_He goeth downe._ _Jul_: Art thou gone so, my Lord, my Loue, my Frend? I must heare from thee euerie day in the hower: For in an hower there are manie minutes, 40 Minutes are dayes, so will I number them: Oh, by this count I shall be much in yeares, Ere I see thee againe. _Rom_: Farewell, I will omit no opportunitie That may conueigh my greetings loue to thee. _Iul_: Oh, thinkst thou we shall euer meete againe. _Rom_: No doubt, no doubt, and all this woe shall serue For sweete discourses in the time to come. _Jul_: Oh God, I have an ill diuining soule. Me thinkes I see thee now thou art below 50 Like one dead in the bottome of a Tombe: Either mine ey-sight failes, or thou lookst pale. _Rom_: And trust me Loue, in my eye so doo you, Drie sorrow drinkes our blood: adieu, adieu. _Exit._ _Enter Nurse hastely._ _Nur_: Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, 55 Your Mother's comming to your Chamber, make all sure. _She goeth downe from the window._ _Enter Iuliets Mother, Nurse._ _Moth_: Where are you Daughter? _Nur_: What Ladie, Lambe, what _Iuliet_? _Iul_: How now, who calls? _Nur_: It is your Mother. 60 _Moth_: Why how now _Juliet_? _Iul_: Madam, I am not well. _Moth_: What euermore weeping for your Cosens death: I thinke thoult wash him from his graue with teares. _Iul_: I cannot chuse, hauing so great a losse. 65 _Moth_: I cannot blame thee. But it greeues thee more that Villaine liues. _Iul_: What Villaine Madame? _Moth_: That Villaine _Romeo_. _Iul_: Villaine and he are manie miles a sunder. 70 _Moth_: Content thee Girle, if I could finde a man I soone would send to _Mantua_ where he is, That should bestow on him so sure a draught, As he should soone beare _Tybalt_ companie. _Iul_: Finde you the meanes, and Ile finde such a man: 75 For whilest he liues, my heart shall nere be light Till I behold him, dead is my poore heart. Thus for a Kinsman vext? _Moth_: Well let that passe. I come to bring thee ioyfull newes? _Iul_: And ioy comes well in such a needfull time. 80 _Moth_: Well then, thou hast a carefull Father Girle, And one who pittying thy needfull state, Hath found thee out a happie day of ioy. _Iul_: What day is that I pray you? _Moth_: Marry my Childe, 85 The gallant, yong and youthfull Gentleman, The Countie _Paris_ at Saint _Peters_ Church, Early next Thursday morning must prouide, To make you there a glad and ioyfull Bride.