- Pray you, sir, a word.
My young lady bid me inquire you out.
What she bid me say I will keep to myself, but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior.
- Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress.
I protest unto thee.
- Oh good heart, and in faith, I will tell her as much.
Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.
- What will thou tell her, Nurse?
Thou dost not mark me.
- I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.
- Bid her devise some means to come to shrift this afternoon.
And there she shall, at Friar Laurence' cell, be shrived and married.
(Nurse laughs) - This afternoon, sir?
Well, she shall be there. (laughs) - Farewell.
Commend me to thy mistress.
- Oh now, God in heaven bless thee.
Hark you, sir.
- Commend me to thy lady.
- Yet a thousand times.
Peta? - Anon.
- My fan, Peta.
(dramatic music) (light knocking) - O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him?
(door slams) Now, good sweet nurse.
O Lord, why lookest thou sad?
- I'm a-weary, give me leave awhile.
- Nay, come, I pray thee, speak.
Good, good nurse, speak.
- Jesu, what haste?
Can you not stay awhile?
Do you not see I'm out of breath?
- How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath to say to me thou art out of breath?
Is thy news good, or bad?
Answer to that.
- Well, you have made a simple choice.
You know not how to choose a man.
Pfft, no, not he.
- What says he of our marriage?
What of that?
- O Lord, how my head aches. What a head have I.
Beshrew your heart for sending me about to catch my death with jaunting up and down.
- Come, what says Romeo?
- Have you got leave to go to shrift today?
- I have.
- Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell.
There stays a husband to make you a wife.