take the measure of his grave. From this unseemly state he was
roused by a message from his dear lady, which a little revived him; and
then the friar took the advantage to expostulate with him on the unmanly
weakness which he had shown. He had slain Tybalt, but would he also slay
himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but in his life? The noble form
of man, he said, was but a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage
which should keep it firm. The law had been lenient to him, that instead
of death, which he had incurred, had pronounced by the prince's mouth
only banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have slain him:
there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive, and (beyond all
hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most happy. All these
blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did Romeo put from him
like a sullen misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware, for such
as despaired (he said) died miserable. Then when Romeo was a little
calmed, he counselled him that he should go that night and secretly take
his leave of Juliet, and thence proceed straightways to Mantua, at which
place he should sojourn, till the friar found fit occasion to publish
his marriage, which might be a joyful means of reconciling their
families; and then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved to
pardon him, and he would return with twenty times more joy than he went
forth with grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the
friar, and took his leave to go and seek his lady, proposing to stay
with her that night, and by daybreak pursue his journey alone to Mantua;
to which place the good friar promised to send him letters from time to
time, acquainting him with the state of affairs at home.

That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining secret admission to
her chamber, from the orchard in which he had heard her confession of
love the night before. That had been a night of unmixed joy and rapture;
but the pleasures of this night, and the delight which these lovers took
in each other's society, were sadly allayed with the prospect of
parting, and the fatal adventures of the past day. The unwelcome
daybreak seemed to come too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song
of the lark, she would have persuaded herself that it was the
nightingale, which sings by night; but it was too truly the lark which
sang, and a discordant and unpleasing note it seemed to her; and the
streaks of day in the eas