_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. _Nur_: Fie, what a iaunt haue I had: and my backe a tother side. Lord, Lord, what a case am I in. _Jul_: But tell me sweet Nurse, what sayes _Romeo_? 15 _Nur: Romeo_, nay, alas you cannot chuse a man. Hees no bodie, he is not the Flower of curtesie, he is not a proper man: and for a hand, and a foote, and a baudie, wel go thy way wench, thou hast it ifaith. Lord, Lord, how my head beates? 20 _Iul_: What of all this? tell me what sayes he to our mariage? _Nur_: Marry he sayes like an honest Gentleman, and a kinde, and I warrant a vertuous: wheres your Mother? _Iul_: Lord, Lord, how odly thou repliest? He saies like a 25 kinde Gentleman, and an honest, and a vertuous; wheres your mother? _Nur_: Marry come vp, cannot you stay a while? is this the poultesse for mine aking boanes? next arrant youl haue done, euen doot your selfe. 30 _Iul_: Nay stay sweet Nurse, I doo intreate thee now, What sayes my Loue, my Lord, my _Romeo_? _Nur_: Goe, hye you straight to Friar _Laurence_ Cell, And frame a scuse that you must goe to shrift: There stayes a Bridegroome to make you a Bride. 35 Now comes the wanton blood vp in your cheekes, I must prouide a ladder made of cordes, With which your Lord must clime a birdes nest soone. I must take paines to further your delight, But you must beare the burden soone at night. 40 Doth this newes please you now? _Iul_: How doth her latter words reuiue my hart. Thankes gentle Nurse, dispatch thy busines, And Ile not faile to meete my _Romeo_. _Exeunt._ [Sidenote: [SC. X.]] _Enter Romeo, Frier._ _Rom_: Now Father _Laurence_, in thy holy grant Consists the good of me and _Iuliet_. _Fr_: Without more words I will doo all I may, To make you happie if in me it lye. _Rom_: This morning here she pointed we should meet, 5 And consumate those neuer parting bands, Witnes of our harts loue by ioyning hands. And come she will.