To make confession and to be absolv'd.  _Nurse._ Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. [_Exit._  _Juliet._ Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare
So many thousand times?--Go, counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.--
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die. [_Exit._[Illustration: JULIET AT LAURENCE'S CELL.]
ACT IVSCENE I. _Friar Laurence's Cell_
_Enter_ FRIAR LAURENCE _and_ PARIS  _Friar Laurence._ On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.  _Paris._ My father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.  _Friar Laurence._ You say you do not know the lady's mind;
Uneven is the course, I like it not.  _Paris._ Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway,
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears,
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society.
Now do you know the reason of this haste.  _Friar Laurence._ [_Aside_] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.--
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell._Enter_ JULIET  _Paris._ Happily met, my lady and my wife!  _Juliet._ That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.  _Paris._ That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.  _Juliet._ What must be shall be.  _Friar Laurence._ That's a certain text.  _Paris._ Come you to make confession to this father?  _Juliet._ To answer that, I should confess to you.  _Paris._ Do not deny to him that you love me.  _Juliet._ I will confess to you that I love him.  _Paris._ So will you, I am sure, that you love me.  _Juliet._ If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face._Paris._ Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.  _Juliet._ The tears have got small victory by that,
For it was bad enough before their spite.  _Paris._ Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report.  _Juliet._ That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.  _Paris._ Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.  _Juliet._ It may be so, for it is not mine own.--
Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?  _Friar Laurence._ My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.--
My lord, we must entreat the time alone.  _Paris._ God shield I should disturb 

 Prev. P 60/235 next