Rom: More light and light, more darke and darke our woes.
Farewell my Loue, one kisse and Ile descend.
He goeth downe.
Jul: Art thou gone so, my Lord, my Loue, my Frend?
I must heare from thee euerie day in the hower:
For in an hower there are manie minutes, 40
Minutes are dayes, so will I number them:
Oh, by this count I shall be much in yeares,
Ere I see thee againe.
Rom: Farewell, I will omit no opportunitie
That may conueigh my greetings loue to thee.
Iul: Oh, thinkst thou we shall euer meete againe.
Rom: No doubt, no doubt, and all this woe shall serue
For sweete discourses in the time to come.
Jul: Oh God, I have an ill diuining soule.
Me thinkes I see thee now thou art below 50
Like one dead in the bottome of a Tombe:
Either mine ey-sight failes, or thou lookst pale.
Rom: And trust me Loue, in my eye so doo you,
Drie sorrow drinkes our blood: adieu, adieu. Exit.
Enter Nurse hastely.
Nur: Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, 55
Your Mother's comming to your Chamber, make all sure.