_Par_: Munday my Lord. _Cap_: Oh then Wensday is too soone, On Thursday let it be: you shall be maried. Wee'le make no great a doe, a frend or two, or so: 15 For looke ye Sir, _Tybalt_ being slaine so lately, It will be thought we held him care leslye: If we should reuell much, therefore we will haue Some halfe a dozen frends and make no more adoe. But what say you to Thursday. 20 _Par_: My Lorde I wishe that Thursday were to morrow. _Cap_: Wife goe you to your daughter, ere you goe to bed. Acquaint her with the County _Paris_ loue, Fare well my Lord till Thursday next. Wife gette you to your daughter. Light to my Chamber. 25 Afore me it is so very very late, That we may call it earely by and by. _Exeunt._ [Sidenote: [SC. XV.]] _Enter Romeo and Iuliet at the window._ _Iul_: Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet nere day, It was the Nightingale and not the Larke That pierst the fearfull hollow of thine eare: Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree, Beleeue me loue, it was the Nightingale. 5 _Rom_: It was the Larke, the Herald of the Morne, And not the Nightingale. See Loue what enuious strakes Doo lace the seuering clowdes in yonder East. Nights candles are burnt out, and iocond Day Stands tiptoes on the mystie mountaine tops. 10 I must be gone and liue, or stay and dye. _Jul_: Yon light is not day light, I know it I: It is some Meteor that the Sunne exhales, To be this night to thee a Torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to _Mantua_. 15 Then stay awhile, thou shalt not goe soone. _Rom_: Let me stay here, let me be tane, and dye: If thou wilt haue it so, I am content. Ile say yon gray is not the Mornings Eye, It is the pale reflex of _Cynthias_ brow. 20 Ile say it is the Nightingale that beates The vaultic heauen so high aboue our heads, And not the Larke the Messenger of Morne. Come death and welcome, _Iuliet_ wils it so. What sayes my Loue? lets talke, tis not yet day. 25 _Jul_: It is, it is, begone, flye hence away. It is the Larke that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords and vnpleasing Sharpes. Some say, the Larke makes sweete Diuision: This doth not so: for this diuideth vs. 30 Some say the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, I would that now they had changd voyces too: Since arme from arme her voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence with Huntsvp to the day. So now be gone, more light and light it growes. 35 _Rom_: More light and light, more darke and darke our woes. Farewell my Loue, one kisse and Ile descend.