Juliet. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!

Lady Capulet. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not; Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

Juliet. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it, That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd, and cannot come to him, To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

Lady Capulet. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

Juliet. And joy comes well in such a needy time. What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

Lady Capulet. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.

Juliet. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?

Lady Capulet. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

Juliet. Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he that should be husband comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!

Lady Capulet. Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse

Capulet. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs, Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, 

 Prev. P 57/235 next