Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 5

The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse, In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. O, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She’d be as swift in motion as a ball; 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.

The clock struck nine when I sent the Nurse; she promised to be back in half an hour. Maybe she can't find him. No, that's not it. Oh, she's slow. Love's messengers ought to be thoughts, which glide ten times faster than the sun's rays as they drive the shadows back over the frowning hills. That's why light-winged doves pull love's chariot, and why Cupid, quick as the wind, has wings. Now the sun is on the highest hill of this day's journey, and from nine to twelve is three long hours, and still she hasn't come. If she had feelings and warm young blood, she'd move as fast as a ball; my words would knock her over to my sweet love, and his words back to me. But old people — many of them act as if they were dead: clumsy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

Oh God, she's coming. Oh sweet Nurse, what's the news? Have you met him? Send your man away.

Peter, stay at the gate.

Peter, wait at the gate.

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.

Now, my good sweet Nurse — oh Lord, why do you look so sad? Even if the news is sad, tell it cheerfully; and if it's good, you're spoiling the music of sweet news by playing it to me with such a sour face.

I am aweary, give me leave awhile; Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!

I'm worn out; let me rest a moment. Ugh, how my bones ache! What a trip I've had!

I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.

I wish you had my bones and I had your news. No, come on, please speak; good, good Nurse, speak.

Jesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am out of breath?

Jesu, what a rush! Can't you wait a little? Can't you see I'm out of breath?

How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that; Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance. Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?

How can you be out of breath when you have breath enough to tell me you're out of breath? The excuse you make for this delay is longer than the story you're excusing. Is your news good or bad? Answer that; say one or the other, and I'll wait for the details. Let me be satisfied: is it good or bad?

Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench, serve God. What, have you dined at home?

Well, you've made a poor choice; you don't know how to pick a man. Romeo? No, not him. Though his face is better than any man's, still his leg beats all men's, and as for a hand and a foot and a body — though they're not worth talking about, they're beyond comparison. He isn't the very flower of courtesy, but I'll guarantee he's as gentle as a lamb. Off you go, girl, serve God. Tell me, have you eaten at home?

No, no. But all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? What of that?

No, no. But I knew all of this already. What does he say about our marriage? What about that?

Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with jauncing up and down.

Lord, how my head aches! What a head I have! It pounds as if it would fall into twenty pieces. And my back on the other side — oh my back, my back! Curse your heart for sending me out to catch my death jolting up and down.

I’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love?

Honestly, I'm sorry you aren't well. Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what does my love say?

Your love says like an honest gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother?

Your love speaks like an honest gentleman, and a courteous one, and a kind one, and a handsome one, and, I promise you, a virtuous one — where is your mother?

Where is my mother? Why, she is within. Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest. ‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman, ‘Where is your mother?’

Where is my mother? Why, she's inside. Where else would she be? What a strange way to answer. "Your love speaks like an honest gentleman — where is your mother?"

O God’s lady dear, Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow. Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself.

Oh, dear Lady of God, are you so worked up? Well, that's enough of that, I should think. Is this the soothing plaster for my aching bones? From now on, run your errands yourself.

Here’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo?

What a fuss this is! Come on, what does Romeo say?

Have you got leave to go to shrift today?

Have you been given permission to go to confession today?

I have.

I have.

Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church. I must another way, To fetch a ladder by the which your love Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark. I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.

Then hurry from here to Friar Lawrence's cell; a husband is waiting there to make you a wife. Now the reckless blood rises in your cheeks — they'll turn scarlet at once at any news. Hurry to the church. I have to go another way, to fetch a ladder that your love must use to climb up to a bird's nest soon, once it's dark. I'm the drudge, and I labour for your pleasure; but you'll carry the weight tonight. Go. I'll go to dinner; you hurry to the cell.

Hie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell.

I'll hurry to high fortune! Honest Nurse, goodbye.