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  • Title: Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)
  • Editor: Roger Apfelbaum
  • ISBN: 1-55058-299-2

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Roger Apfelbaum
    Peer Reviewed

    Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)

    The most lamentable Tragedie
    Now do you know the reason of this haste.
    Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slowed.
    2310Looke sir, here comes the Lady toward my Cell.
    Enter Iuliet.
    Pa. Happily met my Lady and my wife.
    Iu. That maybe sir, when I may be a wife.
    Pa. That may be, must be loue, on Thursday next.
    2315Iu. What must be shall be.
    Fri. Thats a certaine text.
    Par. Come you to make confession to this Father?
    Iu. To aunswere that, I should confesse to you.
    Pa. Do not denie to him, that you loue me.
    2320Iu. I will confesse to you that I loue him.
    Par. So will ye, I am sure that you loue me.
    Iu. If I do so, it will be of more price,
    Being spoke behind your backe, then to your face.
    Par. Poor soule thy face is much abusde with tears.
    2325Iu. The teares haue got small victorie by that,
    For it was bad inough before their spight.
    Pa. Thou wrongst it more then tears with that report.
    Iu. That is no slaunder sir, which is a truth,
    And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
    2330Pa. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slandred it.
    Iu. It may be so, for it is not mine owne.
    Are you at leisure, holy Father now,
    Or shall I come to you at euening Masse?
    Fri. My leisure serues me pensiue daughter now,
    2335My Lord we must entreate the time alone.
    Par. God shield, I should disturbe deuotion,
    Iuliet, on Thursday early will I rowse yee,
    Till then adue, and keepe this holy kisse.
    Iu. O shut the doore, and when thou hast done so,
    2340Come weepe with me, past hope, past care, past help.
    Fri. O Iuliet I already know thy greefe,
    It straines me past the compasse of my wits,
    I heare thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,