R&J Scene 5

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  • (III.v.1-8)
  • It was the lark, the herald of the morn; no nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
  • Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear.
  • (III.v.54-59)
  • And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
  • O god, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, as one dead in the bottom of the tomb. Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
  • But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next to go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion I out, you baggage! You tallow-face!
  • (III.v.158-165)
  • Fie, fie! What, are you mad?
  • Good father, I beseech you on my knees, hear me with patience but to speak a word.
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