My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me. But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse and Peter.
O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
NURSE.
Peter, stay at the gate.
[Exit Peter.]
JULIET.
Now, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
NURSE.
I am aweary, give me leave awhile;
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!
JULIET.
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:
Nay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.