She kneeles downe.
Cap: I tell thee what, eyther resolue on thursday next
To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church: 120
Or henceforth neuer looke me in the face.
Speake not, reply not, for my fingers ytch.
Why wife, we thought that we were scarcely blest
That God had sent vs but this onely chyld:
But now I see this one is one too much, 125
And that we haue a crosse in hauing her.
Nur: Mary God in heauen blesse her my Lord,
You are too blame to rate her so.
Cap. And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tung,
Good prudence smatter with your gossips, goe. 130
Nur: Why my Lord I speake no treason.
Cap: Oh goddegodden.
Vtter your grauity ouer a gossips boule,
For heere wee need it not.
Mo: My lord ye are too hotte. 135
Cap: Gods blessed mother wife it mads me,
Day, night, early, late, at home, abroad,
Alone, in company, waking or sleeping,
Still my care hath beene to see her matcht.
And hauing now found out a Gentleman, 140
Of Princely parentage, youthfull, and nobly trainde.
Stuft as they say with honorable parts,
Proportioned as ones heart coulde wish a man:
And then to haue a wretched whyning foole,
A puling mammet in her fortunes tender, 145
To say I cannot loue, I am too young, I pray you pardon mee?
But if you cannot wedde Ile pardon you.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.
Looke to it, thinke out, I doe not vse to iest.
I tell yee what, Thursday is neere, 150
Lay hand on heart, aduise, bethinke your selfe,
If you be mine, Ile giue you to my frend:
If not, hang, drowne, starue, beg,
Dye in the streetes: for by my Soule
Ile neuer more acknowledge thee, 155
Nor what I haue shall euer doe thee good,
Thinke ont, looke toot, I doe not vse to iest. Exit.
Iul: Is there no pitty hanging in the cloudes,
That lookes into the bottom of my woes?
I doe beseech you Madame, cast me not away, 160
Defer this mariage for a day or two,
Or if you cannot, make my mariage bed
In that dimme monument where Tybalt lyes.
Moth: Nay be assured I will not speake a word.
Do what thou wilt for I haue done with thee. Exit. 165