Moth: Marry my Childe, 85
The gallant, yong and youthfull Gentleman,
The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church,
Early next Thursday morning must prouide,
To make you there a glad and ioyfull Bride.
Iul: Now by Saint Peters Church and Peter too, 90
He shall not there make mee a ioyfull Bride.
Are these the newes you had to tell me of?
Marrie here are newes indeed. Madame I will not marrie yet.
And when I doo, it shalbe rather Romeo whom I hate,
Than Countie Paris that I cannot loue. 95
Enter olde Capolet.
Moth: Here comes your Father, you may tell him so.
Capo: Why how now, euermore showring?
In one little bodie thou resemblest a sea, a barke, a storme:
For this thy bodie which I tearme a barke,
Still floating in thy euerfalling teares, 100
And tost with sighes arising from thy hart:
Will without succour shipwracke presently.
But heare you Wife, what haue you sounded her, what saies she to it?
Moth: I haue, but she will none she thankes ye:
Would God that she were married to her graue. 105
Capo: What will she not, doth she not thanke vs, doth
she not wexe proud?
Iul: Not proud ye haue, but thankfull that ye haue:
Proud can I neuer be of that I hate,
But thankfull euen for hate that is ment loue. 110
Capo: Proud and I thanke you, and I thanke you not,
And yet not proud. Whats here, chop logicke.
Proud me no prouds, nor thanke me no thankes,
But fettle your fine ioynts on Thursday next
To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church, 115
Or I will drag you on a hurdle thether.
Out you greene sicknes baggage, out you tallow face.
Iu: Good father heare me speake?