Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,

Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought

So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?


JULIET.

Not proud you have, but thankful that you have.

Proud can I never be of what I hate;

But thankful even for hate that is meant love.


CAPULET.

How now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this?

Proud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not;

And yet not proud. Mistress minion you,

Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,

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! Out, you baggage!

You tallow-face!


LADY CAPULET.

Fie, fie! What, are you mad?


JULIET.

Good father, I beseech you on my knees,

Hear me with patience but to speak a word.


CAPULET.

Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch!

I tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday,

Or never after look me in the face.

Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.

My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest

That God had lent us but this only child;

But now I see this one is one too much,

And that we have a curse in having her.

Out on her, hilding.


NURSE.

God in heaven bless her.

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.


CAPULET.

And why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue,

Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.


NURSE.

I speak no treason.


CAPULET.

O God ye good-en!


NURSE.

May not one speak?


CAPULET.

Peace, you mumbling fool!

Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,

For here we need it not.


LADY CAPULET.

You are too hot.


CAPULET.

God’s bread, it makes me mad!

Day, night, hour, ride, time, work, play,

Alone, in company, still my care hath been

To have her match’d, and having now provided

A gentleman of noble parentage,

Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied,

Stuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts,