_Romeo._ Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee--
_Nurse._ Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman!
_Romeo._ What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.
_Nurse._ I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 170
_Romeo._ Bid her devise some means to come to shrift This afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.
_Nurse._ This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
_Romeo._ And stay, good nurse; behind the abbey wall Within this hour my man shall be with thee, And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, 180 Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.
_Nurse._ Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
_Romeo._ What say'st thou, my dear nurse?
_Nurse._ Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
_Romeo._ I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel.
_Nurse._ Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, 190 Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?
_Romeo._ Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.
_Nurse._ Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R is 200 for the--No, I know it begins with some other letter--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.
_Nurse._ Ay, a thousand times.--[_Exit Romeo_] Peter!
_Juliet._ The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promis'd to return. Perchance she cannot meet him; that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over lowering hills; Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve 10 Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me; But old folks, many feign as they were dead, Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.--