_Iul_: Auncient damnation, O most cursed fiend. Is it more sinne to wish me thus forsworne, Or to dispraise him with the selfe same tongue That thou hast praisde him with aboue compare So many thousand times? Goe Counsellor, 190 Thou and my bosom henceforth shalbe twaine. Ile to the Fryer to know his remedy, If all faile els, I haue the power to dye. _Exit._ [Sidenote: [SC. XVI.]] _Enter Fryer and Paris._ _Fr_: On Thursday say ye: the time is very short, _Par_: My Father _Capolet_ will haue it so, And I am nothing slacke to slow his hast. _Fr_: You say you doe not know the Ladies minde? Vneuen is the course, I like it not. 5 _Par_: Immoderately she weepes for _Tybalts_ death, And therefore haue I little talkt of loue. For _Venus_ smiles not in a house of teares, Now Sir, her father thinkes it daungerous: That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway. 10 And in his wisedome hasts our mariage, To stop the inundation of her teares. Which too much minded by her selfe alone May be put from her by societie. Now doe ye know the reason of this hast. 15 _Fr_: I would I knew not why it should be slowd. _Enter Paris._ Heere comes the lady to my cell, _Par_: Welcome my loue, my Lady and my wife: _Iu_: That may be sir, when I may be a wife, _Par_: That may be, must be loue, on thursday next. 20 _Iu_: What must be shalbe. _Fr_: Thats a certaine text. _Par_: What come ye to confession to this Fryer. _Iu_: To tell you that were to confesse to you. _Par_: Do not deny to him that you loue me. 25 _Iul_: I will confesse to you that I loue him, _Par_: So I am sure you will that you loue me. _Iu_: And if I doe, it wilbe of more price, Being spoke behinde your backe, than to your face. _Par_: Poore soule that face is much abus'd with teares. 30 _Iu_: The teares haue got small victory by that, For it was bad enough before their spite. _Par_: Thou wrongst it more than teares by that report. _Iu_: That is no wrong sir, that is a truth: And what I spake I spake it to my face. 35 _Par_: Thy face is mine and thou hast slaundred it. _Iu_: It may be so, for it is not mine owne. Are you at leasure holy Father now: Or shall I come to you at euening Masse? _Fr_: My leasure serues me pensive daughter now. 40 My Lord we must entreate the time alone. _Par_: God sheild I should disturbe deuotion, _Iuliet_ farwell, and keep this holy kisse. _Exit Paris._