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 ye, 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 abused 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 devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit
JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways