_Fr_: Hold, stay thy hand: art thou a man? thy forme 105 Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote The vnresonable furyes of a beast. Vnseemely woman in a seeming man, Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both. Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, 110 I thought thy disposition better temperd, Hast thou slaine _Tybalt_? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady too, that liues in thee? Rouse vp thy spirits, thy Lady _Iuliet_ liues, For whose sweet sake thou wert but lately dead: 115 There art thou happy. _Tybalt_ would kill thee, But thou sluest _Tybalt_, there art thou happy too. A packe of blessings lights vpon thy backe, Happines Courts thee in his best array: But like a misbehaude and sullen wench 120 Thou frownst vpon thy Fate that smilles on thee. Take heede, take heede, for such dye miserable. Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed: Ascend her Chamber Window, hence and comfort her, But looke thou stay not till the watch be set: 125 For then thou canst not passe to _Mantua_. Nurse prouide all things in a readines, Comfort thy Mistresse, haste the house to bed, Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto. _Nur_: Good Lord what a thing learning is. 130 I could haue stayde heere all this night To heare good counsell. Well Sir, Ile tell my Lady that you will come. _Rom_: Doe so and bidde my sweet prepare to childe, Farwell good Nurse. 135 _Nurse offers to goe in and turnes againe._ _Nur_: Heere is a Ring Sir, that she bad me giue you, _Rom_: How well my comfort is reuiud by this. _Exit Nurse._ _Fr_: Soiorne in _Mantua_, Ile finde out your man, And he shall signifie from time to time: Euery good hap that doth befall thee heere. 140 Farwell. _Rom_: But that a ioy, past ioy cryes out on me, It were a griefe so breefe to part with thee. [Sidenote: [SC. XIV.]] _Enter olde Capolet and his Wife, with_ _County Paris._ _Cap_: Thinges haue fallen out Sir so vnluckily, That we haue had no time to moue my daughter. Looke yee Sir, she lou'd her kinsman dearely, And so did I. Well, we were borne to dye, Wife wher's your daughter, is she in her chamber? 5 I thinke she meanes not to come downe to night. _Par_: These times of woe affoord no time to wooe, Maddam farwell, commend me to your daughter. _Paris offers to goe in, and Capolet_ _calles him againe._ _Cap_: Sir _Paris_? Ile make a desperate tender of my child. I thinke she will be rulde in all respectes by mee: 10 But soft what day is this?