
What sayes my Loue?
Nur: Oh I am wearie, let mee rest a while. Lord how
my bones ake. Oh wheres my man? Giue me some aqua 10
vitæ.
Iul: I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy newes.