Enter CHORUS.
Chorus.
Two households,
both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona,
where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge
break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood
makes civil hands unclean.
From forth
the fatal loins
of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers
take their life;
Whose misadventured
piteous overthrows
Do with their death
bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage
of their death-marked love,
And the continuance
of their parents' rage,
Which,
but their children's end,
naught and could remove,
Is now
the two hours' traffic
of our stage;
The which
if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss,
our toil
shall strive to mend.
[Exit.]
Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY,
of the house of Capulet,
with swords
and bucklers (shields).
Sampson.
Gregory,
on my word,
we'll not carry coals.
Gregory.
No,
for then
we should be colliers.
Sampson.
I mean,
and we be in choler,
we'll draw.
Gregory.
Ay, while you live,
draw your neck
out of collar.
Sampson.
I strike quickly,
being moved.
Gregory.
But thou art not
quickly moved to strike.
Sampson.
A dog of the house
of Montague moves me.
Gregory.
To move is to stir,
and to be valiant
is to stand.
Therefore,
if thou art moved,
thou run'st away.
Sampson.
A dog of that house
shall move me to stand.
I will take the wall
of any man
or maid of Montague's.
Gregory.
That shows thee
a weak slave;
for the weakest
goes to the wall.
Sampson.
'Tis true;
and therefore women,
being the weaker vessels,
are ever thrust
to the wall.
Therefore
I will push Montague's men
from the wall
and thrust his maids
to the wall.
Gregory.
The quarrel
is between our masters
and us their men.
Sampson.
'Tis all one.
I will show myself
a tyrant.
When I have fought
with the men,
I will be civil
with the maids
-- I will cut off their heads.
Gregory.
The heads of the maids?
Sampson.
Ay,
the heads of the maids
or their maidenheads.
Take it in what sense
thou wilt.
Gregory.
They must take it
in sense that feel it.
Sampson.
Me they shall feel
while I am able to stand;
and 'tis known
I am a pretty piece of flesh.
Gregory.
'Tis well
thou art not fish;
if thou hadst,
thou hadst been Poor John.
Draw thy tool!
Here comes two
of the house of Montagues.
[Enter two other servingmen,
ABRAM and BALTHASAR.]
Sampson.
My naked weapon is out.
Quarrel!
I will back thee.
Gregory.
How?
Turn thy back and run?
Gregory.
No, marry.
I fear thee!
Sampson.
Let us take the law
of our sides;
let them begin.
Gregory.
I will frown
as I pass by,
and let them take it
as they list.
Sampson.
Nay, as they dare.
I will bite my thumb
at them,
which is disgrace to them
if they bear it.
Abram.
Do you
bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson.
I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abram.
Do you
bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson
(aside to GREGORY).
Is the law of our side
if I say ay?
Gregory
(aside to SAMPSON).
No.
Sampson.
No, sir,
I do not
bite my thumb at you, sir;
but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gregory.
Do you quarrel, sir?
Abram.
Quarrel, sir?
No, sir.
Sampson.
But if you do, sir,
I am for you.
I serve
as good a man as you.
Gregory.
Say "better."
Here comes one
of my master's kinsmen.
Sampson.
Yes,
better, sir.
Sampson.
Draw,
if you be men.
Gregory,
remember
thy swashing blow.
Benvolio.
Part, fools!
Put up your swords.
You know not
what you do.
Tybalt.
What,
art thou drawn
among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee,
Benvolio;
look upon thy death.
Benvolio.
I do but
keep the peace.
Put up thy sword,
Or manage it
to part these men with me.
Tybalt.
What, drawn,
and talk of peace?
I hate the word
As I hate hell,
all Montagues,
and thee.
Have at thee,
coward!
[Enter an OFFICER,
and three or four CITIZENS
with clubs,
bills,
and partisans,
or spears.]
Officer.
Clubs,
bills,
and partisans!
Strike!
Beat them down!
Down with the Capulets!
Down with the Montagues!
[Enter old CAPULET,
in his gown,
and his wife,
LADY CAPULET.]
Capulet.
What noise is this?
Give me my long sword, ho!
Lady Capulet.
A crutch,
a crutch!
Why call you
for a sword?
Capulet.
My sword, I say!
Old Montague is come
And flourishes his blade
in spite of me.
[Enter old MONTAGUE
and his wife,
LADY MONTAGUE.]
Montague.
Thou villain Capulet!
-- Hold me not;
let me go.
Lady Montague.
Thou shalt not
stir one foot
to seek a foe.
[Enter PRINCE ESCALUS,
with his TRAIN.]
Prince.
Rebellious subjects,
enemies to peace,
Profaners
of this neighbor-stainèd steel
-- Will they not hear?
What, ho!
You men,
you beasts,
That quench the fire
of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains
issuing from your veins!
On pain of torture,
from those bloody hands
Throw your mistempered weapons
to the ground
And hear the sentence
of your movèd prince.
Three civil brawls,
bred of an airy word
By thee,
old Capulet,
and Montague,
Have thrice disturbed
the quiet of our streets
And made Verona's
ancient citizens
Cast by their grave
beseeming ornaments
To wield old partisans,
in hands as old,
Cankered with peace,
to part your cankered hate.
If ever you
disturb our streets again,
Your lives
shall pay the forfeit
of the peace.
For this time
all the rest
depart away.
You,
Capulet,
shall go along with me;
And,
Montague,
come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure
in this case,
To old Freetown,
our common judgment place.
Once more,
on pain of death,
all men depart.
[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE,
LADY MONTAGUE,
and BENVOLIO.]
Montague.
Who set this ancient quarrel
new abroach?
Speak,
nephew,
were you by
when it began?
Benvolio.
Here were the servants
of your adversary
And yours,
close fighting
ere I did approach.
I drew
to part them.
In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt,
with his sword prepared,
Which,
as he breathed defiance
to my ears,
He swung about his head
and cut the winds,
Who,
nothing hurt withal,
hissed him in scorn.
While we were
interchanging
thrusts and blows,
Came more and more,
and fought
on part and part,
Till the prince came,
who parted either part.
Lady Montague.
O, where is Romeo?
Saw you him today?
Right glad I am
he was not
at this fray.
Benvolio.
Madam,
an hour before
the worshiped sun
Peered forth
the golden window
of the East,
A troubled mind drave me
to walk abroad;
Where,
underneath
the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth
from this city side,
So early walking
did I see your son.
Towards him I made,
but he was ware of me
And stole
into the covert
of the wood.
I,
measuring
his affections by my own,
Which then most sought
where most
might not be found,
Being one too many
by my weary self,
Pursued my humor
not pursuing his,
And gladly shunned
who gladly fled from me.
Montague.
Many a morning hath
he there been seen,
With tears
augmenting
the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds
more clouds
with his deep sighs;
But all so soon
as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest East
begin to draw
The shady curtains
from Aurora's bed,
Away from light
steals home my heavy son
And private
in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows,
locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself
an artificial night.
Black and portentous
must this humor prove
Unless good counsel
may the cause remove.
Benvolio.
My noble uncle,
do you know the cause?
Montague.
I neither know it
nor can learn of him.
Benvolio.
Have you importuned him
by any means?
Montague.
Both by myself
and many other friends;
But he,
his own affections' counselor,
Is to himself
-- I will not say how true --
But to himself
so secret and so close,
So far from sounding
and discovery,
As is the bud bit
with an envious worm
Ere he
can spread his sweet leaves
to the air
Or dedicate his beauty
to the sun.
Could we but learn
from whence
his sorrows grow,
We would
as willingly give cure
as know.
[Enter ROMEO.]
Benvolio.
See,
where he comes.
So please you step aside;
I'll know his grievance,
or be much denied.
Montague.
I would
thou wert
so happy by the stay
To hear true shrift.
Come,
madam,
let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE
and LADY MONTAGUE.]
Benvolio.
Good morrow, cousin.
Romeo.
Is the day so young?
Benvolio.
But new struck nine.
Romeo.
Ay me!
Sad hours seem long.
Was that my father
that went hence so fast?
Benvolio.
It was.
What sadness
lengthens Romeo's hours?
Romeo.
Not having that
which having
makes them short.
Romeo.
Out of her favor
where I am in love.
Benvolio.
Alas that love,
so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous
and rough in proof!
Romeo.
Alas that love,
whose view
is muffled still,
Should without eyes
see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine?
O me!
What fray was here?
Yet tell me not,
for I have heard it all.
Here's much
to do with hate,
but more with love.
Why then,
O brawling love,
O loving hate,
O anything,
of nothing first created!
O heavy lightness,
serious vanity,
Misshapen chaos
of well-seeming forms,
Feather of lead,
bright smoke,
cold fire,
sick health,
Still-waking sleep,
that is not what it is!
This love feel I,
that feel
no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Benvolio.
No, coz,
I rather weep.
Romeo.
Good heart, at what?
Benvolio.
At thy good heart's
oppression.
Romeo.
Why,
such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own
lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate,
to have it prest
With more of thine.
This love
that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief
to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke
made with
the fume of sighs;
Being purged,
a fire sparkling
in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed,
a sea nourished
with loving tears.
What is it else?
A madness most discreet,
A choking gall,
and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Benvolio.
Soft!
I will go along.
And if you leave me so,
you do me wrong.
Romeo.
Tut!
I have lost myself;
I am not here;
This is not Romeo,
he's some other where.
Benvolio.
Tell me in sadness,
who is that you love?
Romeo.
What,
shall I groan
and tell thee?
Benvolio.
Groan?
Why, no;
But sadly tell me who.
Romeo.
Bid a sick man in sadness
make his will.
Ah,
word ill urged
to one that is so ill!
In sadness,
cousin,
I do love a woman.
Benvolio.
I aimed so near
when I supposed you loved.
Romeo.
A right good markman.
And she's fair I love.
Benvolio.
A right fair mark,
fair coz,
is soonest hit.
Romeo.
Well,
in that hit you miss.
She'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow.
She hath Dian's wit,
And,
in strong proof
of chastity well armed,
From Love's weak childish bow
she lives uncharmed.
She will not
stay the siege
of loving terms,
Nor bide th' encounter
of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap
to saint-seducing gold.
O,
she is rich in beauty;
only poor That,
when she dies,
with beauty
dies her store.
Benvolio.
Then she hath sworn
that she
will still live chaste?
Romeo.
She hath,
and in that sparing
makes huge waste;
For beauty,
starved with her severity,
Cuts beauty off
from all posterity.
She is too fair,
too wise,
wisely too fair,
To merit bliss
by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love,
and in that vow
Do I live dead
that live to tell it now.
Benvolio.
Be ruled by me;
forget to think of her.
Romeo.
O, teach me
how I should forget
to think!
Benvolio.
By giving liberty
unto thine eyes.
Examine other beauties.
Romeo.
'Tis the way
To call hers,
exquisite,
in question more.
These happy masks
that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black,
put us in mind
they hide the fair.
He that is strucken blind
cannot forget
The precious treasure
of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress
that is passing fair:
What doth her beauty serve
but as a note
Where I may read
who passed that passing fair?
Farewell.
Thou canst not teach me
to forget.
Benvolio.
I'll pay that doctrine,
or else die in debt.
Enter CAPULET,
COUNT PARIS,
and the clown,
his SERVANT.
Capulet.
But Montague
is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike;
and 'tis not hard,
I think,
For men so old as we
to keep the peace.
Paris.
Of honorable reckoning
are you both,
And pity 'tis
you lived at odds so long.
But now, my lord,
what say you
to my suit?
Capulet.
But saying o'er
what I have said before:
My child
is yet a stranger
in the world,
She hath not seen
the change
of fourteen years;
Let two more summers
wither in their pride
Ere we may think her ripe
to be a bride.
Paris.
Younger than she
are happy mothers made.
Capulet.
And too soon marred
are those so early made.
Earth hath swallowed
all my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady
of my earth.
But woo her,
gentle Paris,
get her heart;
My will to her consent
is but a part.
And she agreed,
within her scope of choice
Lies my consent
and fair according voice.
This night I hold
an old accustomed feast.
Whereto
I have invited
many a guest,
Such as I love;
and you among the store,
One more,
most welcome,
makes my number more.
At my poor house
look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars
that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort
as do lusty young men feel
When well-appareled April
on the heel
Of limping winter treads,
even such delight
Among fresh fennel buds
shall you this night
Inherit at my house.
Hear all,
all see,
And like her most
whose merit most shall be;
Which,
on more view of many,
mine,
being one,
May stand in number,
though in reck'ning none.
Come,
go with me.
[To SERVANT,
giving him a paper.]
Go,
sirrah,
trudge about
Through fair Verona;
find those persons out
Whose names
are written there,
and to them say
My house and welcome
on their pleasure stay.
[Exit with PARIS.]
Servant.
Find them out
whose names
are written here?
It is written
that the shoemaker
should meddle
with his yard
and the tailor with his last,
the fisher
with his pencil
and the painter
with his nets;
but I am sent
to find those persons
whose names are here writ,
and can never find
what names the writing person
hath here writ.
I must to the learned.
In good time!
[Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.]
Benvolio.
Tut, man,
one fire burns out
another's burning;
One pain is less'ned
by another's anguish;
Turn giddy,
and be holp
by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures
with another's languish.
Take thou
some new infection
to thy eye,
And the rank poison
of the old will die.
Romeo.
Your plantain leaf
is excellent for that.
Benvolio.
For what,
I pray thee?
Romeo.
For your broken shin.
Benvolio.
Why, Romeo,
art thou mad?
Romeo.
Not mad,
but bound
more than a madman is;
Shut up in prison,
kept without my food,
Whipped and tormented
and -- God-den,
good fellow.
Servant.
God gi' go-den.
I pray, sir,
can you read?
Romeo.
Ay,
mine own fortune
in my misery.
Servant.
Perhaps you
have learned it
without book.
But,
I pray,
can you read
anything you see?
Romeo.
Ay,
if I know the letters
and the language.
Servant.
Ye say honestly.
Rest you merry.
Romeo.
Stay, fellow;
I can read.
"Signior Martino
and his wife and daughters;
County Anselm
and his beauteous sisters;
The lady widow of Vitruvio;
Signior Placentio
and his lovely nieces;
Mercutio
and his brother Valentine;
Mine uncle Capulet,
his wife and daughters;
My fair niece Rosaline;
Livia;
Signior Valentio
and his cousin Tybalt;
Lucio and the lively Helena."
A fair assembly.
Whither should they come?
Romeo.
Whither?
To supper?
Romeo.
Indeed
I should have
asked you that before.
Servant.
Now I'll tell you
without asking.
My master
is the great rich Capulet;
and if you be not
of the house of Montagues,
I pray
come and crush
a cup of wine.
Rest you merry.
[Exit.]
Benvolio.
At this same ancient feast
of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline
whom thou so loves;
With all
the admirèd beauties
of Verona.
Go thither,
and with unattainted eye
Compare her face with some
that I shall show,
And I will make thee
think thy swan a crow.
Romeo.
When the devout religion
of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood,
then turn tears to fires;
And these,
who,
often drowned,
could never die,
Transparent heretics,
be burnt for liars!
One fairer
than my love?
The all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match
since first the world begun.
Benvolio.
Tut! you saw her fair,
none else being by,
Herself poised
with herself in either eye;
But in that
crystal scales
let there be weighed
Your lady's love
against some other maid
That I will show you
shining at this feast,
And she
shall scant show well
that now seems best.
Romeo.
I'll go along,
no such sight
to be shown,
But to rejoice
in splendor of mine own.
Enter Capulet's wife,
LADY CAPULET,
and NURSE.
Lady Capulet.
Nurse,
where's my daughter?
Call her forth to me.
Nurse.
Now,
by my maidenhead
at twelve year old,
I bade her come.
What, lamb!
What, ladybird!
God forbid,
where's this girl?
What, Juliet!
Juliet.
How now?
Who calls?
Juliet.
Madam,
I am here.
What is your will?
Lady Capulet.
This is the matter.
--Nurse,
give leave awhile;
We must talk in secret.
Nurse,
come back again.
I have rememb'red me;
thou's hear our counsel.
Thou knowest
my daughter's
of a pretty age.
Nurse.
Faith,
I can tell her age
unto an hour.
Lady Capulet.
She's not fourteen.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth
-- And yet,
to my teen
be it spoken,
I have but four --
She's not fourteen.
How long is it now
To Lammastide?
Lady Capulet.
A fortnight and odd days.
Nurse.
Even or odd,
of all days in the year,
Come Lammas Eve at night
shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she
(God rest
all Christian souls!)
Were of an age.
Well,
Susan is with God;
She was too good for me.
But,
as I said,
On Lammas Eve at night
shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry;
I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake
now eleven years;
And she was weaned
(I never shall forget it),
Of all the days
of the year,
upon that day;
For I had then
laid wormwood
to my dug,
Sitting in the sun
under the dovehouse wall.
My lord and you
were then at Mantua.
Nay,
I do bear a brain.
But, as I said,
When it
did taste the wormwood
on the nipple Of my dug
and felt it bitter,
pretty fool,
To see it tetchy
and fall out with the dug!
Shake,
quoth the dovehouse!
'Twas no need,
I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time
it is eleven years,
For then she
could stand high-lone;
nay,
by th'rood,
She could have run
and waddled all about;
For even the day before,
she broke her brow;
And then my husband
(God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man)
took up the child.
"Yea," quoth he,
"dost thou fall
upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward
when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?"
and,
by my holidam,
The pretty wretch
left crying
and said, "Ay."
To see now
how a jest
shall come about!
I warrant,
and I should live
a thousand years,
I never should forget it.
"Wilt thou not, Jule?"
quoth he,
And,
pretty fool,
it stinted and said, "Ay."
Lady Capulet.
Enough of this.
I pray thee
hold thy peace.
Nurse.
Yes, madam.
Yet I cannot choose
but laugh
To think
it should leave crying
and say, "Ay."
And yet,
I warrant,
it had upon its brow
A bump as big as
a young cock'rel's stone;
A perilous knock;
and it cried bitterly.
"Yea,"
quoth my husband,
"fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward
when thou comest to age,
Wilt thou not, Jule?"
It stinted
and said, "Ay."
Juliet.
And stint thou too,
I pray thee, nurse,
say I.
Nurse.
Peace,
I have done.
God mark thee
to his grace!
Thou wast
the prettiest babe
that e'er I nursed.
And I might live
to see thee
married once,
I have my wish.
Lady Capulet.
Marry,
that "marry"
is the very theme
I came to talk of.
Tell me,
daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition
to be married?
Juliet.
It is an honor
that I dream not of.
Nurse.
An honor?
Were not I
thine only nurse,
I would say
thou hadst sucked wisdom
from thy teat.
Lady Capulet.
Well,
I think of marriage now.
Younger than you,
Here in Verona,
ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers.
By my count,
I was your mother
much upon these years
That you are now a maid.
Thus then in brief:
The valiant Paris
seeks you for his love.
Nurse.
A man,
young lady!
Lady,
such a man
As all the world.
--Why,
he's a man of wax.
Lady Capulet.
Verona's summer
hath not such a flower.
Nurse.
Nay, he's a flower,
in faith
-- a very flower.
Lady Capulet.
What say you?
Can you love
the gentleman?
This night
you shall behold him
at our feast.
Read o'er the volume
of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there
with beauty's pen;
Examine
every married lineament,
And see how one another
lends content;
And what obscured
in this fair volume lies
Find written
in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love,
this unbound lover,
To beautify him
only lacks a cover.
The fish
lives in the sea,
and 'tis much pride
For fair
without the fair
within to hide.
That book
in many's eyes
doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps
locks in the golden story;
So shall you share
all that he doth possess,
By having him,
making yourself no less.
Nurse.
No less?
Nay, bigger!
Women grow by men.
Lady Capulet.
Speak briefly,
can you like of Paris' love?
Juliet.
I'll look to like,
if looking liking move;
But no more deep
will I endart mine eye
Than your consent
gives strength
to make it fly.
Servingman.
Madam,
the guests are come,
supper served up,
you called,
my young lady asked for,
the nurse
cursed in the pantry,
and everything in extremity.
I must hence to wait.
I beseech
you follow straight.
[Exit.]
Lady Capulet.
We follow thee.
Juliet,
the county stays.
Nurse.
Go, girl,
seek happy nights
to happy days.
Enter ROMEO,
MERCUTIO,
BENVOLIO,
with five or six
other MASKERS;
TORCHBEARERS.
Romeo.
What,
shall this speech
be spoke
for our excuse?
Or shall we on
without apology?
Benvolio.
The date is out
of such prolixity.
We'll have no Cupid
hoodwinked with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's
painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies
like a crowkeeper;
Nor no without-book prologue,
faintly spoke
After the prompter,
for our entrance;
But,
let them measure us
by what they will,
We'll measure them
a measure
and be gone.
Romeo.
Give me a torch.
I am not
for this ambling.
Being but heavy,
I will bear the light.
Mercutio.
Nay, gentle Romeo,
we must have you dance.
Romeo.
Not I,
believe me.
You have dancing shoes
With nimble soles;
I have a soul of lead
So stakes me
to the ground
I cannot move.
Mercutio.
You are a lover.
Borrow Cupid's wings
And soar with them
above a common bound.
Romeo.
I am too sore enpiercèd
with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers;
and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch
above dull woe.
Under love's heavy burden
do I sink.
Mercutio.
And, to sink in it,
should you burden love
-- Too great oppression
for a tender thing.
Romeo.
Is love a tender thing?
It is too rough,
Too rude,
too boist'rous,
and it pricks like thorn.
Mercutio.
If love be rough with you,
be rough with love;
Prick love
for pricking,
and you beat love down.
Give me a case
to put my visage in.
A visor for a visor!
What care I
What curious eye
doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows
shall blush for me.
Benvolio.
Come,
knock and enter;
and no sooner in
But every man
betake him to his legs.
Romeo.
A torch for me!
Let wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes
with their heels;
For I am proverbed
with a grandsire phrase,
I'll be a candleholder
and look on;
The game
was ne'er so fair,
and I am done.
Mercutio.
Tut!
Dun's the mouse,
the constable's own word!
If thou art Dun,
we'll draw thee
from the mire
Of this sir-reverence love,
wherein thou stickest
Upon to the ears.
Come,
we burn daylight, ho!
Mercutio.
I mean, sir,
in delay
We waste our lights
in vain,
like lights by day.
Take our good meaning,
for our judgment sits
Five times in that
ere once
in our five wits.
Romeo.
And we mean well
in going
to this masque,
But 'tis no wit to go.
Mercutio.
Why,
may one ask?
Romeo.
I dreamt a dream
tonight.
Mercutio.
And so did I.
Romeo.
Well,
what was yours?
Mercutio.
That dreamers often lie.
Romeo.
In bed asleep,
while they
do dream things true.
Mercutio.
O, then I see
Queen Mab
hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife,
and she comes
In shape no bigger
than an agate stone
On the forefinger
of an alderman,
Drawn with a team
of little atomies
Over men's noses
as they lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes
made of long spinners' legs,
The cover,
of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces,
of the smallest spider web;
Her collars,
of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
Her whip,
of cricket's bone;
the lash,
of film;
Her wagoner,
a small gray-coated gnat,
Not half so big
as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger
of a maid;
Her chariot
is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel
or old grub,
Time out o' mind
the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state
she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains,
and then
they dream of love;
On courtiers' knees,
that dream on curtsies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers,
who straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips,
who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab
with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths
with sweetmeats tainted are.
Sometime she gallops
o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he
of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she
with a tithe pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose
as 'a lies asleep,
Then dreams he
of another benefice.
Sometime she driveth
o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he
of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches,
ambuscadoes,
Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep;
and then anon
Drums in his ear,
at which
he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted,
swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again.
This is that very Mab
That plaits the manes
of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks
in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled
much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag,
when maids
lie on their backs,
That presses them
and learns them
first to bear,
Making them women
of good carriage.
This is she--
Romeo.
Peace,
peace,
Mercutio,
peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mercutio.
True,
I talk of dreams;
Which are the children
of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing
but vain fantasy;
Which is
as thin of substance
as the air,
And more inconstant
than the wind,
who woos Even now
the frozen bosom
of the North
And,
being angered,
puffs away from thence,
Turning his side
to the dewdropping South.
Benvolio.
This wind you talk of
blows us from ourselves,
Supper is done,
and we
shall come too late.
Romeo.
I fear,
too early;
for my mind misgives
Some consequence
yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin
his fearful date
With this night's revels
and expire the term
Of a despisèd life,
closed in my breast,
By some vile forfeit
of untimely death.
But he that hath
the steerage of my course
Direct my sail!
On, lusty gentlemen!
[They march about the stage
and retire to one side.]
SERVINGMEN
come forth with napkins.
First Servingman.
Where's Potpan,
that he helps not
to take away?
He shift a trencher!
He scrape a trencher!
Second Servingman.
When good manners
shall lie
all in one
or two men's hands,
and they unwashed too,
'tis a foul thing.
First Servingman.
Away with the join-stools,
remove the court cupboard,
look to the plate.
Good thou,
save me
a piece of marchpane,
and as thou loves me,
let the porter
let in Susan Grindstone
and Nell,
Anthony,
and Potpan!
Second Servingman.
Ay, boy,
ready.
First Servingman.
You are looked for
and called for,
asked for and sought for,
in the great chamber.
Third Servingman.
We cannot be here
and there too.
Cheerly, boys!
Be brisk awhile,
and the longer liver
take all.
[Enter CAPULET,
LADY CAPULET,
JULIET,
TYBALT,
NURSE,
and all the GUESTS
and GENTLEWOMEN,
meeting the MASKERS.]
Capulet.
Welcome, gentlemen!
Ladies
that have their toes
Unplagued with corns
will walk a bout with you.
Ah,
my mistresses,
which of you all
Will now deny to dance?
She that makes dainty,
She I'll swear hath corns.
Am I come near ye now?
Welcome, gentlemen!
I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor
and could tell
A whispering tale
in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please.
'Tis gone,
'tis gone,
'tis gone.
You are welcome,
gentlemen!
Come,
musicians,
play.
[Music plays,
and they dance.]
A hall,
a hall!
Give room!
And foot it, girls.
More light,
you knaves,
and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire;
the room
is grown too hot.
Ah, sirrah,
this unlooked-for sport
comes well.
Nay, sit;
nay, sit,
good cousin Capulet;
For you and I
are past our dancing days.
How long is't now
since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?
Second Capulet.
By'r Lady,
thirty years.
Capulet.
What, man?
'Tis not so much,
'tis not so much;
'Tis since
the nuptial of Lucentio,
Come Pentecost
as quickly as it will,
Some five-and-twenty years,
and then we masked.
Second Capulet.
'Tis more,
'tis more.
His son is elder, sir;
His son is thirty.
Capulet.
Will you tell me that?
His son
was but a ward
two years ago.
Romeo
(to a SERVINGMAN).
What lady's that
which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
Servingman.
I know not, sir.
Romeo.
O, she doth teach
the torches
to burn bright!
It seems
she hangs upon
the cheek of night
As a rich jewel
in an Ethiop's ear
-- Beauty
too rich for use,
for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove
trooping with crows
As yonder lady
o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done,
I'll watch her place of stand
And,
touching hers,
make blessèd
my rude hand.
Did my heart
love till now?
Forswear it,
sight!
For I ne'er
saw true beauty
till this night.
Tybalt.
This, by his voice,
should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier,
boy.
What!
Dares the slave
Come hither,
covered with
an antic face,
To fleer and scorn
at our solemnity?
Now,
by the stock and honor
of my kin,
To strike him dead
I hold it not a sin.
Capulet.
Why, how now,
kinsman?
Wherefore storm you so?
Tybalt.
Uncle,
this is a Montague,
our foe,
A villain,
that is hither come
in spite
To scorn at our solemnity
this night.
Capulet.
Young Romeo is it?
Tybalt.
'Tis he,
that villain Romeo.
Capulet.
Content thee,
gentle coz,
let him alone.
'A bears him
like a portly gentleman,
And,
to say truth,
Verona brags of him
To be a virtuous
and well-governed youth.
I would not
for the wealth
of all this town
Here in my house
do him disparagement.
Therefore be patient;
take no note of him.
It is my will,
the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence
and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance
for a feast.
Tybalt.
It fits
when such a villain
is a guest.
I'll not endure him.
Capulet.
He shall be endured.
What,
goodman boy!
I say he shall.
Go to!
Am I the master here,
or you?
Go to!
You'll not endure him,
God shall mend my soul!
You'll make a mutiny
among my guests!
You will set
cock-a-hoop.
You'll be the man!
Tybalt.
Why, uncle,
'tis a shame.
Capulet.
Go to, go to!
You are a saucy boy.
Is't so, indeed?
This trick may chance
to scathe you.
I know what.
You must contrary me!
Marry, 'tis time
-- Well said,
my hearts! --
You are a princox -- go!
Be quiet, or
-- More light, more light! --
For shame!
I'll make you quiet.
What!
-- Cheerly,
my hearts!
Tybalt.
Patience perforce
with willful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble
in their different greeting.
I will withdraw;
but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet,
convert to bitt'rest gall.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
If I profane
with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine,
the gentle sin is this:
My lips,
two blushing pilgrims,
ready stand
To smooth that rough touch
with a tender kiss.
Juliet.
Good pilgrim,
you do wrong
your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows
in this;
For saints have hands
that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm
is holy palmers' kiss.
Romeo.
Have not saints lips,
and holy palmers too?
Juliet.
Ay, pilgrim,
lips that
they must use in prayer.
Romeo.
O, then,
dear saint,
let lips do
what hands do!
They pray;
grant thou,
lest faith turn to despair.
Juliet.
Saints do not move,
though grant for prayers' sake.
Romeo.
Then move not
while my prayer's effect
I take.
Thus from my lips,
by thine
my sin is purged.
Juliet.
Then have my lips
the sin
that they have took.
Romeo.
Sin from my lips?
O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.
[Kisses her.]
Juliet.
You kiss by th'book.
Nurse.
Madam,
your mother
craves a word with you.
Romeo.
What is her mother?
Nurse.
Marry, bachelor,
Her mother
is the lady of the house,
And a good lady,
and a wise and virtuous.
I nursed her daughter
that you talked withal.
I tell you,
he that can
lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.
Romeo.
Is she a Capulet?
O dear account!
My life
is my foe's debt.
Benvolio.
Away, be gone;
the sport
is at the best.
Romeo.
Ay, so I fear;
the more is my unrest.
Capulet.
Nay, gentlemen,
prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling
foolish banquet towards.
Is it e'en so?
Why then,
I thank you all.
I thank you,
honest gentlemen.
Good night.
More torches here!
Come on then;
let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah,
by my fay,
it waxes late;
I'll to my rest.
[Exeunt all
but JULIET and NURSE.]
Juliet.
Come hither, nurse.
What is yond gentleman?
Nurse.
The son and heir
of old Tiberio.
Juliet.
What's he
that now
is going out of door?
Nurse.
Marry,
that, I think,
be young Petruchio.
Juliet.
What's he that follows there,
that would not dance?
Juliet.
Go ask his name.
--If he be marrièd,
My grave
is like to be
my wedding bed.
Nurse.
His name is Romeo,
and a Montague,
The only son
of your great enemy.
Juliet.
My only love,
sprung from
my only hate!
Too early seen unknown,
and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love
it is to me
That I must love
a loathèd enemy.
Nurse.
What's this?
What's this?
Juliet.
A rhyme I learnt even now
Of one I danced withal.
[One calls within, "Juliet."]
Nurse.
Anon, anon!
Come,
let's away;
the strangers all are gone.
Chorus.
Now old desire
doth in his deathbed lie,
And young affection
gapes to be his heir;
That fair
for which love groaned for
and would die,
With tender Juliet matched,
is now not fair.
Now Romeo
is beloved and loves again,
Alike bewitchèd
by the charm of looks;
But to his foe supposed
he must complain,
And she
steal love's sweet bait
from fearful hooks.
Being held a foe,
he may not have access
To breathe such vows
as lovers use to swear,
And she as much in love,
her means much less
To meet her
new belovèd anywhere;
But passion
lends them power,
time means,
to meet,
Temp'ring extremities
with extreme sweet.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
Can I go forward
when my heart is here?
Turn back,
dull earth,
and find thy center out.
[Enter BENVOLIO with MERCUTIO.
ROMEO retires.]
Benvolio.
Romeo!
My cousin Romeo!
Romeo!
Mercutio.
He is wise And,
on my life,
hath stol'n him home
to bed.
Benvolio.
He ran this way
and leapt this orchard wall.
Call,
good Mercutio.
Mercutio.
Nay,
I'll conjure too.
Romeo!
Humors!
Madman!
Passion!
Lover!
Appear thou
in the likeness of a sigh;
Speak but one rhyme,
and I am satisfied!
Cry but "Ay me!"
pronounce but "love" and "dove";
Speak to my gossip Venus
one fair word,
One nickname
for her purblind son and heir,
Young Abraham Cupid,
he that shot so true
When King Cophetua
loved the beggar maid!
He heareth not,
he stirreth not,
he moveth not;
The ape is dead,
and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee
by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead
and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot,
straight leg,
and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes
that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness
thou appear to us!
Benvolio.
And if he hear thee,
thou wilt anger him.
Mercutio.
This cannot anger him.
'Twould anger him
To raise a spirit
in his mistress' circle
Of some strange nature,
letting it there stand
Till she had laid it
and conjured it down.
That were some spite;
my invocation
Is fair and honest:
in his mistress' name,
I conjure only
but to raise up him.
Benvolio.
Come,
he hath hid himself
among these trees
To be consorted
with the humorous night.
Blind is his love
and best befits the dark.
Mercutio.
If love be blind,
love cannot hit the mark.
And wish his mistress were
that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars
when they laugh alone.
O, Romeo,
that she were,
O that she were
An open et cetera,
thou a pop'rin pear!
Romeo, good night.
I'll to my truckle bed;
This field bed is too cold
for me to sleep.
Come,
shall we go?
Benvolio.
Go then,
for 'tis in vain
To seek him here
that means not to be found.
[Exit with others.]
Romeo
(coming forward).
He jests at scars
that never felt a wound.
[Enter JULIET at a window.]
But soft!
What light
through yonder window breaks?
It is the East,
and Juliet is the sun!
Arise,
fair sun,
and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick
and pale with grief
That thou her maid
art far more fair than she,
Be not her maid,
since she is envious.
Her vestal livery
is but sick and green,
And none but fools
do wear it.
Cast it off.
It is my lady!
O, it is my love!
O, that she knew
she were!
She speaks,
yet she says nothing.
What of that?
Her eye discourses;
I will answer it.
I am too bold;
'tis not to me
she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars
in all the heaven,
Having some business,
do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres
till they return.
What if her eyes
were there,
they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek
would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp;
her eyes in heaven
Would
through the airy region
stream so bright
That birds would sing
and think
it were not night.
See how
she leans her cheek
upon her hand!
O,
that I were a glove
upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Romeo.
She speaks.
O,
speak again,
bright angel,
for thou art
As glorious to this night,
being o'er my head,
As is a wingèd messenger
of heaven
Unto the white-upturnèd
wond'ring eyes Of mortals
that fall back
to gaze on him
When he bestrides
the lazy puffing clouds
And sails upon
the bosom of the air.
Juliet.
O Romeo, Romeo!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father
and refuse thy name;
Or,
if thou wilt not,
be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer
be a Capulet.
Romeo
(aside).
Shall I hear more,
or shall I speak at this?
Juliet.
'Tis but thy name
that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself,
though not a Montague.
What's Montague?
It is nor hand,
nor foot,
Nor arm,
nor face.
O,
be some other name
Belonging to a man.
What's in a name?
That which
we call a rose
By any other word
would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would,
were he not Romeo called,
Retain that dear perfection
which he owes
Without that title.
Romeo,
doff thy name;
And for thy name,
which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
Romeo.
I take thee
at thy word.
Call me but love,
and I'll be new baptized;
Henceforth
I never will be Romeo.
Juliet.
What man art thou,
that,
thus bescreened in night,
So stumblest
on my counsel?
Romeo.
By a name
I know not how
to tell thee who I am.
My name,
dear saint,
is hateful to myself
Because
it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written,
I would tear the word.
Juliet.
My ears
have yet not drunk
a hundred words
Of thy tongue's uttering,
yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo,
and a Montague?
Romeo.
Neither,
fair maid,
if either thee dislike.
Juliet.
How camest thou hither,
tell me,
and wherefore?
The orchard walls
are high
and hard to climb,
And the place death,
considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen
find thee here.
Romeo.
With love's light wings
did I o'erperch these walls;
For stony limits
cannot hold love out,
And what love can do,
that dares love attempt.
Therefore thy kinsmen
are no stop to me.
Juliet.
If they do see thee,
they will murder thee.
Romeo.
Alack,
there lies
more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords!
Look thou but sweet,
And I am proof
against their enmity.
Juliet.
I would not
for the world
they saw thee here.
Romeo.
I have night's cloak
to hide me from their eyes;
And but thou love me,
let them find me here.
My life
were better ended
by their hate
Than death proroguèd,
wanting of thy love.
Juliet.
By whose direction
found'st thou out this place?
Romeo.
By Love,
that first did prompt me
to inquire.
He lent me counsel,
and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot;
yet,
wert thou as far
As that vast shore
washed with the farthest sea,
I should adventure
for such merchandise.
Juliet.
Thou knowest
the mask of night
is on my face;
Else would a maiden blush
bepaint my cheek
For that which
thou hast heard me
speak tonight.
Fain
would I dwell on form
-- fain,
fain deny
What I have spoke;
but farewell compliment,
Dost thou love me?
I know
thou wilt say "Ay";
And I will take thy word.
Yet,
if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false.
At lovers' perjuries,
They say Jove laughs.
O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love,
pronounce it faithfully.
Or if thou think'st
I am too quickly won,
I'll frown
and be perverse
and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo;
but else,
not for the world.
In truth,
fair Montague,
I am too fond,
And therefore
thou mayst think
my havior light;
But trust me,
gentleman,
I'll prove more true
Than those
that have more cunning
to be strange.
I should have been more strange,
I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st,
ere I was ware,
My truelove passion.
Therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding
to light love,
Which the dark night
hath so discoverèd.
Romeo.
Lady,
by yonder blessèd moon
I vow,
That tips with silver
all these fruit-tree tops--
Juliet.
O,
swear not
by the moon,
the inconstant moon,
That monthly changes
in her circle orb,
Lest that thy love
prove likewise variable.
Romeo.
What shall I swear by?
Juliet.
Do not swear at all;
Or if thou wilt,
swear by
thy gracious self,
Which is the god
of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Romeo.
If my heart's dear love--
Juliet.
Well,
do not swear.
Although I joy in thee,
I have no joy
of this contract tonight.
It is too rash,
too unadvised,
too sudden;
Too like the lightning,
which doth cease to be
Ere one
can say it lightens.
Sweet,
good night!
This bud of love,
by summer's
ripening breath,
May prove
a beauteous flower
when next we meet.
Good night,
good night!
As sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart
as that within my breast!
Romeo.
O,
wilt thou leave me
so unsatisfied?
Juliet.
What satisfaction
canst thou have tonight?
Romeo.
The exchange
of thy love's faithful vow
for mine.
Juliet.
I gave thee mine
before thou didst request it;
And yet
I would it were
to give again.
Romeo.
Wouldst thou withdraw it?
For what purpose,
love?
Juliet.
But to be frank
and give it thee again.
And yet I wish
but for the thing
I have.
My bounty
is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep;
the more
I give to thee,
The more I have,
for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within.
Dear love, adieu!
Anon,
good nurse!
Sweet Montague,
be true.
Stay but a little,
I will come again.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
O blessèd,
blessèd night!
I am afeard,
Being in night,
all this
is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet
to be substantial.
Juliet.
Three words,
dear Romeo,
and good night indeed.
If that
thy bent of love
be honorable,
Thy purpose marriage,
send me word tomorrow,
By one
that I'll procure
to come to thee,
Where and what time
thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes
at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee
my lord
throughout the world.
Juliet.
I come anon.
--But if thou meanest
not well,
I do beseech thee--
Juliet.
By and by I come.
--To cease thy strife
and leave me
to my grief.
Tomorrow will I send.
Romeo.
So thrive my soul--
Juliet.
A thousand times
good night!
[Exit.]
Romeo.
A thousand times the worse,
to want thy light!
Love goes toward love
as schoolboys from their books;
But love from love,
toward school with heavy looks.
Juliet.
Hist!
Romeo, hist!
O for a falc'ner's voice
To lure this tassel
gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse
and may not speak aloud,
Else would I
tear the cave
where Echo lies
And make
her airy tongue
more hoarse than mine
With repetition of
"My Romeo!"
Romeo.
It is my soul
that calls upon my name.
How silver-sweet
sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music
to attending ears!
Juliet.
What o'clock tomorrow
Shall I send to thee?
Romeo.
By the hour of nine.
Juliet.
I will not fail.
'Tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot
why I did call thee back.
Romeo.
Let me stand here
till thou remember it.
Juliet.
I shall forget,
to have thee
still stand there,
Rememb'ring
how I love thy company.
Romeo.
And I'll still stay,
to have thee still forget,
Forgetting
any other home but this.
Juliet.
'Tis almost morning.
I would have thee gone
-- And yet no farther
than a wanton's bird,
That lets it hop a little
from his hand,
Like a poor prisoner
in his twisted gyves,
And with a silken thread
plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Romeo.
I would I were thy bird.
Juliet.
Sweet,
so would I.
Yet I should kill thee
with much cherishing.
Good night,
good night!
Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good night
till it be morrow.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes,
peace in thy breast!
Would I were
sleep and peace,
so sweet to rest!
Hence will I
to my ghostly friar's
close cell,
His help to crave
and my dear hap to tell.
[Exit.]
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE alone,
with a basket.
Friar.
The gray-eyed morn smiles
on the frowning night,
Check'ring
the eastern clouds
with streaks of light;
And fleckèd darkness
like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path
and Titan's burning wheels.
Now,
ere the sun
advance his burning eye
The day to cheer
and night's dank dew to dry,
I must upfill
this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds
and precious-juicèd flowers.
The earth that's Nature's mother
is her tomb.
What is her burying grave,
that is her womb;
And from her womb
children of divers kind
We sucking
on her natural bosom find,
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some,
and yet all different.
O,
mickle is
the powerful grace
that lies In plants,
herbs,
stones,
and their true qualities;
For naught so vile
that on the earth
doth live
But to the earth
some special good
doth give;
Nor aught so good but,
strained from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth,
stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice,
being misapplied,
And vice
sometime by action dignified.
Within the infant rind
of this weak flower
Poison
hath residence
and medicine power;
For this,
being smelt,
with that part
cheers each part;
Being tasted,
stays all senses
with the heart.
Two such opposèd kings
encamp them still
In man as well as herbs
-- grace and rude will;
And where the worser
is predominant,
Full soon the canker death
eats up that plant.
Enter ROMEO
ROMEO:
Good morrow,
father.
Friar.
Benedicite!
What early tongue
so sweet
saluteth me?
Young son,
it argues
a distemperèd head
So soon
to bid good morrow
to thy bed.
Care keeps his watch
in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges,
sleep will never lie;
But where unbruisèd youth
with unstuffed brain
Doth couch his limbs,
there golden sleep
doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness
doth me assure
Thou art uproused
with some distemp'rature;
Or if not so,
then here I hit it right
-- Our Romeo
hath not been
in bed tonight.
Romeo.
That last is true.
The sweeter rest
was mine.
Friar.
God pardon sin!
Wast thou with Rosaline?
Romeo.
With Rosaline,
my ghostly father?
No.
I have forgot that name
and that name's woe.
Friar.
That's my good son!
But where
hast thou been then?
Romeo.
I'll tell thee
ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting
with mine enemy,
Where on a sudden
one hath wounded me
That's by me wounded.
Both our remedies
Within thy help
and holy physic lies.
I bear no hatred,
blessèd man,
for, lo,
My intercession
likewise steads my foe.
Friar.
Be plain,
good son,
and homely in thy drift.
Riddling confession finds
but riddling shrift.
Romeo.
Then plainly know
my heart's
dear love is set
On the fair daughter
of rich Capulet;
As mine on hers,
so hers is set on mine,
And all combined,
save what thou must combine
By holy marriage.
When and where
and how We met,
we wooed,
and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee
as we pass;
but this I pray,
That thou consent
to marry us today.
Friar.
Holy Saint Francis!
What a change
is here!
Is Rosaline,
that thou
didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken?
Young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts,
but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria!
What a deal of brine
Hath washed
thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water
thrown away in waste
To season love,
that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet
thy signs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet
in mine ancient ears.
Lo,
here upon thy cheek
the stain doth sit
Of an old tear
that is not washed off yet.
If e'er thou wast thyself,
and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes
were all for Rosaline.
And art thou changed?
Pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall
when there's
no strength in men.
Romeo.
Thou chid'st me oft
for loving Rosaline.
Friar.
For doting,
not for loving,
pupil mine.
Romeo.
And bad'st me bury love.
Friar.
Not in a grave
To lay one in,
another out to have.
Romeo.
I pray thee
chide me not.
Her I love now
Doth grace for grace
and love for love allow.
The other did not so.
Friar.
O she knew well
Thy love did read by rote,
that could not spell.
But come,
young waverer,
come go with me.
In one respect
I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance
may so happy prove
To turn your
households' rancor
to pure love.
Friar.
Wisely and slow.
They stumble
that run fast.
[Exeunt.]
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Mercutio.
Where the devil
should this Romeo be?
Came he
not home tonight?
Benvolio.
Not to his father's.
I spoke with his man.
Mercutio.
Why,
that same pale
hardhearted wench,
that Rosaline,
Torments him
so that
he will sure run mad.
Benvolio.
Tybalt,
the kinsman
to old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter
to his father's house.
Mercutio.
A challenge,
on my life.
Benvolio.
Romeo will answer it.
Mercutio.
Any man
that can write
may answer a letter.
Benvolio.
Nay,
he will answer
the letter's master,
how he dares,
being dared.
Mercutio.
Alas, poor Romeo,
he is already dead:
stabbed with
a white wench's black eye;
run through the ear
with a love song;
the very pin of his heart
cleft with
the blind bow-boy's
butt-shaft;
and is he a man
to encounter Tybalt?
Benvolio.
Why,
what is Tybalt?
Mercutio.
More than Prince of Cats.
O,
he's the courageous captain
of compliments.
He fights
as you sing pricksong
-- keeps time,
distance,
and proportion;
he rests
his minim rests,
one,
two and the third
in your bosom!
The very butcher
of a silk button,
a duelist,
a duelist!
A gentleman
of the very first house,
of the first
and second cause.
Ah,
the immortal passado!
The punto reverso!
The hay!
Mercutio.
The pox of such antic,
lisping,
affecting fantasticoes
-- these new tuners of accent!
"By Jesu,
a very good blade!
A very tall man!
A very good whore!"
Why,
is not this
a lamentable thing,
grand sir,
that we
should be thus afflicted
with these strange flies,
these fashionmongers,
these pardon-me's,
who stand so much
on the new form
that they cannot sit
at ease
on the old bench?
O,
their bones,
their bones!
Benvolio.
Here comes Romeo!
Here comes Romeo!
Mercutio.
Without his roe,
like a dried herring.
O flesh, flesh,
how art thou fishified!
Now is he
for the numbers
that Petrarch flowed in.
Laura,
to his lady,
was a kitchen wench
(marry,
she had a better love
to berhyme her),
Dido a dowdy,
Cleopatra a gypsy,
Helen and Hero
hildings and harlots,
Thisbe a gray eye or so,
but not to the purpose.
Signior Romeo,
bonjour!
There's a French salutation
to your French slop.
You gave us
the counterfeit
fairly last night.
Romeo.
Good morrow to you both.
What counterfeit
did I give you?
Mercutio.
The slip, sir,
the slip.
Can you not conceive?
Romeo.
Pardon,
good Mercutio.
My business was great,
and in such a case as mine
a man may strain courtesy.
Mercutio.
That's as much as to say,
such a case as yours
constrains a man
to bow in the hams.
Romeo.
Meaning,
to curtsy.
Mercutio.
Thou hast
most kindly hit it.
Romeo.
A most courteous exposition.
Mercutio.
Nay,
I am the very pink
of courtesy.
Romeo.
Why, then
is my pump well-flowered.
Mercutio.
Sure wit,
follow me this jest now
till thou hast
worn out thy pump,
that,
when the single sole of it
is worn,
the jest may remain,
after the wearing,
solely singular.
Romeo.
O single-soled jest,
solely singular
for the singleness!
Mercutio.
Come between us,
good Benvolio!
My wits faint.
Romeo.
Swits and spurs,
swits and spurs;
or I'll cry a match.
Mercutio.
Nay,
if our wits
run the wild-goose chase,
I am done;
for thou
hast more
of the wild goose
in one of thy wits than,
I am sure,
I have in my whole five.
Was I with you there
for the goose?
Romeo.
Thou wast never
with me for anything
when thou wast not there
for the goose.
Mercutio.
I will bite thee
by the ear
for that jest.
Romeo.
Nay,
good goose,
bite not!
Mercutio.
Thy wit
is a very bitter sweeting;
it is a most sharp sauce.
Romeo.
And is it not, then,
well served in
to a sweet goose?
Mercutio.
O,
here's a wit of cheveril,
that stretches
from an inch narrow
to an ell broad!
Romeo.
I stretch it out
for that word "broad,"
which,
added to the goose,
proves thee far and wide
a broad goose.
Mercutio.
Why,
is not this better now
than groaning for love?
Now art thou sociable,
now art thou Romeo;
now art thou
what thou art,
by art as well as by nature.
For this driveling love
is like a great natural
that runs lolling
up and down
to hide his bauble
in a hole.
Benvolio.
Stop there,
stop there!
Mercutio.
Thou desirest me
to stop in my tale
against the hair.
[Enter NURSE and
her man PETER.]
Mercutio.
Two, two!
A shirt and a smock.
Mercutio.
Good Peter,
to hide her face;
for her fan's the fairer face.
Nurse.
God ye good morrow,
gentlemen.
Mercutio.
God ye good-den,
fair gentlewoman.
Mercutio.
'Tis no less,
I tell ye;
for the bawdy hand of the dial
is now upon
the prick of noon.
Nurse.
Out upon you!
What a man are you!
Romeo.
One,
gentlewoman,
that God hath made,
himself to mar.
Nurse.
By my troth,
it is well said.
"For himself to mar,"
quoth 'a?
Gentlemen,
can any of you tell me
where I may find
the young Romeo?
Romeo.
I can tell you;
but young Romeo
will be older
when you have found him
than he was
when you sought him.
I am the youngest
of that name,
for fault of a worse.
Mercutio.
Yea,
is the worst well?
Very well took,
i' faith!
Wisely,
wisely.
Nurse.
If you be he, sir,
I desire
some confidence with you.
Benvolio.
She will endite him
to some supper.
Mercutio.
A bawd,
a bawd,
a bawd!
So ho!
Romeo.
What hast thou found?
Mercutio.
No hare, sir;
unless a hare, sir,
in a Lenten pie,
that is something
stale and hoar
ere it be spent.
[He walks by them and sings.]
An old hare hoar,
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in Lent;
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a score
When it hoars
ere it be spent.
Romeo,
will you come
to your father's?
We'll to dinner thither.
Romeo.
I will follow you.
Mercutio.
Farewell,
ancient lady.
Farewell
(singing)
"Lady, lady, lady."
[Exeunt MERCUTIO,
BENVOLIO.]
Nurse.
I pray you, sir,
what saucy merchant was this
that was so full
of his ropery?
Romeo.
A gentleman,
nurse,
that loves
to hear himself talk
and will speak
more in a minute
than he will stand to
in a month.
Nurse.
And 'a speak anything
against me,
I'll take him down,
and 'a were lustier
than he is,
and twenty such Jacks;
and if I cannot,
I'll find those that shall.
Scurvy knave!
I am none
of his flirt-gills;
I am none
of his skainsmates.
And thou must stand by too,
and suffer every knave
to use me
at his pleasure!
Peter.
I saw no man
use you at his pleasure.
If I had,
my weapon
should quickly have been out,
I warrant you.
I dare draw
as soon as another man,
if I see occasion
in a good quarrel,
and the law on my side.
Nurse.
Now, afore God,
I am so vexed
that every part
about me quivers.
Scurvy knave!
Pray you, sir, a word;
and,
as I told you,
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
in a fool's paradise,
as they say,
it were
a very gross kind
of behavior,
as they say;
for the gentlewoman is young;
and therefore,
if you should
deal double with her,
truly it were
an ill thing to be offered
to any gentlewoman,
and very weak dealing.
Romeo.
Nurse,
commend me
to thy lady and mistress.
I protest unto thee--
Nurse.
Good heart,
and i' faith
I will tell her as much.
Lord,
Lord,
she will be
a joyful woman.
Romeo.
What wilt thou tell her,
nurse?
Thou dost not mark me.
Nurse.
I will tell her, sir,
that you do protest,
which,
as I take it,
is a gentlemanlike offer.
Romeo.
And stay,
good nurse,
behind the abbey wall.
Within this hour
my man shall be with thee
And bring thee cords
made like a tackled stair,
Which to
the high topgallant of my joy
Must be my convoy
in the secret night.
Farewell.
Be trusty,
and I'll quit thy pains.
Farewell.
Commend me
to thy mistress.
Nurse.
Now God in heaven
bless thee!
Hark you, sir.
Romeo.
What say'st thou,
my dear nurse?
Nurse.
Is your man secret?
Did you ne'er hear say,
may keep counsel,
putting one away?
Romeo.
Warrant thee
my man's as true as steel.
Nurse.
Well, sir,
my mistress
is the sweetest lady.
Lord,
Lord!
When 'twas
a little prating thing
-- O, there is
a nobleman in town,
one Paris,
that would fain
lay knife aboard;
but she,
good soul,
had as lieve see a toad,
a very toad,
as see him.
I anger her sometimes,
and tell her that Paris
is the properer man;
but I'll warrant you,
when I say so,
she looks as pale
as any clout
in the versal world.
Doth not rosemary
and Romeo
begin both with a letter?
Romeo.
Aye, nurse;
what of that?
Both with an R.
Nurse.
Ah, mocker!
That's the dog's name.
R is for the -- no;
I know it begins
with some other letter;
and she hath
the prettiest sententious of it,
of you and rosemary,
that it would
do you good to hear it.
Romeo.
Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse.
Ay, a thousand times.
[Exit ROMEO.]
Peter!
Nurse.
Before,
and apace.
[Exit after PETER.]
Juliet.
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 glide
than the sun's beams
Driving back shadows
over low'ring hills.
Therefore
do nimble-pinioned 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 would 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.
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 jaunce have I!
Juliet.
I would
thou hadst my bones,
and I thy news.
Nay, come,
I pray thee speak.
Good, good nurse,
speak.
Nurse.
Jesu,
what haste!
Can you not stay awhile?
Do you not see
that I am out of breath?
Juliet.
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?
Nurse.
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?
Juliet.
No, no.
But all this
did I know before.
What says he
of our marriage?
What of that?
Nurse.
Lord,
how my head aches!
What a head have I!
It beats
as it would fall
in twenty pieces.
My back a' t' other side
-- ah, my back,
my back!
Beshrew your heart
for sending me about
To catch my death
with jauncing up and down!
Juliet.
I' faith,
I am sorry
that thou art not well.
Sweet,
sweet,
sweet nurse,
tell me,
what says my love?
Nurse.
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?
Juliet.
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?'"
Nurse.
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.
Juliet.
Here's such a coil!
Come,
what says Romeo?
Nurse.
Have you got leave
to go to shrift today?
Nurse.
Then hie you hence
to Friar Laurence' 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.
Juliet.
Hie to high fortune!
Honest nurse, farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO.
Friar.
So smile the heavens
upon this holy act
That afterhours with sorrow
chide us not!
Romeo.
Amen, amen!
But come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail
the exchange of joy
That one short minute
gives me in her sight.
Do thou
but close our hands
with holy words,
Then love-devouring death
do what he dare
-- It is enough
I may but call her mine.
Friar.
These violent delights
have violent ends
And in their triumph die,
like fire and powder,
Which,
as they kiss,
consume.
The sweetest honey
Is loathsome
in his own deliciousness
And in the taste
confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately:
long love doth so;
Too swift arrives
as tardy as too slow.
Here comes the lady.
O,
so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out
the everlasting flint.
A lover may bestride
the gossamers
That idle
in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall;
so light is vanity.
Juliet.
Good even
to my ghostly confessor.
Friar.
Romeo shall thank thee,
daughter,
for us both.
Juliet.
As much to him,
else is his thanks too much.
Romeo.
Ah, Juliet,
if the measure of thy joy
Be heaped like mine,
and that thy skill
be more To blazon it,
then sweeten
with thy breath
This neighbor air,
and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagined happiness
that both Receive
in either
by this dear encounter.
Juliet.
Conceit,
more rich in matter
than in words,
Brags of his substance,
not of ornament.
They are
but beggars
that can count their worth;
But my true love
is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum
of half my wealth.
Friar.
Come,
come with me,
and we will make
short work;
For,
by your leaves,
you shall not stay alone
Till holy church
incorporate two in one.
[Exeunt.]
Enter MERCUTIO,
BENVOLIO, and MEN.
Benvolio.
I pray thee,
good Mercutio,
let's retire.
The day is hot,
the Capels are abroad,
And,
if we meet,
we shall not 'scape a brawl,
For now,
these hot days,
is the mad blood stirring.
Mercutio.
Thou art like
one of these fellows that,
when he enters
the confines of a tavern,
claps me his sword
upon the table and says,
"God send me
no need of thee!"
and by the operation
of the second cup
draws him on the drawer,
when indeed
there is no need.
Benvolio.
Am I like such a fellow?
Mercutio.
Come, come,
thou art as hot a Jack
in thy mood
as any in Italy;
and as soon moved
to be moody,
and as soon moody
to be moved.
Mercutio.
Nay,
and there were two such,
we should have none shortly,
for one
would kill the other.
Thou!
Why,
thou wilt quarrel
with a man
that hath a hair more
or a hair less
in his beard
than thou hast.
Thou wilt quarrel
with a man
for cracking nuts,
having no other reason
but because
thou hast hazel eyes.
What eye
but such an eye
would spy out
such a quarrel?
Thy head
is as full of quarrels
as an egg
is full of meat;
and yet thy head
hath been beaten
as addle as an egg
for quarreling.
Thou hast quarreled
with a man
for coughing in the street,
because he
hath wakened thy dog
that hath lain asleep
in the sun.
Didst thou not fall out
with a tailor
for wearing
his new doublet before Easter?
With another
for tying his new shoes
with old riband?
And yet
thou wilt tutor me
from quarreling!
Benvolio.
And I were
so apt to quarrel
as thou art,
any man should buy
the fee simple of my life
for an hour
and a quarter.
Mercutio.
The fee simple?
O simple!
Enter MERCUTIO,
BENVOLIO, and MEN.
Benvolio.
I pray thee,
good Mercutio,
let's retire.
The day is hot,
the Capels are abroad,
And,
if we meet,
we shall not 'scape a brawl,
For now,
these hot days,
is the mad blood stirring.
Mercutio.
Thou art like
one of these fellows that,
when he enters
the confines of a tavern,
claps me his sword
upon the table and says,
"God send me
no need of thee!"
and by the operation
of the second cup
draws him on the drawer,
when indeed
there is no need.
Benvolio.
Am I like such a fellow?
Mercutio.
Come, come,
thou art as hot a Jack
in thy mood
as any in Italy;
and as soon moved
to be moody,
and as soon moody
to be moved.
Mercutio.
Nay,
and there were two such,
we should have none shortly,
for one
would kill the other.
Thou!
Why,
thou wilt quarrel
with a man
that hath a hair more
or a hair less
in his beard
than thou hast.
Thou wilt quarrel
with a man
for cracking nuts,
having no other reason
but because
thou hast hazel eyes.
What eye
but such an eye
would spy out
such a quarrel?
Thy head
is as full of quarrels
as an egg
is full of meat;
and yet thy head
hath been beaten
as addle as an egg
for quarreling.
Thou hast quarreled
with a man
for coughing in the street,
because he
hath wakened thy dog
that hath lain asleep
in the sun.
Didst thou not fall out
with a tailor
for wearing
his new doublet before Easter?
With another
for tying his new shoes
with old riband?
And yet
thou wilt tutor me
from quarreling!
Benvolio.
And I were
so apt to quarrel
as thou art,
any man should buy
the fee simple of my life
for an hour
and a quarter.
Mercutio.
The fee simple?
O simple!
[Enter TYBALT and others.]
Benvolio.
By my head,
here come the Capulets.
Mercutio.
By my heel,
I care not.
Tybalt.
Follow me close,
for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen,
good-den.
A word with one of you.
Mercutio.
And but one word
with one of us?
Couple it with something;
make it a word
and a blow.
Tybalt.
You shall find me
apt enough to that, sir,
and you
will give me occasion.
Mercutio.
Could you
not take some occasion
without giving?
Tybalt.
Mercutio,
thou consortest with Romeo.
Mercutio.
Consort?
What,
dost thou
make us minstrels?
And thou
make minstrels of us,
look to hear
nothing but discords.
Here's my fiddlestick;
here's that
shall make you dance.
Zounds,
consort!
Benvolio.
We talk here
in the public haunt of men.
Either withdraw
unto some private place,
Or reason coldly
of your grievances,
Or else depart.
Here all eyes
gaze on us.
Mercutio.
Men's eyes
were made to look,
and let them gaze.
I will not budge
for no man's pleasure, I.
Tybalt.
Well,
peace be with you, sir.
Here comes my man.
Mercutio.
But I'll be hanged, sir,
if he wear your livery.
Marry,
go before to field,
he'll be your follower!
Your worship
in that sense
may call him man.
Tybalt.
Romeo,
the love I bear thee
can afford
No better term than this:
thou art a villain.
Romeo.
Tybalt,
the reason
that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse
the appertaining rage
To such a greeting.
Villain am I none.
Therefore farewell.
I see
thou knowest me not.
Tybalt.
Boy,
this shall not excuse
the injuries
That thou hast done me;
therefore turn and draw.
Romeo.
I do protest
I never injured thee,
But love thee better
than thou canst devise
Till thou shalt know
the reason of my love;
And so,
good Capulet,
which name I tender
As dearly as mine own,
be satisfied.
Mercutio.
O calm,
dishonorable,
vile submission!
Alla stoccata
carries it away.
Tybalt,
you ratcatcher,
will you walk?
Tybalt.
What wouldst thou
have with me?
Mercutio.
Good King of Cats,
nothing but
one of your nine lives.
That I mean
to make bold withal,
and,
as you shall use me
hereafter,
dry-beat the rest
of the eight.
Will you
pluck your sword
out of his pilcher
by the ears?
Make haste,
lest mine
be about your ears
ere it be out.
Romeo.
Gentle Mercutio,
put thy rapier up.
Mercutio.
Come, sir,
your passado!
Romeo.
Draw, Benvolio;
beat down their weapons.
Gentlemen,
for shame!
Forbear this outrage!
Tybalt,
Mercutio,
the prince
expressly hath Forbid
this bandying
in Verona streets.
Hold, Tybalt!
Good Mercutio!
[TYBALT under Romeo's arm
thrusts MERCUTIO in,
and flies.]
Mercutio.
I am hurt.
A plague a' both houses!
I am sped.
Is he gone
and hath nothing?
Benvolio.
What,
art thou hurt?
Mercutio.
Ay, ay,
a scratch,
a scratch.
Marry,
'tis enough.
Where is my page?
Go, villain,
fetch a surgeon.
Romeo.
Courage, man.
The hurt
cannot be much.
Mercutio.
No,
'tis not so deep
as a well,
nor so wide
as a church door;
but 'tis enough,
'twill serve.
Ask for me tomorrow,
and you shall find me
a grave man.
I am peppered,
I warrant,
for this world.
A plague
a' both your houses!
Zounds,
a dog,
a rat,
a mouse,
a cat,
to scratch
a man to death!
A braggart,
a rogue,
a villain,
that fights by the book
of arithmetic!
Why the devil
came you between us?
I was hurt
under your arm.
Romeo.
I thought
all for the best.
Mercutio.
Help me into some house,
Benvolio,
Or I shall faint.
A plague
a' both your houses!
They have made
worms' meat of me.
I have it,
And soundly too.
Your houses!
[Exeunt MERCUTIO
and BENVOLIO.]
Romeo.
This gentleman,
the prince's near ally,
My very friend,
hath got this mortal hurt
In my behalf
-- my reputation stained
With Tybalt's slander --
Tybalt,
that an hour
Hath been my cousin.
O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty
hath made me effeminate
And in my temper
soft'ned valor's steel!
Benvolio.
O Romeo, Romeo,
brave Mercutio is dead!
That gallant spirit
hath aspired the clouds,
Which too untimely
here did scorn the earth.
Romeo.
This day's black fate
on more days
doth depend;
This but
begins the woe
others must end.
Benvolio.
Here comes
the furious Tybalt
back again.
Romeo.
Alive in triumph,
and Mercutio slain?
Away to heaven
respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury
be my conduct now!
Now,
Tybalt,
take the "villain" back again
That late thou gavest me;
for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way
above our heads,
Staying for thine
to keep him company.
Either thou or I,
or both,
must go with him.
Tybalt.
Thou,
wretched boy,
that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
Romeo.
This shall determine that.
[They fight. TYBALT falls.]
Benvolio.
Romeo, away,
be gone!
The citizens are up,
and Tybalt slain.
Stand not amazed.
The prince
will doom thee death
If thou art taken.
Hence,
be gone, away!
Romeo.
O, I am fortune's fool!
Benvolio.
Why dost thou stay?
[Exit ROMEO.]
Citizen.
Which way ran he
that killed Mercutio?
Tybalt,
that murderer,
which way ran he?
Benvolio.
There lies that Tybalt.
Citizen.
Up, sir,
go with me.
I charge thee
in the prince's name obey.
[Enter PRINCE,
old MONTAGUE, CAPULET,
their WIVES, and all.]
Prince.
Where are the vile beginners
of this fray?
Benvolio.
O noble prince,
I can discover all
The unlucky manage
of this fatal brawl.
There lies the man,
slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman,
brave Mercutio.
Lady Capulet.
Tybalt, my cousin!
O my brother's child!
O prince!
O cousin!
Husband!
O,
the blood is spilled
Of my dear kinsman!
Prince,
as thou art true,
For blood of ours
shed blood of Montague.
O cousin, cousin!
Prince.
Benvolio,
who began
this bloody fray?
Benvolio.
Tybalt,
here slain,
whom Romeo's hand
did slay.
Romeo,
that spoke him fair,
bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was,
and urged withal
Your high displeasure.
All this
-- utterèd
With gentle breath,
calm look,
knees humbly bowed --
Could not take truce
with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace,
but that he tilts
With piercing steel
at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who,
all as hot,
turns deadly point
to point,
And,
with a martial scorn,
with one hand
beats Cold death aside
and with the other
sends It back to Tybalt,
whose dexterity Retorts it.
Romeo he cries aloud,
"Hold, friends!
Friends, part!"
and swifter
than his tongue,
His agile arm
beats down
their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes;
underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt
hit the life
Of stout Mercutio,
and then Tybalt fled;
But by and by
comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly
entertained revenge,
And to't
they go like lightning;
for, ere I Could
draw to part them,
was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell,
did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth,
or let Benvolio die.
Lady Capulet.
He is a kinsman
to the Montague;
Affection makes him false,
he speaks not true.
Some twenty of them
fought
in this black strife,
And all those twenty
could but kill one life.
I beg for justice,
which thou, prince,
must give.
Romeo slew Tybalt;
Romeo must not live.
Prince.
Romeo slew him;
he slew Mercutio.
Who now
the price of his dear blood
doth owe?
Montague.
Not Romeo, prince;
he was Mercutio's friend;
His fault concludes
but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
Prince.
And for that offense
Immediately
we do exile him hence.
I have an interest
in your hate's proceeding,
My blood
for your rude brawls
doth lie a-bleeding;
But I'll amerce you
with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent
the loss of mine.
I will be deaf
to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears nor prayers
shall purchase out abuses.
Therefore use none.
Let Romeo hence in haste,
Else,
when he is found,
that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body
and attend our will.
Mercy but murders,
pardoning those that kill.
Juliet.
Gallop apace,
you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging!
Such a wagoner
As Phaethon
would whip you
to the west
And bring in
cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain,
love-performing night,
That runaways' eyes may wink,
and Romeo
Leap to these arms
untalked of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do
their amorous rites,
And by their own beauties;
or,
if love be blind,
It best agrees with night.
Come,
civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron
all in black,
And learn me
how to lose
a winning match,
Played for a pair
of stainless maidenhoods.
Hood my unmanned blood,
bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle
till strange love grow bold,
Think true love
acted simple modesty.
Come, night;
come, Romeo;
come,
thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon
the wings of night
Whiter than new snow
upon a raven's back.
Come, gentle night;
come,
loving,
black-browed night;
Give me my Romeo;
and,
when he shall die,
Take him and
cut him out in little stars,
And he will make
the face of heaven so fine
That all the world
will be in love with night
And pay no worship
to the garish sun.
O,
I have bought
the mansion of a love,
But not possessed it;
and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoyed.
So tedious is this day
As is the night
before some festival
To an impatient child
that hath new robes
And may not wear them.
O,
here comes my nurse,
[Enter NURSE,
with a ladder of cords.]
And she brings news;
and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name
speaks heavenly eloquence.
Now, nurse,
what news?
What hast thou there,
the cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch?
Nurse.
Ay, ay,
the cords.
Juliet.
Ay me!
What news?
Why dost thou
wring thy hands?
Nurse.
Ah, weraday!
He's dead,
he's dead,
he's dead!
We are undone,
lady,
we are undone!
Alack the day!
He's gone,
he's killed,
he's dead!
Juliet.
Can heaven
be so envious?
Nurse.
Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot.
O Romeo, Romeo!
Who ever
would have thought it?
Romeo!
Juliet.
What devil art thou
that dost torment me thus?
This torture
should be roared
in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself?
Say thou but "Ay,"
And that bare vowel "I"
shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye
of cockatrice.
I am not I,
if there be such an "Ay,"
Or those eyes' shot
that make thee answer "Ay."
If he be slain,
say "Ay";
or if not, "No."
Brief sounds
determine
of my weal or woe.
Nurse.
I saw the wound,
I saw it with mine eyes,
(God save the mark!)
here on his manly breast.
A piteous corse,
a bloody piteous corse;
Pale,
pale as ashes,
all bedaubed in blood,
All in gore-blood.
I swounded
at the sight.
Juliet.
O, break,
my heart!
Poor bankrout,
break at once!
To prison, eyes;
ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth,
to earth resign;
end motion here,
And thou and Romeo
press one heavy bier!
Nurse.
O Tybalt, Tybalt,
the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt!
Honest gentleman!
That ever
I should live
to see thee dead!
Juliet.
What storm is this
that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaught'red,
and is Tybalt dead?
My dearest cousin,
and my dearer lord?
Then,
dreadful trumpet,
sound the general doom!
For who is living,
if those two are gone?
Nurse.
Tybalt is gone,
and Romeo banishèd;
Romeo that killed him,
he is banishèd.
Juliet.
O God!
Did Romeo's hand
shed Tybalt's blood?
Nurse.
It did, it did!
Alas the day,
it did!
Juliet.
O serpent heart,
hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon
keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant!
Fiend angelical!
Dove-feathered raven!
Wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despisèd substance
of divinest show!
Just opposite
to what thou justly seem'st
-- A damnèd saint,
an honorable villain!
O nature,
what hadst thou
to do in hell
When thou didst bower
the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise
of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book
containing such vile matter
So fairly bound?
O,
that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
Nurse.
There's no trust,
No faith,
no honesty in men;
all perjured,
All forsworn,
all naught,
all dissemblers.
Ah,
where's my man?
Give me some aqua vitae.
These griefs,
these woes,
these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
Juliet.
Blistered be thy tongue
For such a wish!
He was not born
to shame.
Upon his brow
shame is ashamed to sit;
For 'tis a throne
where honor
may be crowned
Sole monarch
of the universal earth.
O,
what a beast was I
to chide at him!
Nurse.
Will you
speak well of him
that killed your cousin?
Juliet.
Shall I speak ill of him
that is my husband?
Ah,
poor my lord,
what tongue
shall smooth thy name
When I,
thy three-hours wife,
have mangled it?
But wherefore,
villain,
didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin
would have killed my husband.
Back,
foolish tears,
back to your native spring!
Your tributary drops
belong to woe,
Which you,
mistaking,
offer up to joy.
My husband lives,
that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead,
that would have slain
my husband.
All this is comfort;
wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was,
worser than Tybalt's death,
That murd'red me.
I would forget it fain;
But O,
it presses to my memory
Like damnèd guilty deeds
to sinners' minds!
"Tybalt is dead,
and Romeo
-- banishèd."
That "banishèd,"
that one word "banishèd,"
Hath slain
ten thousand Tybalts.
Tybalt's death
Was woe enough,
if it had ended there;
Or,
if sour woe
delights in fellowship
And needly
will be ranked
with other griefs,
Why followed not,
when she said
"Tybalt's dead,"
Thy father,
or thy mother,
nay,
or both,
Which modern lamentation
might have moved?
But with a rearward
following Tybalt's death,
"Romeo is banishèd"
-- to speak that word
Is father,
mother,
Tybalt,
Romeo,
Juliet,
All slain,
all dead.
"Romeo is banishèd"
-- There is no end,
no limit,
measure,
bound,
In that word's death;
no words
can that woe sound.
Where is my father
and my mother, nurse?
Nurse.
Weeping and wailing
over Tybalt's corse.
Will you go to them?
I will bring you thither.
JULIET:
Wash they his wounds
with tears:
mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry,
for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords:
poor ropes,
you are beguiled,
Both you and I;
for Romeo is exiled:
He made you
for a highway
to my bed;
But I,
a maid,
die maiden-widowed.
Come,
cords,
come,
nurse;
I'll to my wedding-bed;
And death,
not Romeo,
take my maidenhead!
Nurse:
Hie to your chamber:
I'll find Romeo To comfort you:
I wot well
where he is.
Hark ye,
your Romeo
will be here at night:
I'll to him;
he is
hid at Laurence' cell.
JULIET:
O,
find him!
give this ring
to my true knight,
And bid him
come to take
his last farewell.
Exeunt
Friar.
Romeo,
come forth;
come forth,
thou fearful man.
Affliction
is enamored of thy parts,
And thou
art wedded to calamity.
Romeo.
Father, what news?
What is the prince's doom?
What sorrow
craves acquaintance
at my hand
That I yet know not?
Friar.
Too familiar
Is my dear son
with such sour company.
I bring thee tidings
of the prince's doom.
Romeo.
What less than doomsday
is the prince's doom?
Friar.
A gentler judgment
vanished from his lips
-- Not body's death,
but body's banishment.
Romeo.
Ha, banishment?
Be merciful,
say "death";
For exile
hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death.
Do not say
"banishment."
Friar.
Here from Verona
art thou banishèd.
Be patient,
for the world
is broad and wide.
Romeo.
There is no world
without Verona walls,
But purgatory,
torture,
hell itself.
Hence banishèd
is banished from the world,
And world's exile
is death.
Then "banishèd"
Is death mistermed.
Calling death
"banishèd,"
Thou cut'st my head off
with a golden ax
And smilest upon the stroke
that murders me.
Friar.
O deadly sin!
O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault
our law calls death;
but the kind prince,
Taking thy part,
hath rushed aside the law,
And turned
that black word "death"
to "banishment."
This is dear mercy,
and thou see'st it not.
Romeo.
'Tis torture,
and not mercy.
Heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives;
and every cat and dog
And little mouse,
every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven
and may look on her;
But Romeo may not.
More validity,
More honorable state,
more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo.
They may seize
On the white wonder
of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing
from her lips,
Who,
even in pure
and vestal modesty,
Still blush,
as thinking
their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not,
he is banishèd.
Flies may do this
but I from this must fly;
They are freemen,
but I am banishèd.
And sayest thou yet
that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mixed,
no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death,
though ne'er so mean,
But "banishèd"
to kill me
-- "banishèd"?
O friar,
the damnèd
use that word in hell;
Howling attends it!
How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine,
a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver,
and my friend professed,
To mangle me
with that word
"banishèd"?
Friar.
Thou fond mad man,
hear me a little speak.
Romeo.
O,
thou wilt speak again
of banishment.
Friar.
I'll give thee armor
to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk,
philosophy,
To comfort thee,
though thou art banishèd.
Romeo.
Yet "banishèd"?
Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy
can make a Juliet,
Displant a town,
reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not,
it prevails not.
Talk no more.
Friar.
O, then I see
that madmen
have no ears.
Romeo.
How should they,
when that wise men
have no eyes?
Friar.
Let me
dispute with thee
of thy estate.
Romeo.
Thou canst not
speak of that
thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I,
Juliet thy love,
An hour but married,
Tybalt murderèd,
Doting like me,
and like me banishèd,
Then mightst thou speak,
then mightst thou
tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground,
as I do now,
Taking the measure
of an unmade grave.
Friar.
Arise, one knocks.
Good Romeo,
hide thyself.
Romeo.
Not I;
unless the breath
of heartsick groans
Mistlike infold me
from the search of eyes.
Friar.
Hark, how they knock!
Who's there?
Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken.
--Stay awhile!--
Stand up;
Run to my study.
--By and by!--
God's will,
What simpleness is this.
--I come,
I come!
Who knocks so hard?
Whence come you?
What's your will?
Nurse.
Let me come in,
and you
shall know my errand.
I come from Lady Juliet.
Nurse.
O holy friar,
O, tell me, holy friar,
Where is
my lady's lord,
where's Romeo?
Friar.
There on the ground,
with his own tears
made drunk.
Nurse.
O, he is even
in my mistress' case,
Just in her case!
O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament!
Even so lies she,
Blubb'ring and weeping,
weeping and blubb'ring.
Stand up,
stand up!
Stand,
and you be a man.
For Juliet's sake,
for her sake,
rise and stand!
Why should you fall
into so deep an O?
Nurse.
Ah sir, ah sir!
Death's the end of all.
Romeo.
Spakest thou of Juliet?
How is it with her?
Doth not she think me
an old murderer,
Now I have stained
the childhood of our joy
With blood removed
but little from her own?
Where is she?
And how doth she?
And what says
My concealed lady
to our canceled love?
Nurse.
O,
she says nothing, sir,
but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed,
and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls;
and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Romeo.
As if that name,
Shot from
the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her;
as that name's cursèd hand
Murdered her kinsman.
O, tell me, friar,
tell me,
In what vile part
of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge?
Tell me,
that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[He offers to stab himself,
and NURSE
snatches the dagger away.]
Friar.
Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man?
Thy form cries out thou art;
Thy tears are womanish,
thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury
of a beast.
Unseemly woman
in a seeming man!
And ill-beseeming beast
in seeming both!
Thou hast amazed me.
By my holy order,
I thought
thy disposition
better tempered.
Hast thou slain Tybalt?
Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady
that in thy life lives,
By doing damnèd hate
upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou
on thy birth,
the heaven,
and earth?
Since birth
and heaven and earth,
all three
do meet In thee
at once;
which thou at once
wouldst lose.
Fie, fie,
thou sham'st thy shape,
thy love,
thy wit,
Which,
like a usurer,
abound'st in all,
And usest none
in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck
thy shape,
thy love,
thy wit.
Thy noble shape
is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valor
of a man;
Thy dear love sworn
but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which
thou hast vowed to cherish;
Thy wit,
that ornament
to shape and love,
Misshapen
in the conduct
of them both,
Like powder
in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set afire
by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismembered
with thine own defense.
What,
rouse thee, man!
Thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake
thou wast
but lately dead.
There art thou happy.
Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slewest Tybalt.
There art thou happy.
The law,
that threatened death,
becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile.
There art thou happy.
A pack of blessings
light upon thy back;
Happiness
courts thee
in her best array;
But,
like a misbehaved
and sullen wench,
Thou pouts
upon thy fortune
and thy love.
Take heed,
take heed,
for such die miserable.
Go get thee to thy love,
as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber,
hence and comfort her.
But look thou
stay not
till the watch be set,
For then
thou canst not pass
to Mantua,
Where thou shalt live
till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage,
reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince,
and call thee back
With twenty hundred
thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth
in lamentation.
Go before,
nurse.
Commend me to thy lady,
And bid her hasten
all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow
makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
Nurse.
O Lord,
I could have stayed here
all the night
To hear good counsel.
O,
what learning is!
My lord,
I'll tell my lady
you will come.
Romeo.
Do so,
and bid my sweet
prepare to chide.
[NURSE offers to go in
and turns again.]
Nurse.
Here, sir,
a ring she bid me
give you, sir.
Hie you,
make haste,
for it grows very late.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
How well my comfort
is revived by this!
Friar.
Go hence;
good night;
and here stands
all your state:
Either be gone
before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day
disguised from hence.
Sojourn in Mantua.
I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify
from time to time
Every good hap to you
that chances here.
Give me thy hand.
'Tis late.
Farewell;
good night.
Romeo.
But that a joy past joy
calls out on me,
It were a grief so brief
to part with thee.
Farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Enter old CAPULET,
his wife,
LADY CAPULET,
and PARIS.
Capulet.
Things have fallen out, sir,
so unluckily
That we have had no time
to move our daughter.
Look you,
she loved
her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I.
Well,
we were born to die.
'Tis very late;
she'll not come down tonight.
I promise you,
but for your company,
I would have been abed
an hour ago.
Paris.
These times of woe
afford no times to woo.
Madam,
good night.
Commend me
to your daughter.
Lady Capulet.
I will,
and know her mind
early tomorrow;
Tonight
she's mewed up
to her heaviness.
Capulet.
Sir Paris,
I will make
a desperate tender
Of my child's love.
I think
she will be ruled
In all respects by me;
nay more,
I doubt it not.
Wife,
go you to her
ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here
of my son Paris' love
And bid her
(mark you me?)
on Wednesday next--
But soft!
What day is this?
Capulet.
Monday!
Ha, ha!
Well,
Wednesday
is too soon.
A' Thursday let it be
-- a' Thursday,
tell her,
She shall be married
to this noble earl.
Will you be ready?
Do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado
-- a friend or two;
For hark you,
Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought
we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman,
if we revel much.
Therefore
we'll have some
half a dozen friends,
And there an end.
But what say you
to Thursday?
Paris.
My lord,
I would that Thursday
were tomorrow.
Capulet.
Well, get you gone.
A' Thursday be it then.
Go you to Juliet
ere you go to bed;
Prepare her, wife,
against this wedding day.
Farewell,
my lord.
--Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me,
it is so very late
That we
may call it early
by and by.
Good night.
[Exeunt.]
Enter ROMEO and JULIET aloft.
Juliet.
Wilt thou be gone?
It is not yet near day.
It was the nightingale,
and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow
of thine ear.
Nightly she
sings on yond pomegranate tree.
Believe me,
love,
it was the nightingale.
Romeo.
It was the lark,
the herald
of the morn;
No nightingale.
Look,
love,
what envious streaks
Do lace
the severing clouds in
yonder east.
Night's candles are burnt out,
and jocund day
Stands
tiptoe on the misty mountaintops.
I must be gone
and live,
or stay and die.
Juliet.
Yond light
is not daylight;
I know it,
I.
It is some meteor
that the sun exhales
To be
to thee this night
a torchbearer
And light thee
on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore stay yet;
thou need'st not
to be gone.
Romeo.
Let me be taken,
let me
be put to death.
I am content,
so thou
wilt have it so.
I'll say yon gray
is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but
the pale reflex
of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not
the lark whose notes
do beat
The vaulty heaven
so high above our heads.
I have more care
to stay than
will to go.
Come,
death,
and welcome!
Juliet wills it so.
How is't,
my soul?
Let's talk;
it is not day.
Juliet.
It is,
it is!
Hie hence,
be gone,
away!
It is the lark
that sings
so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords
and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark
makes sweet division;
This doth not so,
for she divideth us.
Some say the lark
and loathèd toad change eyes;
O,
now I would
they had changed voices too,
Since arm from arm
that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee
hence with hunt's-up to the day.
O,
now be gone!
More light
and light it grows.
Romeo.
More light and light
-- more dark
and dark our woes.
Nurse.
Your lady mother
is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke;
be wary,
look about.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
Then, window,
let day in,
and let life out.
Romeo.
Farewell,
farewell!
One kiss,
and I'll descend.
Juliet.
Art thou gone so,
love-lord,
ay husband-friend?
I must hear
from thee every day
in the hour,
For in a minute
there are many days.
O,
for this count
I shall be much in years
Ere I again
behold my Romeo!
Romeo.
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey
my greetings,
love,
to thee.
Juliet.
O, think'st thou
we shall ever meet again?
Romeo.
I doubt it not;
and all these woes
shall serve
For sweet discourses
in our times to come.
Juliet.
O God,
I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee,
now thou art so low,
As one dead
in the bottom of a tomb.
Either my eyesight fails,
or thou look'st pale.
Romeo.
And trust me, love,
in my eye so do you.
Dry sorrow
drinks our blood.
Adieu, adieu!
[Exit.]
Juliet.
O Fortune,
Fortune!
All men call thee fickle.
If thou art fickle,
what dost thou with him
That is renowned for faith?
Be fickle,
Fortune,
For then I hope
thou wilt not
keep him long
But send him back.
[Enter Juliet's mother,
LADY CAPULET.]
Lady Capulet.
Ho, daughter!
Are you up?
Juliet.
Who is't that calls?
It is my lady mother.
Is she not down so late,
or up so early?
What unaccustomed cause
procures her hither?
Lady Capulet.
Why,
how now, Juliet?
Juliet.
Madam,
I am not well.
Lady Capulet.
Evermore weeping
for your cousin's death?
What,
wilt thou wash him
from his grave with tears?
And if thou couldst,
thou couldst
not make him live.
Therefore have done.
Some grief
shows much of love;
But much of grief
shows still
some want of wit.
Juliet.
Yet let me weep
for such a feeling loss.
Lady Capulet.
So shall you feel the loss,
but not the friend
Which you weep for.
Juliet.
Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose
but ever weep the friend.
Lady Capulet.
Well, girl,
thou weep'st not so much
for his death
As that
the villain lives
which slaughtered him.
Juliet.
What villain, madam?
Lady Capulet.
That same villain Romeo.
Juliet
(aside).
Villain and he
be many miles asunder
-- God pardon him!
I do,
with all my heart;
And yet no man like he
doth grieve my heart.
Lady Capulet.
That is because
the traitor murderer lives.
Juliet.
Ay, madam,
from the reach
of these my hands.
Would none
but I might venge
my cousin's death!
Lady Capulet.
We will have vengeance for it,
fear thou not.
Then weep no more.
I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same
banished runagate
doth live,
Shall give him such an
unaccustomed dram
That he shall soon
keep Tybalt company;
And then I hope
thou wilt be satisfied.
Juliet.
Indeed I never
shall be satisfied With Romeo
till I behold him
-- dead --
Is my poor heart
so for a kinsman vexed.
Madam,
if you could find out
but a man
To bear a poison,
I would temper it
-- That Romeo should,
upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet.
O,
how my heart abhors
To hear him named
and cannot come to him,
To wreak the love
I bore my cousin
Upon his body
that hath slaughtered him!
Lady Capulet.
Find thou the means,
and I'll find such a man.
But now
I'll tell thee joyful tidings,
girl.
Juliet.
And joy comes well
in such a needy time.
What are they,
I beseech your ladyship?
Lady Capulet.
Well, well,
thou hast
a careful father, child;
One who,
to put thee
from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out
a sudden day of joy
That thou expects not
nor I looked not for.
Juliet.
Madam,
in happy time!
What day is that?
Lady Capulet.
Marry,
my child,
early next Thursday morn
The gallant,
young,
and noble gentleman,
The County Paris,
at Saint Peter's Church,
Shall happily make thee there
a joyful bride.
Juliet.
Now by Saint Peter's Church,
and Peter too,
He shall not make me there
a joyful bride!
I wonder at this haste,
that I must wed
Ere he
that should be husband
comes to woo.
I pray you
tell my lord and father,
madam,
I will not marry yet;
and when I do,
I swear
It shall be Romeo,
whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris.
These are news indeed!
Lady Capulet.
Here comes your father.
Tell him so yourself,
And see
how he will take it
at your hands.
[Enter CAPULET and NURSE.]
Capulet.
When the sun sets
the earth doth drizzle dew,
But for the sunset
of my brother's son
It rains downright.
How now?
A conduit, girl?
What,
still in tears?
Evermore showering?
In one little body
Thou counterfeits a bark,
a sea,
a wind:
For still thy eyes,
which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears;
the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood;
the winds,
thy sighs, Who,
raging with thy tears
and they with them,
Without a sudden calm
will overset
Thy tempest-tossèd body.
How now, wife?
Have you
delivered to her
our decree?
Lady Capulet.
Ay, sir;
but she will none,
she gives you thanks.
I would the fool
were married to her grave!
Capulet.
Soft!
Take me with you,
take me with you, wife.
How?
Will she none?
Doth she
not give us thanks?
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 bride?
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,
how,
how,
how,
chopped-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 greensickness 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-i-god-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, tide, time;
work, play;
Alone, in company;
still my care
hath been
To have her matched;
and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes,
youthful,
and nobly trained,
Stuffed,
as they say,
with honorable parts,
Proportioned
as one's thought
would wish a man
-- And then to have
a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet,
in her fortune's tender,
To answer
"I'll not wed,
I cannot love;
I am too young,
I pray you pardon me"!
But,
and you will not wed,
I'll pardon you!
Graze where you will,
you shall not
house with me.
Look to't,
think on't;
I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near;
lay hand on heart,
advise.
And you be mine,
I'll give you to my friend;
And you be not,
hang,
beg,
starve,
die in the streets,
For,
by my soul,
I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine
shall never do thee good.
Trust to't.
Bethink you.
I'll not be forsworn.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
Is there no pity
sitting in the clouds
That sees
into the bottom
of my grief?
O sweet my mother,
cast me not away!
Delay this marriage
for a month, a week;
Or if you do not,
make the bridal bed
In that dim monument
where Tybalt lies.
Lady Capulet.
Talk not to me,
for I'll not speak a word.
Do as thou wilt,
for I have done with thee.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
O God!
-- O nurse,
how shall this
be prevented?
My husband is on earth,
my faith in heaven.
How shall that faith
return again to earth
Unless that husband
send it me from heaven
By leaving earth?
Comfort me,
counsel me.
Alack, alack,
that heaven
should practice stratagems
Upon so soft a subject
as myself!
What say'st thou?
Hast thou not
a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse.
Faith,
here it is.
Romeo is banished;
and all the world
to nothing
That he dares
ne'er come back
to challenge you;
Or if he do,
it needs must be
by stealth.
Then,
since the case
so stands
as now it doth,
I think it best
you married
with the county.
O,
he's a lovely
gentleman!
Romeo's
a dishclout to him.
An eagle,
madam,
Hath not so green,
so quick,
so fair an eye
As Paris hath.
Beshrew my very heart,
I think
you are happy
in this second match,
For it excels your first;
or if it did not,
Your first is dead
-- or 'twere
as good he were
As living here
and you no use of him.
Juliet.
Speak'st thou
from thy heart?
Nurse.
And from my soul too;
else beshrew them both.
Juliet.
Well,
thou hast comforted me
marvelous much.
Go in;
and tell my lady
I am gone,
Having
displeased my father,
to Laurence' cell,
To make confession
and to be absolved.
Nurse.
Marry, I will;
and this is wisely done.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
Ancient damnation!
O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin
to wish me
thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord
with that same tongue
Which she
hath praised him with
above compare
So many thousand times?
Go, counselor!
Thou and my bosom
henceforth shall be twain.
I'll to the friar
to know his remedy.
If all else fail,
myself
have power to die.
[Exit.]
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE
and COUNT PARIS.
Friar.
On Thursday, sir?
The time
is very short.
Paris.
My father Capulet
will have it so,
And I am nothing slow
to slack his haste.
Friar.
You say
you do not know
the lady's mind.
Uneven
is the course;
I like it not.
Paris.
Immoderately
she weeps
for Tybalt's death,
And therefore
have I little
talked of love;
For Venus
smiles not
in a house of tears.
Now, sir,
her father
counts it dangerous
That she
do give her sorrow
so much sway,
And in his wisdom
hastes our marriage
To stop the inundation
of her tears,
Which,
too much minded
by herself alone,
May be put from her
by society.
Now do you know
the reason of this haste.
Friar
(aside).
I would I knew not
why it should be slowed,
-- Look, sir,
here comes the lady
toward my cell.
Paris.
Happily met,
my lady and my wife!
Juliet.
That may be, sir,
when I
may be a wife.
Paris.
That "may be" must be,
love,
on Thursday next.
Juliet.
What must be
shall be.
Friar.
That's a certain text.
Paris.
Come you
to make confession
to this father?
Juliet.
To answer that,
I should confess to you.
Paris.
Do not deny to him
that you love me.
Juliet.
I will confess to you
that I love him.
Paris.
So will ye,
I am sure,
that you love me.
Juliet.
If I do so,
it will be of more price,
Being spoke
behind your back,
than to your face.
Paris.
Poor soul,
thy face is much abused
with tears.
Juliet.
The tears have got
small victory by that,
For it was bad enough
before their spite.
Paris.
Thou wrong'st it more
than tears
with that report.
Juliet.
That is no slander, sir,
which is a truth;
And what I spake,
I spake it to my face.
Paris.
Thy face is mine,
and thou hast slandered it.
Juliet.
It may be so,
for it is not mine own.
Are you at leisure,
holy father, now,
Or shall
I come to you
at evening mass?
Friar.
My leisure serves me,
pensive daughter, now.
My lord,
we must entreat
the time alone.
Paris.
God shield
I should disturb devotion!
Juliet,
on Thursday early
will I rouse ye.
Till then, adieu,
and keep this holy kiss.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
O, shut the door,
and when
thou hast done so,
Come weep with me
-- past hope,
past care,
past help!
Friar.
O Juliet,
I already know thy grief;
It strains me
past the compass
of my wits.
I hear thou must,
and nothing
may prorogue it,
On Thursday next
be married to this country.
Juliet.
Tell me not, friar,
that thou hearest of this,
Unless thou tell me
how I may prevent it.
If in thy wisdom
thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call
my resolution wise
And with this knife
I'll help it presently.
God joined my heart
and Romeo's,
thou our hands;
And ere this hand,
by thee to Romeo's sealed,
Shall be the label
to another deed,
Or my true heart
with treacherous revolt
Turn to another,
this shall slay them both.
Therefore,
out of thy
long-experienced time,
Give me
some present counsel;
or,
behold,
'Twixt my extremes
and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire,
arbitrating that
Which the commission
of thy years and art
Could to no issue
of true honor bring.
Be not so long
to speak.
I long to die
If what thou speak'st
speak not of remedy.
Friar.
Hold, daughter.
I do spy
a kind of hope,
Which craves
as desperate an execution
As that is desperate
which we would prevent.
If,
rather than
to marry County Paris,
Thou hast
the strength of will
to slay thyself,
Then is it likely
thou wilt undertake
A thing like death
to chide away this shame,
That cop'st
with death himself
to scape from it;
And,
if thou darest,
I'll give thee remedy.
Juliet.
O, bid me leap,
rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements
of any tower,
Or walk in thievish ways,
or bid me lurk
Where serpents are;
chain me
with roaring bears,
Or hide me nightly
in a charnel house,
O'ercovered quite
with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks
and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go
into a new-made grave
And hide me
with a dead man
in his shroud
-- Things that,
to hear them told,
have made me tremble --
And I will do it
without fear or doubt,
To live an unstained wife
to my sweet love.
Friar.
Hold, then.
Go home,
be merry,
give consent
To marry Paris.
Wednesday
is tomorrow.
Tomorrow night
look that thou lie alone;
Let not the nurse
lie with thee
in thy chamber.
Take thou this vial,
being then in bed,
And this distilling liquor
drink thou off;
When presently
through all thy veins
shall run A cold
and drowsy humor;
for no pulse
Shall keep
his native progress,
but surcease;
No warmth,
no breath,
shall testify thou livest;
The roses
in thy lips and cheeks
shall fade
To wanny ashes,
thy eyes' windows
fall Like death
when he shuts up
the day of life;
Each part,
deprived
of supple government,
Shall,
stiff and stark and cold,
appear like death;
And in this
borrowed likeness
of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue
two-and-forty hours,
And then awake
as from a pleasant sleep.
Now,
when the bridegroom
in the morning comes
To rouse thee
from thy bed,
there art thou dead.
Then,
as the manner
of our country is,
In thy best robes
uncovered on the bier
Thou shalt be borne
to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred
of the Capulets lie.
In the meantime,
against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo
by my letters
know our drift;
And hither shall he come;
and he and I
Will watch thy waking,
and that very night
Shall Romeo
bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this
shall free thee
from this present shame,
If no inconstant toy
nor womanish fear
Abate thy valor
in the acting it.
Juliet.
Give me,
give me!
O,
tell not me of fear!
Friar.
Hold!
Get you gone,
be strong and prosperous
In this resolve.
I'll send a friar
with speed To Mantua,
with my letters to thy lord.
Juliet.
Love give me strength,
and strength shall help afford.
Farewell,
dear father.
[Exit with FRIAR.]
Enter father CAPULET,
LADY CAPULET,
NURSE,
and SERVINGMEN,
two or three.
Capulet.
So many guests invite
as here are writ.
Sirrah,
go hire me
twenty cunning cooks.
Servingman.
You shall
have none ill, sir;
for I'll try if they
can lick their fingers.
Capulet.
How canst thou
try them so?
Servingman.
Marry, sir,
'tis an ill cook
that cannot lick
his own fingers.
Therefore he
that cannot lick his fingers
goes not with me.
Capulet.
Go, be gone.
[Exit SERVINGMAN.]
We shall be
much unfurnished
for this time.
What,
is my daughter gone
to Friar Laurence?
Capulet.
Well,
he may chance
to do some good on her.
A peevish
self-willed harlotry it is.
Nurse.
See where she comes
from shrift with merry look.
Capulet.
How now,
my headstrong?
Where have you
been gadding?
Juliet.
Where I have learnt me
to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests,
and am enjoined
By holy Laurence
to fall prostrate here
To beg your pardon.
Pardon,
I beseech you!
Henceforward
I am ever ruled by you.
Capulet.
Send for the county.
Go tell him of this.
I'll have this knot
knit up
tomorrow morning.
Juliet.
I met the youthful lord
at Laurence' cell
And gave him
what becomèd love
I might,
Not stepping o'er
the bounds of modesty.
Capulet.
Why,
I am glad on't.
This is well.
Stand up.
This is as't should be.
Let me see the county.
Ay, marry,
go,
I say,
and fetch him hither.
Now,
afore God,
this reverend holy friar,
All our whole city
is much bound to him.
Juliet.
Nurse,
will you go with me
into my closet,
To help me sort
such needful ornaments
As you think fit
to furnish me tomorrow?
Lady Capulet.
No, not till Thursday.
There is time enough.
Capulet.
Go, nurse,
go with her.
We'll to church tomorrow.
[Exeunt JULIET and NURSE.]
Lady Capulet.
We shall be short
in our provision.
'Tis now near night.
Capulet.
Tush,
I will stir about,
And all things
shall be well,
I warrant thee, wife.
Go thou to Juliet,
help to deck up her.
I'll not to bed tonight;
let me alone.
I'll play the housewife
for this once.
What, ho!
They are all forth;
well,
I will walk myself
To County Paris,
to prepare up him
Against tomorrow.
My heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl
is so reclaimed.
Exeunt
Juliet.
Ay,
those attires are best;
but,
gentle nurse,
I pray thee
leave me to myself tonight;
For I have need
of many orisons
To move the heavens
to smile upon my state,
Which,
well thou knowest,
is cross and full of sin.
Lady Capulet.
What,
are you busy, ho?
Need you my help?
Juliet.
No, madam;
we have culled such necessaries
As are behoveful
for our state tomorrow.
So please you,
let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night
sit up with you;
For I am sure
you have your hands full all
In this so sudden business.
Lady Capulet.
Good night.
Get thee to bed,
and rest;
for thou hast need.
[Exeunt LADY CAPULET
and NURSE.]
Juliet.
Farewell!
God knows
when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear
thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up
the heat of life.
I'll call them back again
to comfort me.
Nurse!
-- What should
she do here?
My dismal scene
I needs must act alone.
Come, vial.
What if this mixture
do not work at all?
Shall I be married then
tomorrow morning?
No, no!
This shall forbid it.
Lie thou there.
What if it be a poison
which the friar
Subtly hath ministered
to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage
he should be dishonored
Because he married me
before to Romeo?
I fear it is;
and yet methinks
it should not,
For he
hath still been tried
a holy man.
How if,
when I am laid
into the tomb,
I wake
before the time
that Romeo
Come to redeem me?
There's a fearful point!
Shall I not then
be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth
no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die
strangled
ere my Romeo comes?
Or,
if I live,
is it not very like
The horrible conceit
of death and night,
Together with
the terror of the place
-- As in a vault,
an ancient receptacle
Where for this
many hundred years
the bones
Of all my buried ancestors
are packed;
Where bloody Tybalt,
yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud;
where,
as they say,
At some hours in the night
spirits resort--
Alack, alack,
is it not like that I,
So early waking
-- what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes
torn out of the earth,
That living mortals,
hearing them,
run mad --
I, if I wake,
shall I not be distraught,
Environèd with
all these hideous fears,
And madly play
with my forefathers' joints,
And pluck the mangled Tybalt
from his shroud,
And,
in this rage,
with some great kinsman's bone
As with a club
dash out my desp'rate brains?
O, look!
Methinks I see
my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo,
that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point.
Stay,
Tybalt,
stay!
Romeo,
Romeo,
Romeo,
I drink to thee.
[She falls upon her bed
within the curtains.]
Enter LADY CAPULET and NURSE.
Lady Capulet.
Hold,
take these keys
and fetch more spices,
nurse.
Nurse.
They call for dates
and quinces in the pastry.
Capulet.
Come,
stir, stir, stir!
The second cock hath crowed,
The curfew bell hath rung,
'tis three o'clock.
Look to the baked meats,
good Angelica;
Spare not for cost.
Nurse.
Go, you cotquean,
go,
Get you to bed!
Faith,
you'll be sick tomorrow
For this night's watching.
Capulet.
No, not a whit.
What,
I have watched ere now
All night for lesser cause,
and ne'er been sick.
Lady Capulet.
Ay,
you have been
a mouse hunt
in your time;
But I will watch you
from such watching now.
[Exeunt LADY CAPULET
and NURSE.]
Capulet.
A jealous hood,
a jealous hood!
[Enter three or four FELLOWS
with spits and logs
and baskets.]
Now, fellow,
What is there?
First Fellow.
Things for the cook, sir;
but I know not what.
Capulet.
Make haste,
make haste.
[Exit FIRST FELLOW.]
Sirrah,
fetch drier logs.
Call Peter;
he will show thee
where they are.
Second Fellow.
I have a head, sir,
that will find out logs
And never trouble Peter
for the matter.
Capulet.
Mass,
and well said;
a merry whoreson, ha!
Thou shalt be loggerhead.
[Exit SECOND FELLOW,
with the others.]
Good faith, 'tis day.
The county will be here
with music straight,
For so he said he would.
(Play music offstage.)
I hear him near.
Nurse!
Wife!
What, ho!
What, nurse,
I say!
Go waken Juliet;
go and trim her up.
I'll go and chat
with Paris.
Hie,
make haste,
Make haste!
The bridegroom
he is come already:
Make haste, I say.
[Exit.]
Nurse.
Mistress!
What, mistress!
Juliet!
Fast,
I warrant her, she.
Why, lamb!
Why, lady!
Fie,
you slugabed.
Why, love,
I say!
Madam;
sweetheart!
Why, bride!
What,
not a word?
You take
your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week;
for the next night,
I warrant,
The County Paris
hath set up his rest
That you
shall rest but little.
God forgive me!
Marry, and amen.
How sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her.
Madam,
madam,
madam!
Ay,
let the county
take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up,
i' faith.
Will it not be?
[Draws aside the curtains.]
What,
dressed,
and in your clothes,
and down again?
I must needs wake you.
Lady! Lady! Lady!
Alas, alas!
Help, help!
My lady's dead!
O weraday
that ever I was born!
Some aqua vitae, ho!
My lord!
My lady!
Lady Capulet.
What noise is here?
Lady Capulet.
What is the matter?
Nurse.
Look, look!
O heavy day!
Lady Capulet.
O me, O me!
My child,
my only life!
Revive,
look up,
or I will die with thee!
Help, help!
Call help.
Capulet.
For shame,
bring Juliet forth;
her lord is come.
Nurse.
She's dead,
deceased;
she's dead,
alack the day!
Lady Capulet.
Alack the day,
she's dead,
she's dead,
she's dead!
Capulet.
Ha!
Let me see her.
Out alas!
She's cold,
Her blood is settled,
and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips
have long been separated.
Death lies on her
like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower
of all the field.
Lady Capulet.
O woeful time!
Capulet.
Death,
that hath ta'en her hence
to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue
and will not
let me speak.
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE
and PARIS,
with MUSICIANS.]
Friar.
Come,
is the bride ready
to go to church?
Capulet.
Ready to go,
but never to return.
O son,
the night before
thy wedding day
Hath Death lain
with thy wife.
There she lies,
Flower as she was,
deflowerèd by him.
Death is my son-in-law,
Death is my heir;
My daughter
he hath wedded.
I will die
And leave him all.
Life,
living,
all is Death's.
Paris.
Have I thought, love,
to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me
such a sight as this?
Lady Capulet.
Accursed,
unhappy,
wretched,
hateful day!
Most miserable hour
that e'er time saw
In lasting labor
of his pilgrimage!
But one,
poor one,
one poor and loving child,
But one thing
to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel Death
hath catched it
from my sight.
Nurse.
O woe!
O woeful,
woeful,
woeful day!
Most lamentable day,
most woeful day
That ever ever
I did yet behold!
O day,
O day,
O day!
O hateful day!
Never was seen
so black a day as this.
O woeful day!
O woeful day!
Paris.
Beguiled,
divorcèd,
wrongèd,
spited,
slain!
Most detestable Death,
by thee beguiled,
By cruel, cruel
thee quite overthrown.
O love!
O life!
-- not life,
but love in death!
Capulet.
Despised,
distressèd,
hated,
martyred,
killed!
Uncomfortable time,
why cam'st thou now
To murder,
murder our solemnity?
O child,
O child!
My soul,
and not my child!
Dead art thou
-- alack,
my child is dead,
And with my child
my joys are burièd!
Friar.
Peace, ho,
for shame!
Confusion's cure
lives not
In these confusions.
Heaven and yourself
Had part
in this fair maid
-- now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it
for the maid.
Your part in her
you could not keep
from death,
But heaven
keeps his part
in eternal life.
The most you sought
was her promotion,
For 'twas your heaven
she should be advanced;
And weep ye now,
seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds,
as high as heaven itself?
O,
in this love,
you love
your child so ill
That you run mad,
seeing that she is well.
She's not well married
that lives married long,
But she's best married
that dies married young.
Dry up your tears
and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse,
and,
as the custom is,
And in her best array
bear her to church;
For though fond nature
bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears
are reason's merriment.
Capulet.
All things
that we ordainèd festival
Turn from their office
to black funeral
-- Our instruments
to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer
to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns
to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers
serve for a buried corse;
And all things
change them
to the contrary.
Friar.
Sir, go you in;
and, madam,
go with him;
And go, Sir Paris.
Everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse
unto her grave.
The heavens
do lower upon you
for some ill;
Move them no more
by crossing
their high will.
[Exeunt,
casting rosemary on her
and shutting the curtains.
The NURSE
and MUSICIANS remain.]
First Musician.
Faith,
we may put up our pipes
and be gone.
Nurse.
Honest good fellows, ah,
put up,
put up!
For well you know
this is a pitiful case.
[Exit.]
First Musician.
Ay, by my troth,
the case
may be amended.
Peter.
Musicians,
O, musicians,
"Heart's ease,"
"Heart's ease"!
O, and you
will have me live,
play "Heart's ease."
First Musician.
Why "Heart's ease"?
Peter.
O, musicians,
because my heart itself plays
"My heart is full."
O, play me
some merry dump
to comfort me.
First Musician.
Not a dump we!
'Tis no time
to play now.
Peter.
You will not then?
Peter.
I will then
give it you soundly.
First Musician.
What will you give us?
Peter.
No money,
on my faith,
but the gleek.
I will give you
the minstrel.
First Musician.
Then will I give you
the serving-creature.
Peter.
Then will I lay
the serving-creature's dagger
on your pate.
I will carry
no crotchets.
I'll re you,
I'll fa you.
Do you note me?
First Musician.
And you re us
and fa us,
you note us.
Second Musician.
Pray you put up your dagger,
and put out your wit.
Then have at you
with my wit!
Peter.
I will dry-beat you
with an iron wit,
and put up my iron dagger.
Answer me like men.
"When griping grief the heart
doth wound,
And doleful dumps
the mind oppress,
Then music
with her silver sound"
-- Why "silver sound"?
Why
"music with
her silver sound"?
What say you,
Simon Catling?
First Musician.
Marry, sir,
because silver hath
a sweet sound.
Peter.
Pretty!
What say you,
Hugh Rebeck?
Second Musician.
I say "silver sound"
because musicians
sound for silver.
Peter.
Pretty too!
What say you,
James Soundpost?
Third Musician.
Faith,
I know not
what to say.
Peter.
O, I cry you mercy,
you are the singer.
I will say for you.
It is
"music with
her silver sound"
because musicians
have no gold
for sounding.
"Then music
with her silver sound
With speedy help
doth lend redress."
[Exit.]
First Musician.
What a pestilent knave
is this same!
Second Musician.
Hang him, Jack!
Come,
we'll in here,
tarry for the mourners,
and stay dinner.
Romeo.
If I may trust
the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage
some joyful news at hand.
My bosom's lord
sits lightly in his throne,
And all this day
an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground
with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady
came and found me dead
(Strange dream
that gives a dead man
leave to think!)
And breathed such life
with kisses in my lips
That I revived
and was an emperor.
Ah me!
How sweet
is love itself possessed,
When but love's shadows
are so rich in joy!
[Enter Romeo's man BALTHASAR,
booted from riding.]
News from Verona!
How now,
Balthasar?
Dost thou not
bring me letters
from the friar?
How doth my lady?
Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet?
That I ask again,
For nothing can be ill
if she be well.
Balthasar.
Then she is well,
and nothing can be ill.
Her body
sleeps in Capel's monument,
And her immortal part
with angels lives.
I saw her laid low
in her kindred's vault
And presently took post
to tell it you.
O,
pardon me
for bringing
these ill news,
Since you
did leave it
for my office, sir.
Romeo.
Is it e'en so?
Then I defy you, stars!
Thou knowest my lodging.
Get me ink and paper
And hire post horses.
I will hence tonight.
Balthasar.
I do beseech you, sir,
have patience.
Your looks
are pale and wild
and do import
Some misadventure.
Romeo.
Tush,
thou art deceived.
Leave me
and do the thing
I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters
to me from the friar?
Balthasar.
No, my good lord.
Romeo.
No matter.
Get thee gone.
And hire those horses.
I'll be with thee straight.
[Exit BALTHASAR.]
Well, Juliet,
I will lie
with thee tonight.
Let's see for means.
O mischief,
thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts
of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells,
which late I noted
In tattered weeds,
with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples.
Meager were his looks,
Sharp misery
had worn him
to the bones;
And in his needy shop
a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed,
and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes;
and about his shelves
A beggarly account
of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots,
bladders,
and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread,
and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scatterèd,
to make up a show.
Noting this penury,
to myself I said,
"And if a man
did need a poison now
Whose sale
is present death in Mantua,
Here lives
a caitiff wretch
would sell it him."
O,
this same thought
did but forerun my need,
And this same needy man
must sell it me.
As I remember,
this should be the house.
Being holiday,
the beggar's shop is shut.
What, ho!
Apothecary!
Apothecary.
Who calls so loud?
Romeo.
Come hither, man.
I see
that thou art poor.
Hold,
there is forty ducats.
Let me have
A dram of poison,
such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself
through all the veins
That the life-weary taker
may fall dead,
And that the trunk
may be discharged of breath
As violently
as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry
from the fatal cannon's womb.
Apothecary.
Such mortal drugs I have;
but Mantua's law
Is death to any he
that utters them.
Romeo.
Art thou so bare
and full of wretchedness
And fear'st to die?
Famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression
starveth in thy eyes,
Contempt
and beggary
hangs upon thy back:
The world
is not thy friend,
nor the world's law;
The world
affords no law
to make thee rich;
Then be not poor,
but break it
and take this.
Apothecary.
My poverty
but not my will consents.
Romeo.
I pay thy poverty
and not thy will.
Apothecary.
Put this in
any liquid thing you will
And drink it off,
and if you
had the strength
Of twenty men,
it would dispatch you straight.
Romeo.
There is thy gold
-- worse poison
to men's souls,
Doing more murder
in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds
that thou mayst not sell.
I sell thee poison;
thou has sold me none.
Farewell.
Buy food
and get thyself in flesh.
Come,
cordial
and not poison,
go with me
To Juliet's grave;
for there
must I use thee.
[Exeunt.]
John.
Holy Franciscan friar,
brother, ho!
Laurence.
This same should be
the voice of Friar John.
Welcome from Mantua.
What says Romeo?
Or,
if his mind be writ,
give me his letter.
John.
Going to find
a barefoot brother out,
One of our order,
to associate me
Here in this city
visiting the sick,
And finding him,
the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that
we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence
did reign,
Sealed up the doors,
and would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua
there was stayed.
Laurence.
Who bare my letter, then,
to Romeo?
John.
I could not send it
-- here it is again --
Nor get a messenger
to bring it thee,
So fearful were they
of infection.
Laurence.
Unhappy fortune!
By my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice,
but full of charge,
Of dear import;
and the neglecting it
May do much danger.
Friar John,
go hence,
Get me an iron crow
and bring it straight
Unto my cell.
John.
Brother,
I'll go and bring it thee.
[Exit.]
Laurence.
Now must I
to the monument alone.
Within this three hours
will fair Juliet wake.
She will beshrew me much
that Romeo
Hath had no notice
of these accidents;
But I will write again
to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell
till Romeo come
-- Poor living corse,
closed in a dead man's tomb!
[Exit.]
Enter PARIS and his PAGE
with flowers
and scented water.
Paris.
Give me thy torch, boy.
Hence,
and stand aloof.
Yet put it out,
for I would not be seen.
Under yond yew trees
lay thee all along,
Holding the ear close
to the hollow ground.
So shall no foot
upon the churchyard tread
(Being loose,
unfirm,
with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it.
Whistle then to me,
As signal
that thou hear'st
something approach.
Give me those flowers.
Do as I bid thee, go.
Page
(aside).
I am almost afraid
to stand alone
Here in the churchyard;
yet I will adventure.
[Retires.]
Paris.
Sweet flower,
with flowers thy bridal bed
I strew
(O woe!
thy canopy
is dust and stones)
Which with sweet water
nightly I will dew;
Or,
wanting that,
with tears distilled by moans.
The obsequies
that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be
to strew thy grave
and weep.
The boy
gives warning
something doth approach.
What cursèd foot
wanders this way tonight
To cross my obsequies
and true love's rite?
What,
with a torch?
Muffle me,
night,
awhile.
[Retires.]
[Enter ROMEO and
BALTHASAR with a torch,
a mattock,
and a crowbar of iron.]
Romeo.
Give me that mattock
and the wrenching iron.
Hold,
take this letter.
Early in the morning
See thou deliver it
to my lord and father.
Give me the light.
Upon thy life
I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hearest or see'st,
stand all aloof
And do not interrupt me
in my course.
Why I descend
into this bed of death
Is partly to behold
my lady's face,
But chiefly
to take thence
from her dead finger
A precious ring
-- a ring that I must use
In dear employment.
Therefore hence,
be gone.
But if thou,
jealous,
dost return to pry
In what I farther
shall intend to do,
By heaven,
I will tear thee
joint by joint
And strew
this hungry churchyard
with thy limbs.
The time and my intents
are savage-wild,
More fierce
and more inexorable far
Than empty tigers
or the roaring sea.
Balthasar.
I will be gone, sir,
and not trouble ye.
Romeo.
So shalt thou
show me friendship.
Take thou that.
Live,
and be prosperous;
and farewell,
good fellow.
Balthasar
(aside).
For all this same,
I'll hide me hereabout.
His looks I fear,
and his intents I doubt.
[Retires.]
Romeo.
Thou detestable maw,
thou womb of death,
Gorged with the dearest morsel
of the earth,
Thus I enforce
thy rotten jaws to open,
And in despite
I'll cram thee with more food.
Paris.
This is that banished
haughty Montague
That murd'red
my love's cousin
-- with which grief
It is supposed
the fair creature died --
And here is come
to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies.
I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallowèd toil,
vile Montague!
Can vengeance
be pursued
further than death?
Condemnèd villain,
I do apprehend thee.
Obey,
and go with me;
for thou must die.
Romeo.
I must indeed;
and therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth,
tempt not
a desp'rate man.
Fly hence
and leave me.
Think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee.
I beseech thee,
youth,
Put not another sin
upon my head
By urging me to fury.
O, be gone!
By heaven,
I love thee
better than myself,
For I come hither
armed against myself.
Stay not,
be gone.
Live,
and hereafter say
A madman's mercy
bid thee run away.
Paris.
I do defy thy conjurations
And apprehend thee
for a felon here.
Romeo.
Wilt thou provoke me?
Then have at thee, boy!
Page.
O Lord, they fight!
I will go call the watch.
[Exit.
PARIS falls.]
Paris.
O, I am slain!
If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb,
lay me with Juliet.
[Dies.]
Romeo.
In faith, I will.
Let me peruse this face.
Mercutio's kinsman,
noble County Paris!
What said my man
when my betossèd soul
Did not attend him
as we rode?
I think He told me
Paris should have married Juliet.
Said he not so,
or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad,
hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so?
O,
give me thy hand,
One writ with me
in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee
in a triumphant grave.
A grave?
O, no,
a lanthorn,
slaught'red youth,
For here lies Juliet,
and her beauty
makes This vault
a feasting presence
full of light.
Death,
lie thou there,
by a dead man interred.
How oft when men
are at the point of death
Have they been merry!
Which their keepers call
A lightning before death.
O,
how may I
Call this a lightning?
O my love,
my wife!
Death,
that hath sucked
the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet
upon thy beauty.
Thou art not conquered.
Beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips
and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag
is not advancèd there.
Tybalt,
liest thou there
in the bloody sheet?
O,
what more favor
can I do to thee
Than with that hand
that cut thy youth in twain
To sunder his
that was thine enemy?
Forgive me,
cousin!
Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair?
Shall I believe
That unsubstantial Death
is amorous,
And that
the lean abhorrèd monster
keeps Thee here in dark
to be his paramour?
For fear of that
I still will stay with thee
And never from this pallet
of dim night
Depart again.
Here,
here will I remain
With worms
that are thy chambermaids.
O,
here Will I set up
my everlasting rest
And shake the yoke
of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.
Eyes,
look your last!
Arms,
take your last embrace!
And, lips,
O you
The doors of breath,
seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain
to engrossing death!
Come,
bitter conduct;
come,
unsavory guide!
Thou desperate pilot,
now at once run
on The dashing rocks
thy seasick weary bark!
Here's to my love!
(Drinks.)
O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick.
Thus with a kiss
I die.
Dies
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE,
with lanthorn,
crowbar,
and spade.]
Friar.
Saint Francis
be my speed!
How oft tonight
Have my old feet
stumbled at graves!
Who's there?
Balthasar.
Here's one,
a friend,
and one
that knows you well.
Friar.
Bliss be upon you!
Tell me,
good my friend,
What torch is yond
that vainly lends his light
To grubs
and eyeless skulls?
As I discern,
It burneth
in the Capels' monument.
Balthasar.
It doth so, holy sir;
and there's my master,
One that you love.
Friar.
How long
hath he been there?
Balthasar.
Full half an hour.
Friar.
Go with me
to the vault.
Balthasar.
I dare not, sir.
My master knows not
but I am gone hence,
And fearfully
did menace me with death
If I did stay
to look on his intents.
Friar.
Stay then;
I'll go alone.
Fear comes upon me.
O,
much I fear
some ill unthrifty thing.
Balthasar.
As I did sleep
under this yew tree here,
I dreamt my master
and another fought,
And that my master
slew him.
Friar.
Romeo!
Alack, alack,
what blood is this
which stains
The stony entrance
of this sepulcher?
What mean
these masterless
and gory swords
To lie discolored
by this place of peace?
Romeo!
O, pale!
Who else?
What, Paris too?
And steeped in blood?
Ah,
what an unkind hour
Is guilty
of this lamentable chance!
The lady stirs.
Juliet.
O comfortable friar!
Where is my lord?
I do remember well
where I should be,
And there I am.
Where is my Romeo?
Friar.
I hear some noise.
Lady,
come from that nest
Of death,
contagion,
and unnatural sleep.
A greater power
than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents.
Come,
come away.
Thy husband in thy bosom
there lies dead;
And Paris too.
Come,
I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood
of holy nuns.
Stay not to question,
for the watch is coming.
Come, go,
good Juliet.
I dare no longer stay.
Juliet.
Go, get thee hence,
for I will not away.
What's here?
A cup,
closed in my
truelove's hand?
Poison,
I see,
hath been
his timeless end.
O churl!
Drunk all,
and left
no friendly drop
To help me after?
I will kiss thy lips.
Haply some poison
yet doth hang on them
To make me die
with a restorative.
Chief Watchman
(within).
Lead, boy.
Which way?
Juliet.
Yea, noise?
Then I'll be brief.
O happy dagger!
[Snatches Romeo's dagger.]
This is thy sheath;
there rust,
and let me die.
[She stabs herself and falls.]
[Enter Paris's BOY and WATCH.]
Boy.
This is the place.
There,
where the torch doth burn.
Chief Watchman.
The ground is bloody.
Search
about the churchyard.
Go,
some of you;
whoe'er you find attach.
[Exeunt some of the WATCH.]
Pitiful sight!
Here lies the county slain;
And Juliet bleeding,
warm,
and newly dead,
Who here hath lain
this two days buried.
Go,
tell the prince;
run to the Capulets;
Raise up the Montagues;
some others search.
[Exeunt others of the WATCH.]
We see the ground
whereon these woes do lie,
But the true ground
of all these piteous woes
We cannot
without circumstance descry.
[Enter some of the WATCH,
with Romeo's man BALTHASAR.]
Second Watchman.
Here's Romeo's man.
We found him
in the churchyard.
Chief Watchman.
Hold him in safety
till the prince come hither.
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE
and another WATCHMAN.]
Third Watchman.
Here is a friar
that trembles,
sighs,
and weeps.
We took this mattock
and this spade from him
As he was coming
from this
churchyard's side.
Chief Watchman.
A great suspicion!
Stay the friar too.
[Enter the PRINCE
and ATTENDANTS.]
Prince.
What misadventure
is so early up,
That calls our person
from our morning rest?
[Enter CAPULET
and his wife, LADY CAPULET,
with others.]
Capulet.
What should it be,
that is so shrieked abroad?
Lady Capulet.
O, the people
in the street cry "Romeo,"
Some "Juliet,"
and some "Paris";
and all run
With open outcry
toward our monument.
Prince.
What fear is this
which startles in your ears?
Chief Watchman.
Sovereign,
here lies the County Paris slain;
And Romeo dead;
and Juliet,
dead before,
Warm and new killed.
Prince.
Search,
seek,
and know how
this foul murder comes.
Chief Watchman.
Here is a friar,
and slaughtered Romeo's man,
With instruments upon them
fit to open
These dead men's tombs.
Capulet.
O heavens!
O wife,
look how
our daughter bleeds!
This dagger hath mista'en,
for, lo,
his house Is empty
on the back of Montague,
And it missheathed
in my daughter's bosom!
Lady Capulet.
O me,
this sight of death
is as a bell
That warns my old age
to a sepulcher.
[Enter MONTAGUE and others.]
Prince.
Come, Montague;
for thou art early up
To see thy son and heir
more early down.
Montague.
Alas, my liege,
my wife is dead tonight!
Grief of my son's exile
hath stopped her breath.
What further woe
conspires against mine age?
Prince.
Look,
and thou shalt see.
Montague.
O thou untaught!
What manners is in this,
To press
before thy father
to a grave?
Prince.
Seal up the mouth
of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear
these ambiguities
And know their spring,
their head,
their true descent;
And then
will I be general
of your woes
And lead you
even to death.
Meantime forbear,
And let mischance
be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties
of suspicion.
Friar.
I am the greatest,
able to do least,
Yet most suspected,
as the time and place
Doth make against me,
of this direful murder;
And here I stand,
both to impeach and purge
Myself condemnèd
and myself excused.
Prince.
Then say at once
what thou
dost know in this.
Friar.
I will be brief,
for my short date of breath
Is not so long
as is a tedious tale.
Romeo,
there dead,
was husband to that Juliet;
And she,
there dead,
that Romeo's faithful wife.
I married them;
and their stolen marriage day
Was Tybalt's doomsday,
whose untimely death
Banished
the new-made bridegroom
from this city;
For whom,
and not for Tybalt,
Juliet pined.
You,
to remove
that siege of grief from her,
Betrothed
and would have
married her perforce
To County Paris.
Then comes she to me
And with wild looks
bid me devise
some mean To rid her
from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there
would she kill herself.
Then gave I her
(so tutored by my art)
A sleeping potion;
which so took effect
As I intended,
for it wrought on her
The form of death.
Meantime
I writ to Romeo
That he should hither come
as this dire night
To help to take her
from her borrowed grave,
Being the time
the potion's force
should cease.
But he
which bore my letter,
Friar John,
Was stayed by accident,
and yesternight
Returned my letter back.
Then all alone
At the prefixèd hour
of her waking
Came I
to take her
from her kindred's vault,
Meaning to keep her
closely at my cell
Till I conveniently
could send to Romeo.
But when I came,
some minute ere the time
Of her awakening,
here untimely lay
The noble Paris
and true Romeo dead.
She wakes;
and I entreated her
come forth And bear
this work of heaven
with patience;
But then a noise
did scare me
from the tomb,
And she,
too desperate,
would not go with me,
But,
as it seems,
did violence on herself.
All this I know,
and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy;
and if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault,
let my old life Be sacrificed
some hour before his time
Unto the rigor of severest law.
Prince.
We still have known thee
for a holy man.
Where's Romeo's man?
What can he say to this?
Balthasar.
I brought my master
news of Juliet's death;
And then in post
he came from Mantua
To this same place,
to this same monument.
This letter
he early bid me
give his father,
And threat'ned me with death,
going in the vault,
If I departed not
and left him there.
Prince.
Give me the letter.
I will look on it.
Where is
the county's page
that raised the watch?
Sirrah,
what made your master
in this place?
Boy.
He came with flowers
to strew his lady's grave;
And bid me stand aloof,
and so I did.
Anon
comes one with light
to ope the tomb;
And by and by
my master drew on him;
And then I ran away
to call the watch.
Prince.
This letter
doth make good
the friar's words,
Their course of love,
the tidings of her death;
And here he writes
that he did buy a poison
Of a poor pothecary
and therewithal
Came to this vault
to die and lie with Juliet.
Where be these enemies?
Capulet,
Montague,
See what a scourge
is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means
to kill your joys with love,
And I,
for winking at
your discords too,
Have lost
a brace of kinsmen.
All are punished.
Capulet.
O brother Montague,
give me thy hand.
This is my daughter's jointure,
for no more
Can I demand.
Montague.
But I can give thee more;
For I will raise
her statue in pure gold,
That whiles Verona
by that name is known,
There shall no figure
at such rate be set
As that of true
and faithful Juliet.
Capulet.
As rich shall Romeo's
by his lady's lie
-- Poor sacrifices
of our enmity!
Prince.
A glooming peace
this morning with it brings.
The sun for sorrow
will not show his head.
Go hence,
to have more talk
of these sad things;
Some shall be pardoned,
and some punishèd;
For never was
a story of more woe
Than this
of Juliet and her Romeo.
[Exeunt omnes.]