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| Capulet |
When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; |
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But for the sunset of my brother's son |
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How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? |
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Evermore showering? In one little body |
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Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; |
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For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, |
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Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, |
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Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; |
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Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, |
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Without a sudden calm, will overset |
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Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! |
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Have you deliver'd to her our decree? |
| Lady Capulet |
Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. |
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I would the fool were married to her grave! |
| Capulet |
Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. |
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How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? |
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Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, |
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Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought |
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So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? |
| Juliet |
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: |
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Proud can I never be of what I hate; |
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But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. |
| Capulet |
How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? |
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'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' |
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And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, |
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Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, |
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But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, |
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To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, |
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Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. |
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Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! |
| Lady Capulet |
Fie, fie! what, are you mad? |
| Juliet |
Good father, I beseech you on my knees, |
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Hear me with patience but to speak a word. |
| Capulet |
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! |
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I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, |
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Or never after look me in the face: |
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Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; |
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My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest |
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That God had lent us but this only child; |
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But now I see this one is one too much, |
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And that we have a curse in having her: |
| Nurse |
God in heaven bless her! |
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You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. |
| Capulet |
And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, |
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Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. |
| Nurse |
I speak no treason. |
| Capulet |
O, God ye god-den. |
| Capulet |
Peace, you mumbling fool! |
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Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; |
| Lady Capulet |
You are too hot. |
| Capulet |
God's bread! it makes me mad: |
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Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, |
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Alone, in company, still my care hath been |
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To have her match'd: and having now provided |
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A gentleman of noble parentage, |
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Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, |
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Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, |
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Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; |
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And then to have a wretched puling fool, |
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A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, |
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To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, |
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I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' |
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But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: |
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Graze where you will you shall not house with me: |
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Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. |
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Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: |
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An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; |
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And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in |
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For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, |
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Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: |
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Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. |
| Juliet |
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, |
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That sees into the bottom of my grief? |
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O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! |
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Delay this marriage for a month, a week; |
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Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed |
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In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. |
| Lady Capulet |
Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: |
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Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. |
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