_Jul._ Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world. _Nurse._ [_Within_] Madam! _Jul._ I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- _Nurse._ [_Within_] Madam! _Jul._ By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. _Rom._ So thrive my soul-- _Jul._ A thousand times good night! [_Exit above._ _Rom._ A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [_Retiring._ _Re-enter_ JULIET, _above_. _Jul._ Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. _Rom._ It is my soul that calls upon my name; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! _Jul._ Romeo! _Rom._ My dear? _Jul._ At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? _Rom._ At the hour of nine. _Jul._ I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. _Rom._ Let me stand here till thou remember it. _Jul._ I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. _Rom._ And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. _Jul._ 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird: Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. _Rom._ I would I were thy bird. _Jul._ Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. [_Exit above._ _Rom._ Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [_Exit._ PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY