THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET Contents THE PROLOGUE. ACT I Scene I. A public place. Scene II. A Street. Scene III. Room in CapuletÕs House. Scene IV. A Street. Scene V. A Hall in CapuletÕs House. ACT II CHORUS. Scene I. An open place adjoining CapuletÕs Garden. Scene II. CapuletÕs Garden. Scene III. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. Scene IV. A Street. Scene V. CapuletÕs Garden. Scene VI. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. ACT III Scene I. A public Place. Scene II. A Room in CapuletÕs House. Scene III. Friar LawrenceÕs cell. Scene IV. A Room in CapuletÕs House. Scene V. An open Gallery to JulietÕs Chamber, overlooking the Garden. ACT IV Scene I. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. Scene II. Hall in CapuletÕs House. Scene III. JulietÕs Chamber. Scene IV. Hall in CapuletÕs House. Scene V. JulietÕs Chamber; Juliet on the bed. ACT V Scene I. Mantua. A Street. Scene II. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. Scene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets. Dramatis Person¾ ESCALUS, Prince of Verona. MERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo. PARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. Page to Paris. MONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets. LADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague. ROMEO, son to Montague. BENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. ABRAM, servant to Montague. BALTHASAR, servant to Romeo. CAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues. LADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet. JULIET, daughter to Capulet. TYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet. CAPULETÕS COUSIN, an old man. NURSE to Juliet. PETER, servant to JulietÕs Nurse. SAMPSON, servant to Capulet. GREGORY, servant to Capulet. Servants. FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan. FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order. An Apothecary. CHORUS. Three Musicians. An Officer. Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants. SCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the Fifth Act, at Mantua. THE PROLOGUE EnterÊChorus. 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-crossÕd lovers take their life; Whose misadventurÕd piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parentsÕ strife. The fearful passage of their death-markÕd love, And the continuance of their parentsÕ rage, Which, but their childrenÕs end, nought could remove, Is now the two hoursÕ traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. [Exit.] ACT I SCENE I. A public place. EnterÊSampsonÊandÊGregoryÊarmed with swords and bucklers. SAMPSON. Gregory, on my word, weÕll not carry coals. GREGORY. No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON. I mean, if we be in choler, weÕll draw. GREGORY. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out oÕ the 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 runnÕst away. SAMPSON. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid of MontagueÕs. GREGORY. That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON. True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push MontagueÕs men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON. ÕTis 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 Õtis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY. ÕTis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues. EnterÊAbramÊandÊBalthasar. SAMPSON. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY. How? Turn thy back and run? SAMPSON. Fear me not. 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. Is the law of our side if I say ay? GREGORY. 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. ABRAM. No better. SAMPSON. Well, sir. EnterÊBenvolio. GREGORY. Say better; here comes one of my masterÕs kinsmen. SAMPSON. Yes, better, sir. ABRAM. You lie. SAMPSON. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow. [They fight.] BENVOLIO. Part, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords.] EnterÊTybalt. 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. [They fight.] Enter three or fourÊCitizensÊwith clubs. FIRST CITIZEN. Clubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues! EnterÊCapuletÊin his gown, andÊLady 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. EnterÊMontagueÊand hisÊLady Montague. MONTAGUE. Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. EnterÊPrince Escalus,ÊwithÊAttendants. PRINCE. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,Ñ 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 mistemperÕd weapons to the ground And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturbÕd the quiet of our streets, And made VeronaÕs ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, CankerÕd with peace, to part your cankerÕd 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 Free-town, our common judgement-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. [ExeuntÊPrinceÊandÊAttendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, CitizensÊand Servants.] 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 preparÕd, Which, as he breathÕd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal, hissÕd 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 worshippÕd sun PeerÕd 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, PursuÕd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunnÕd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morningÕs 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 AuroraÕs 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 humour 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 importunÕd him by any means? MONTAGUE. Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affectionsÕ counsellor, Is to himselfÑI will not say how trueÑ 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. EnterÊRomeo. BENVOLIO. See, where he comes. So please you step aside; IÕll know his grievance or be much denied. MONTAGUE. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift. Come, madam, letÕs away, [ExeuntÊMontagueÊandÊLady 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 RomeoÕs hours? ROMEO. Not having that which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO. In love? ROMEO. Out. BENVOLIO. Of love? ROMEO. Out of her favour 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. HereÕs much to do with hate, but more with love: Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first create! 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 heartÕs oppression. ROMEO. Why such is loveÕs 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 purgÕd, a fire sparkling in loversÕ eyes; Being vexÕd, a sea nourishÕd with loversÕ tears: What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. [Going.] 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, heÕs 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, A word ill urgÕd to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO. I aimÕd so near when I supposÕd you lovÕd. ROMEO. A right good markman, and sheÕs fair I love. BENVOLIO. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO. Well, in that hit you miss: sheÕll not be hit With CupidÕs arrow, she hath DianÕs wit; And in strong proof of chastity well armÕd, From loveÕs weak childish bow she lives uncharmÕd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms Nor bide thÕencounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O sheÕs 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 starvÕd 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 rulÕd 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. ÕTis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladiesÕ brows, Being black, puts 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 passÕd that passing fair? Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO. IÕll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. A Street. EnterÊCapulet, ParisÊandÊServant. CAPULET. But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and Õtis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS. Of honourable reckoning are you both, And pity Õtis you livÕd at odds so long. But now my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET. But saying oÕer 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 marrÕd are those so early made. The 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 agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustomÕd 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 apparellÕd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female 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 reckoning none. Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, [gives a paper] and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [ExeuntÊCapuletÊandÊParis.] 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! EnterÊBenvolioÊandÊRomeo. BENVOLIO. Tut, man, one fire burns out anotherÕs burning, One pain is lessenÕd by anotherÕs anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with anotherÕs 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, WhippÕd and tormented andÑGod-den, good fellow. SERVANT. God giÕ 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. [He reads the letter.] Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters; The lady widow of Utruvio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline and Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena. A fair assembly. [Gives back the paper] Whither should they come? SERVANT. Up. ROMEO. Whither to supper? SERVANT. To our house. ROMEO. Whose house? SERVANT. My masterÕs. ROMEO. Indeed I should have askÕd you that before. SERVANT. Now IÕll 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 CapuletÕs Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovÕst; With all the admired 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 fire; And these who, often drownÕd, could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun NeÕer saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poisÕd with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weighÕd Your ladyÕs love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO. IÕll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of my own. [Exeunt.] SCENE III. Room in CapuletÕs House. EnterÊLady CapuletÊandÊNurse. LADY CAPULET. Nurse, whereÕs 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! WhereÕs this girl? What, Juliet! EnterÊJuliet. JULIET. How now, who calls? NURSE. Your mother. 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 rememberÕd me, thouÕs hear our counsel. Thou knowest my daughterÕs of a pretty age. NURSE. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET. SheÕs not fourteen. NURSE. IÕll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? 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,ÑGod rest all Christian souls!Ñ 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. ÕTis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was weanÕd,ÑI never shall forget itÑ, 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: Õtwas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by thÕrood She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before she broke her brow, And then my husband,ÑGod be with his soul! A was a merry man,Ñtook up the child: ÔYea,Õ quoth he, Ôdost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?Õ and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying, and said ÔAyÕ. To see now how a jest shall come about. I warrant, and I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it. ÔWilt thou not, Jule?Õ quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ÔAy.Õ 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 ÔAyÕ; And yet I warrant it had upon it brow A bump as big as a young cockerelÕs stone; A perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. ÔYea,Õ quoth my husband, ÔfallÕst upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?Õ it stinted, and said ÔAyÕ. 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 eÕer I nursÕd: 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 honour that I dream not of. NURSE. An honour! Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suckÕd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET. Well, 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 worldÑwhy heÕs a man of wax. LADY CAPULET. VeronaÕs summer hath not such a flower. NURSE. Nay, heÕs 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 oÕer the volume of young ParisÕ face, And find delight writ there with beautyÕs pen. Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscurÕd 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 Õtis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide. That book in manyÕs 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 ParisÕ love? JULIET. IÕll 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. Enter aÊServant. SERVANT. 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. LADY CAPULET. We follow thee. [ExitÊServant.] Juliet, the County stays. NURSE. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.] SCENE IV. A Street. EnterÊRomeo, Mercutio, Benvolio,Êwith five or sixÊMaskers; Torch-bearersÊand others. ROMEO. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without apology? BENVOLIO. The date is out of such prolixity: WeÕll have no Cupid hoodwinkÕd with a scarf, Bearing a TartarÕs painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will, WeÕll 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 CupidÕs wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. Under loveÕs 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 boisterous; 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: [Putting on a mask.] 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 proverbÕd with a grandsire phrase, IÕll be a candle-holder and look on, The game was neÕer so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO. Tut, dunÕs the mouse, the constableÕs own word: If thou art dun, weÕll draw thee from the mire Or save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho. ROMEO. Nay, thatÕs not so. MERCUTIO. I mean sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, light 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 mask; But Õtis 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 fairiesÕ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Over menÕs noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinnersÕ legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; Her traces, of the smallest spiderÕs web; The collars, of the moonshineÕs watery beams; Her whip of cricketÕs bone; the lash, of film; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm PrickÕd from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out oÕ mind the fairiesÕ coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through loversÕ brains, and then they dream of love; OÕer courtiersÕ knees, that dream on curtsies straight; OÕer lawyersÕ fingers, who straight dream on fees; OÕer ladiesÕ lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops oÕer a courtierÕs nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pigÕs tail, Tickling a parsonÕs nose as a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth oÕer a soldierÕs neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscados, 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 plats the manes of horses in the night; And bakes the elf-locks 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,Ñ ROMEO. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, Thou talkÕst 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 angerÕd, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping 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 nightÕs revels; and expire the term Of a despised life, closÕd in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that hath the steerage of my course Direct my suit. On, lusty gentlemen! BENVOLIO. Strike, drum. [Exeunt.] SCENE V. A Hall in CapuletÕs House. Musicians waiting. EnterÊServants. FIRST SERVANT. WhereÕs Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher! SECOND SERVANT. When good manners shall lie all in one or two menÕs hands, and they unwashÕd too, Õtis a foul thing. FIRST SERVANT. 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. Antony and Potpan! SECOND SERVANT. Ay, boy, ready. FIRST SERVANT. You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. SECOND SERVANT. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt.] EnterÊCapulet,Ê&c. with the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers. CAPULET. Welcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes UnplaguÕd with corns will have a bout with you. Ah my mistresses, which of you all Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She IÕll 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 ladyÕs ear, Such as would please; Õtis gone, Õtis gone, Õtis gone, You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls. [Music plays, and they dance.] More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah sirrah, this unlookÕd-for sport comes well. Nay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet, For you and I are past our dancing days; How long isÕt now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? CAPULETÕS COUSIN. ByÕr Lady, thirty years. CAPULET. What, man, Õtis not so much, Õtis not so much: ÕTis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we maskÕd. CAPULETÕS COUSIN. ÕTis more, Õtis 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. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? SERVANT. 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 EthiopÕs ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady oÕer her fellows shows. The measure done, IÕll watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I neÕer 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, coverÕd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now by the stock and honour 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. ÕTis 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-governÕd youth. I would not for the wealth of all the 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: IÕll not endure him. CAPULET. He shall be endurÕd. What, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to; Am I the master here, or you? Go to. YouÕll not endure him! God shall mend my soul, YouÕll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop, youÕll be the man! TYBALT. Why, uncle, Õtis a shame. CAPULET. Go to, go to! You are a saucy boy. IsÕt so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what. You must contrary me! Marry, Õtis time. Well said, my hearts!ÑYou are a princox; go: Be quiet, orÑMore light, more light!ÑFor shame! IÕll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts. TYBALT. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall, Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.] ROMEO. [To Juliet.] 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 pilgrimsÕ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmersÕ 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 prayersÕ sake. ROMEO. Then move not while my prayerÕs effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purgÕd. [Kissing her.] JULIET. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urgÕd! Give me my sin again. JULIET. You kiss by the 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 nursÕd her daughter that you talkÕd 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 foeÕs 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 eÕen so? Why then, I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, letÕs to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late, IÕll to my rest. [Exeunt all butÊJulietÊandÊNurse.] JULIET. Come hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman? NURSE. The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET. WhatÕs he that now is going out of door? NURSE. Marry, that I think be young Petruchio. JULIET. WhatÕs he that follows here, that would not dance? NURSE. I know not. JULIET. Go ask his name. If he be married, 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 loathed enemy. NURSE. WhatÕs this? WhatÕs this? JULIET. A rhyme I learnÕd even now Of one I dancÕd withal. [One calls within, ÔJulietÕ.] NURSE. Anon, anon! Come letÕs away, the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt.] ACT II EnterÊChorus. CHORUS. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groanÕd for and would die, With tender Juliet matchÕd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is belovÕd, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe supposÕd he must complain, And she steal loveÕs 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 beloved anywhere. But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. [Exit.] SCENE I. An open place adjoining CapuletÕs Garden. EnterÊRomeo. ROMEO. Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the wall and leaps down within it.] EnterÊBenvolioÊandÊMercutio. BENVOLIO. Romeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo! MERCUTIO. He is wise, And on my life hath stolÕn him home to bed. BENVOLIO. He ran this way, and leapÕd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO. Nay, IÕll conjure too. Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but ÔAh me!Õ 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 trim When King Cophetua lovÕd 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 RosalineÕs 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. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO. This cannot anger him. ÕTwould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistressÕ circle, Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it, and conjurÕd it down; That were some spite. My invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistressÕ 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. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, 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-arse and thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night. IÕll to my truckle-bed. This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO. Go then; for Õtis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. CapuletÕs Garden. EnterÊRomeo. ROMEO. He jests at scars that never felt a wound. JulietÊappears above 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, Õtis 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. JULIET. Ay me. ROMEO. She speaks. O speak again bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being oÕer my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering 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 IÕll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO. [Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET. ÕTis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. WhatÕs Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O be some other name. WhatÕs in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo callÕd, 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 IÕll be new baptisÕd; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET. What man art thou that, thus bescreenÕd 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 tongueÕs utterance, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? ROMEO. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike. JULIET. How camÕst 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 loveÕs light wings did I oÕerperch 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 nightÕs 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 prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET. By whose direction foundÕst thou out this place? ROMEO. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far As that vast shore washÕd 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 swearÕst, Thou mayst prove false. At loversÕ perjuries, They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, IÕll 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 Õhaviour light: But trust me, gentleman, IÕll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheardÕst, ere I was Õware, My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,Ñ JULIET. O swear not by the moon, thÕinconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled 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 IÕll believe thee. ROMEO. If my heartÕs dear love,Ñ JULIET. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight; It is too rash, too unadvisÕd, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say ÒIt lightens.Ó Sweet, good night. This bud of love, by summerÕs 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. ThÕexchange of thy loveÕs faithful vow for mine. JULIET. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO. WouldÕst 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. [Nurse calls within.] Anon, good Nurse!ÑSweet Montague be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.] ROMEO. O blessed, blessed night. I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering sweet to be substantial. EnterÊJulietÊabove. JULIET. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow, By one that IÕll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite, And all my fortunes at thy foot IÕll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. NURSE. [Within.] Madam. JULIET. I come, anon.Ñ But if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee,Ñ NURSE. [Within.] Madam. JULIET. By and by I comeÑ To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief. Tomorrow will I send. ROMEO. So thrive my soul,Ñ 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, towards school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly.] Re-enterÊJuliet,Êabove. JULIET. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconerÕs 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 RomeoÕs name. ROMEO. It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound loversÕ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears. JULIET. Romeo. ROMEO. My nyas? JULIET. What oÕclock tomorrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO. By the hour of nine. JULIET. I will not fail. ÕTis 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, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO. And IÕll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET. ÕTis almost morning; I would have thee gone, And yet no farther than a wantonÕs bird, That lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk 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 SireÕs cell, His help to crave and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.] SCENE III. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. EnterÊFriar LawrenceÊwith a basket. FRIAR LAWRENCE. The grey-eyÕd morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels From forth dayÕs pathway, made by TitanÕs fiery wheels Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and nightÕs dank dew to dry, I must upfill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth thatÕs natureÕs 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, strainÕd from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied, And vice sometimeÕs by action dignified. EnterÊRomeo. 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, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs,Ñgrace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. ROMEO. Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemperÕd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed. Care keeps his watch in every old manÕs eye, And where care lodges sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuffÕd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art uprousÕd with some distemperature; 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 LAWRENCE. God pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. I have forgot that name, and that nameÕs woe. FRIAR LAWRENCE. ThatÕs my good son. But where hast thou been then? ROMEO. IÕll tell thee ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me ThatÕs by me wounded. Both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies. I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO. Then plainly know my heartÕs dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet. As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combinÕd, save what thou must combine By holy marriage. When, and where, and how We met, we wooÕd, and made exchange of vow, IÕll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us today. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? Young menÕs love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath washÕd 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 sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears. Lo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not washÕd off yet. If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art thou changÕd? Pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when thereÕs no strength in men. ROMEO. Thou chiddÕst me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAWRENCE. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO. And badÕst me bury love. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 LAWRENCE. 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 IÕll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your householdsÕ rancour to pure love. ROMEO. O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. [Exeunt.] SCENE IV. A Street. EnterÊBenvolioÊandÊMercutio. MERCUTIO. Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight? BENVOLIO. Not to his fatherÕs; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO. Why, that same pale hard-hearted 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 fatherÕs 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 letterÕs master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO. Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wenchÕs black eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boyÕs butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO. Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO. More than Prince of cats. O, heÕs the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion. He rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay. BENVOLIO. The what? MERCUTIO. The pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; 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, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardon-meÕs, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones! EnterÊRomeo. 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 but a kitchen wench,Ñmarry, she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour! ThereÕs 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. ThatÕs 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. Pink for flower. MERCUTIO. Right. 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 IÕll cry a match. MERCUTIO. Nay, if thy 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 hereÕs 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 drivelling 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. BENVOLIO. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO. O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer. EnterÊNurseÊandÊPeter. ROMEO. HereÕs goodly gear! A sail, a sail! MERCUTIO. Two, two; a shirt and a smock. NURSE. Peter! PETER. Anon. NURSE. My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fanÕs the fairer face. NURSE. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. NURSE. Is it good-den? MERCUTIO. ÕTis 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 for 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. NURSE. You say well. MERCUTIO. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, iÕfaith; 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. [Sings.] ÊÊÊÊAn old hare hoar, ÊÊÊÊAnd an old hare hoar, ÊÊIs very good meat in Lent; ÊÊÊÊBut a hare that is hoar ÊÊÊÊIs too much for a score ÊÊWhen it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your fatherÕs? WeÕll to dinner thither. ROMEO. I will follow you. MERCUTIO. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. [ExeuntÊMercutioÊandÊBenvolio.] 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, IÕll take him down, and a were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, IÕll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates.ÑAnd 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 enquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her in a foolÕs paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, 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,Ñ NURSE. Good heart, and iÕfaith 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. Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon, And there she shall at Friar LawrenceÕ cell Be shrivÕd and married. Here is for thy pains. NURSE. No truly, sir; not a penny. ROMEO. Go to; I say you shall. NURSE. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there. 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 IÕll quit thy pains; Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. NURSE. Now God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir. ROMEO. What sayÕst thou, my dear Nurse? NURSE. Is your man secret? Did you neÕer hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO. I warrant thee my manÕs as true as steel. NURSE. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When Õtwas a little prating thing,ÑO, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but IÕll 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. Ay, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R. NURSE. Ah, mocker! ThatÕs the dogÕs name. R is for theÑno, 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. Peter! [ExitÊRomeo.] PETER. Anon. NURSE. Before and apace. [Exeunt.] SCENE V. CapuletÕs Garden. EnterÊJuliet. JULIET. The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse, In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him. ThatÕs not so. O, she is lame. LoveÕs heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides than the sunÕs beams, Driving back shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinionÕd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this dayÕs journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, SheÕd 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. EnterÊNurseÊandÊPeter. O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. NURSE. Peter, stay at the gate. [ExitÊPeter.] JULIET. Now, good sweet Nurse,ÑO Lord, why lookÕst thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamÕst the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. NURSE. I am aweary, give me leave awhile; Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! JULIET. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak. NURSE. Jesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while? 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 IÕll stay the circumstance. Let me be satisfied, isÕt 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 manÕs, yet his leg excels all menÕs, 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 IÕll 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 oÕ tÕother side,ÑO my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with jauncing up and down. JULIET. IÕfaith, 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,ÑWhere is your mother? JULIET. Where is my mother? Why, she is within. Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest. ÔYour love says, like an honest gentleman, ÔWhere is your mother?Õ NURSE. O GodÕs 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. HereÕs such a coil. Come, what says Romeo? NURSE. Have you got leave to go to shrift today? JULIET. I have. NURSE. Then hie you hence to Friar LawrenceÕ cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, TheyÕll 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 birdÕs 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. IÕll to dinner; hie you to the cell. JULIET. Hie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell. [Exeunt.] SCENE VI. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. EnterÊFriar LawrenceÊandÊRomeo. FRIAR LAWRENCE. So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after-hours 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 LAWRENCE. 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. EnterÊJuliet. Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot Will neÕer wear out the everlasting flint. A lover may bestride the gossamers That idles in the wanton summer air And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET. Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 heapÕd like mine, and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich musicÕs tongue Unfold the imaginÕd 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 LAWRENCE. 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.] ACT III SCENE I. A public Place. EnterÊMercutio, Benvolio, PageÊandÊServants. BENVOLIO. I pray thee, good Mercutio, letÕs retire: The day is hot, the Capulets 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 ÔGod send me no need of thee!Õ 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. BENVOLIO. And what to? MERCUTIO. Nay, an 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 quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled 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 an old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! 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! EnterÊTybaltÊand others. BENVOLIO. By my head, here comes 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. HereÕs my fiddlestick, hereÕs that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO. We talk here in the public haunt of men. Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO. MenÕs eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no manÕs pleasure, I. EnterÊRomeo. TYBALT. Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man. MERCUTIO. But IÕll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery. Marry, go before to field, heÕll 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 knowÕst 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 injurÕd 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, dishonourable, vile submission! [Draws.] Alla stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, 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. TYBALT. [Drawing.] I am for you. ROMEO. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight.] 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! [ExeuntÊTybaltÊwith his Partizans.] MERCUTIO. I am hurt. A plague oÕ both your houses. I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO. What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, Õtis enough. Where is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon. [ExitÊPage.] ROMEO. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO. No, Õtis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but Õtis enough, Õtwill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague oÕ 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!ÑWhy 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 oÕ both your houses. They have made wormsÕ meat of me. I have it, and soundly too. Your houses! [ExeuntÊMercutioÊandÊBenvolio.] ROMEO. This gentleman, the PrinceÕs near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stainÕd With TybaltÕs slander,ÑTybalt, that an hour Hath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper softenÕd valourÕs steel. Re-enterÊBenvolio. BENVOLIO. O Romeo, Romeo, brave MercutioÕs dead, That gallant spirit hath aspirÕd the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO. This dayÕs black fate on mo days doth depend; This but begins the woe others must end. Re-enterÊTybalt. BENVOLIO. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO. Again in triumph, and Mercutio slain? Away to heaven respective lenity, And fire-eyÕd fury be my conduct now! Now, Tybalt, take the ÔvillainÕ back again That late thou gavÕst me, for MercutioÕs 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;ÊTybaltÊfalls.] BENVOLIO. Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazÕd. The Prince will doom thee death If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away! ROMEO. O, I am fortuneÕs fool! BENVOLIO. Why dost thou stay? [ExitÊRomeo.] EnterÊCitizens. FIRST CITIZEN. Which way ran he that killÕd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO. There lies that Tybalt. FIRST CITIZEN. Up, sir, go with me. I charge thee in the PrinceÕs name obey. EnterÊPrince,Êattended;ÊMontague, Capulet,ÊtheirÊWivesÊand others. 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 brotherÕs child! O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spillÕd 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 RomeoÕs hand did slay; Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urgÕd withal Your high displeasure. All this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bowÕd Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold MercutioÕs 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, ÔHold, friends! Friends, part!Õ and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And Õtwixt 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 entertainÕd revenge, And toÕt 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 MercutioÕs friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE. And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence. I have an interest in your hateÕs proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding. But IÕll 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. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. A Room in CapuletÕs House. EnterÊJuliet. JULIET. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards PhoebusÕ lodging. Such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runawayÕs eyes may wink, and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalkÕd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 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, PlayÕd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. Hood my unmannÕd 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 ravenÕs back. Come gentle night, come loving black-browÕd night, Give me my Romeo, and when I 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 possessÕd it; and though I am sold, Not yet enjoyÕd. 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, And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks But RomeoÕs name speaks heavenly eloquence. EnterÊNurse,Êwith cords. Now, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there? The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch? NURSE. Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down.] JULIET. Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands? NURSE. Ah, well-a-day, heÕs dead, heÕs dead, heÕs dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day, heÕs gone, heÕs killÕd, heÕs 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 roarÕd 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 I; Or those eyes shut 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!Ñhere on his manly breast. A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaubÕd in blood, All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight. JULIET. O, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once. To prison, eyes; neÕer 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 slaughterÕd 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 banished, Romeo that killÕd him, he is banished. JULIET. O God! Did RomeoÕs hand shed TybaltÕs blood? NURSE. It did, it did; alas the day, it did. JULIET. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical, Dove-featherÕd raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seemÕst, A damned saint, an honourable 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. ThereÕs no trust, No faith, no honesty in men. All perjurÕd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, whereÕs my man? Give me some aqua vitae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo. JULIET. BlisterÕd be thy tongue For such a wish! He was not born to shame. Upon his brow shame is ashamÕd to sit; For Õtis a throne where honour may be crownÕd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! NURSE. Will you speak well of him that killÕd 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-hoursÕ wife have mangled it? But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have killÕd 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 TybaltÕs dead, that would have slain my husband. All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than TybaltÕs death, That murderÕd me. I would forget it fain, But O, it presses to my memory Like damned guilty deeds to sinnersÕ minds. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished. That Ôbanished,Õ that one word Ôbanished,Õ Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. TybaltÕs death Was woe enough, if it had ended there. Or if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rankÕd with other griefs, Why followÕd not, when she said TybaltÕs dead, Thy father or thy mother, nay or both, Which modern lamentation might have movÕd? But with a rear-ward following TybaltÕs death, ÔRomeo is banishedÕÑto speak that word Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished, There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that wordÕs death, no words can that woe sound. Where is my father and my mother, Nurse? NURSE. Weeping and wailing over TybaltÕs 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 RomeoÕs banishment. Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguilÕd, Both you and I; for Romeo is exilÕd. He made you for a highway to my bed, But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come cords, come Nurse, IÕll to my wedding bed, And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead. NURSE. Hie to your chamber. IÕll find Romeo To comfort you. I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night. IÕll to him, he is hid at LawrenceÕ cell. JULIET. O find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exeunt.] SCENE III. Friar LawrenceÕs cell. EnterÊFriar Lawrence. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man. Affliction is enanmourÕd of thy parts And thou art wedded to calamity. EnterÊRomeo. ROMEO. Father, what news? What is the PrinceÕs doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAWRENCE. Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company. I bring thee tidings of the PrinceÕs doom. ROMEO. What less than doomsday is the PrinceÕs doom? FRIAR LAWRENCE. A gentler judgment vanishÕd from his lips, Not bodyÕs death, but bodyÕs 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 LAWRENCE. Hence from Verona art thou banished. Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence banished is banishÕd from the world, And worldÕs exile is death. Then banished Is death mistermÕd. Calling death banished, Thou cuttÕst my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAWRENCE. O deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince, Taking thy part, hath brushÕd aside the law, And turnÕd that black word death to banishment. This is dear mercy, and thou seeÕst it not. ROMEO. ÕTis 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 honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize On the white wonder of dear JulietÕs 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 banished. This may flies do, when I from this must fly. They are free men but I am banished. And sayÕst thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mixÕd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though neÕer so mean, But banished to kill me? Banished? O Friar, the damned 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 professÕd, To mangle me with that word banished? FRIAR LAWRENCE. Thou fond mad man, hear me speak a little, ROMEO. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAWRENCE. IÕll give thee armour to keep off that word, AdversityÕs sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO. Yet banished? Hang up philosophy. Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a PrinceÕs doom, It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. FRIAR LAWRENCE. O, then I see that mad men have no ears. ROMEO. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, 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. [Knocking within.] FRIAR LAWRENCE. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO. Not I, unless the breath of heartsick groans Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. [Knocking.] FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hark, how they knock!ÑWhoÕs there?ÑRomeo, arise, Thou wilt be taken.ÑStay awhile.ÑStand up. [Knocking.] Run to my study.ÑBy-and-by.ÑGodÕs will, What simpleness is this.ÑI come, I come. [Knocking.] Who knocks so hard? Whence come you, whatÕs your will? NURSE. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand. I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Welcome then. EnterÊNurse. NURSE. O holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar, Where is my ladyÕs lord, whereÕs Romeo? FRIAR LAWRENCE. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. NURSE. O, he is even in my mistressÕ case. Just in her case! O woeful sympathy! Piteous predicament. Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man. For JulietÕs sake, for her sake, rise and stand. Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO. Nurse. NURSE. Ah sir, ah sir, deathÕs 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 stainÕd the childhood of our joy With blood removÕd but little from her own? Where is she? And how doth she? And what says My concealÕd lady to our cancellÕd 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 nameÕs cursed hand MurderÕd 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. [Drawing his sword.] FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 amazÕd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temperÕd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy lady, that in thy life lives, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why railÕst 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 shamÕst thy shape, thy love, thy wit, Which, like a usurer, aboundÕst 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 valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vowÕd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skilless soldierÕs flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismemberÕd with thine own defence. 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 slewÕst Tybalt; there art thou happy. The law that threatenÕd 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 misshaped and sullen wench, Thou puttÕst up 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 wentÕst 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 stayÕd here all the night To hear good counsel. O, what learning is! My lord, IÕll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. 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 revivÕd by this. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Go hence, good night, and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguisÕd from hence. Sojourn in Mantua. IÕll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here. Give me thy hand; Õtis 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.] SCENE IV. A Room in CapuletÕs House. EnterÊCapulet, Lady CapuletÊandÊParis. CAPULET. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily That we have had no time to move our daughter. Look you, she lovÕd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I. Well, we were born to die. ÕTis very late; sheÕll 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 tune to woo. Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET. I will, and know her mind early tomorrow; Tonight sheÕs mewÕd up to her heaviness. CAPULET. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my childÕs love. I think she will be rulÕd 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 ParisÕ love, And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next, But, soft, what day is this? PARIS. Monday, my lord. 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? WeÕll keep no great ado,Ña 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 weÕll 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.ÑLight to my chamber, ho! Afore me, it is so very very late that we May call it early by and by. Good night. [Exeunt.] SCENE V. An open Gallery to JulietÕs Chamber, overlooking the Garden. EnterÊRomeoÊandÊJuliet. JULIET. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That piercÕd 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. NightÕs candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. 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 needÕst not to be gone. ROMEO. Let me be taÕen, let me be put to death, I am content, so thou wilt have it so. IÕll say yon grey is not the morningÕs eye, ÕTis but the pale reflex of CynthiaÕs 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 isÕt, my soul? LetÕs 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 loathed toad change eyes. O, now I would they had changÕd voices too, Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with huntÕs-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. EnterÊNurse. NURSE. Madam. JULIET. Nurse? 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 IÕll descend. [Descends.] 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, by 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 thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time 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 lookÕst pale. ROMEO. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu. [Exit below.] JULIET. O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle, If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renownÕd for faith? Be fickle, Fortune; For then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long But send him back. LADY CAPULET. [Within.] Ho, daughter, are you up? JULIET. Who isÕt that calls? Is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustomÕd cause procures her hither? EnterÊLady Capulet. LADY CAPULET. Why, how now, Juliet? JULIET. Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET. Evermore weeping for your cousinÕs 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 weepÕst not so much for his death As that the villain lives which slaughterÕd him. JULIET. What villain, madam? LADY CAPULET. That same villain Romeo. JULIET. 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 cousinÕs death. LADY CAPULET. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not. Then weep no more. IÕll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banishÕd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustomÕd 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 himÑdeadÑ Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vexÕd. 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 namÕd, and cannot come to him, To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that hath slaughterÕd him. LADY CAPULET. Find thou the means, and IÕll find such a man. But now IÕll 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 lookÕd 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 PeterÕs Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET. Now by Saint PeterÕs 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. EnterÊCapuletÊandÊNurse. CAPULET. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brotherÕs 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-tossed body. How now, wife? Have you deliverÕd 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 bridegroom? 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 now, how now, choppÕd 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 Õgainst Thursday next To go with Paris to Saint PeterÕs Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness 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,Ñget 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 ye good-en! NURSE. May not one speak? CAPULET. Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity oÕer a gossipÕs bowl, For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET. You are too hot. CAPULET. GodÕs bread, it makes me mad! Day, night, hour, ride, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her matchÕd, and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied, StuffÕd, as they say, with honourable parts, ProportionÕd as oneÕs thought would wish a man, And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortuneÕs tender, To answer, ÔIÕll not wed, I cannot love, I am too young, I pray you pardon me.Õ But, and you will not wed, IÕll pardon you. Graze where you will, you shall not house with me. Look toÕt, think onÕt, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise. And you be mine, IÕll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For by my soul, IÕll neÕer acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good. Trust toÕt, bethink you, IÕll 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 IÕll 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 practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself. What sayÕst 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 neÕer 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, heÕs a lovely gentleman. RomeoÕs 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 Õtwere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET. Speakest thou from thy heart? NURSE. And from my soul too, Or else beshrew them both. JULIET. Amen. NURSE. What? JULIET. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in, and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeasÕd my father, to LawrenceÕ cell, To make confession and to be absolvÕd. 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 praisÕd him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor. Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. IÕll to the Friar to know his remedy. If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Exit.] ACT IV SCENE I. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. EnterÊFriar LawrenceÊandÊParis. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 LAWRENCE. You say you do not know the ladyÕs mind. Uneven is the course; I like it not. PARIS. Immoderately she weeps for TybaltÕs death, And therefore have I little talkÕd 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 LAWRENCE. [Aside.] I would I knew not why it should be slowÕd.Ñ Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell. EnterÊJuliet. 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 LAWRENCE. ThatÕs 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 abusÕd with tears. JULIET. The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS. Thou wrongÕst 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 slanderÕd 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 LAWRENCE. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.Ñ My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS. God shield I should disturb devotion!Ñ 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 cure, past help! FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 County. JULIET. Tell me not, Friar, that thou hearÕst 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 IÕll help it presently. God joinÕd my heart and RomeoÕs, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to RomeoÕs sealÕd, 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-experiencÕd time, Give me some present counsel, or behold ÕTwixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the empire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak. I long to die, If what thou speakÕst speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 copÕst with death himself to scape from it. And if thou darÕst, IÕll give thee remedy. JULIET. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder 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, OÕer-coverÕd quite with dead menÕs 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 unstainÕd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hold then. Go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow; Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone, Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off, When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour; 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 paly ashes; thy eyesÕ windows fall, Like death when he shuts up the day of life. Each part deprivÕd of supple government, Shall stiff and stark and cold appear like death. And in this borrowÕd 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, uncoverÕd, 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 valour in the acting it. JULIET. Give me, give me! O tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve. IÕll 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. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. Hall in CapuletÕs House. EnterÊCapulet, Lady Capulet, NurseÊandÊServants. CAPULET. So many guests invite as here are writ. [ExitÊfirst Servant.] Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. SECOND SERVANT. You shall have none ill, sir; for IÕll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET. How canst thou try them so? SECOND SERVANT. Marry, sir, Õtis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET. Go, begone. [ExitÊsecond Servant.] We shall be much unfurnishÕd for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence? NURSE. Ay, forsooth. CAPULET. Well, he may chance to do some good on her. A peevish self-willÕd harlotry it is. EnterÊJuliet. 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 enjoinÕd By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here, To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you. Henceforward I am ever rulÕd by you. CAPULET. Send for the County, go tell him of this. IÕll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning. JULIET. I met the youthful lord at LawrenceÕ cell, And gave him what becomed love I might, Not stepping oÕer the bounds of modesty. CAPULET. Why, I am glad onÕt. This is well. Stand up. This is asÕt 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. WeÕll to church tomorrow. [ExeuntÊJulietÊandÊNurse.] LADY CAPULET. We shall be short in our provision, ÕTis 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. IÕll not to bed tonight, let me alone. IÕll play the housewife for this once.ÑWhat, ho!Ñ They are all forth: well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light Since this same wayward girl is so reclaimÕd. [Exeunt.] SCENE III. JulietÕs Chamber. EnterÊJulietÊandÊNurse. 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 knowÕst, is cross and full of sin. EnterÊLady Capulet. LADY CAPULET. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help? JULIET. No, madam; we have cullÕd 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. [ExeuntÊLady CapuletÊandÊNurse.] 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. IÕll call them back again to comfort me. Nurse!ÑWhat 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. [Laying down her dagger.] What if it be a poison, which the Friar Subtly hath ministerÕd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonourÕd, 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? ThereÕs 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 packÕd, Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resortÑ 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. O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears, And madly play with my forefathersÕ joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsmanÕs bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O look, methinks I see my cousinÕs ghost Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body Upon a rapierÕs point. Stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, hereÕs drink! I drink to thee. [Throws herself on the bed.] SCENE IV. Hall in CapuletÕs House. EnterÊLady CapuletÊandÊNurse. LADY CAPULET. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse. NURSE. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. EnterÊCapulet. CAPULET. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crowÕd, The curfew bell hath rung, Õtis three oÕclock. Look to the bakÕd meats, good Angelica; Spare not for cost. NURSE. Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, youÕll be sick tomorrow For this nightÕs watching. CAPULET. No, not a whit. What! I have watchÕd ere now All night for lesser cause, and neÕer been sick. LADY CAPULET. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. [ExeuntÊLady CapuletÊandÊNurse.] CAPULET. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood! EnterÊServants,Êwith spits, logs and baskets. Now, fellow, whatÕs there? FIRST SERVANT. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET. Make haste, make haste. [ExitÊFirst Servant.] ÑSirrah, fetch drier logs. Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. SECOND SERVANT. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.] CAPULET. Mass and well said; a merry whoreson, ha. Thou shalt be loggerhead.ÑGood faith, Õtis day. The County will be here with music straight, For so he said he would. I hear him near. [Play music.] Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, Nurse, I say! Re-enterÊNurse. Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up. IÕll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already. Make haste I say. [Exeunt.] SCENE V. JulietÕs Chamber; Juliet on the bed. EnterÊNurse. NURSE. Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she. Why, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed! 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, HeÕll fright you up, iÕfaith. Will it not be? What, dressÕd, and in your clothes, and down again? I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! My ladyÕs dead! O, well-a-day that ever I was born. Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady! EnterÊLady Capulet. LADY CAPULET. What noise is here? NURSE. O lamentable day! 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. EnterÊCapulet. CAPULET. For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come. NURSE. SheÕs dead, deceasÕd, sheÕs dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET. Alack the day, sheÕs dead, sheÕs dead, sheÕs dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me see her. Out alas! SheÕs 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. NURSE. O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET. O woful time! CAPULET. Death, that hath taÕen her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak. EnterÊFriar LawrenceÊandÊParisÊwith Musicians. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 bride. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered 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 deathÕs. PARIS. Have I thought long to see this morningÕs face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET. AccursÕd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. Most miserable hour that eÕer time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage. But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catchÕd 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. BeguilÕd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain. Most detestable death, by thee beguilÕd, By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown. O love! O life! Not life, but love in death! CAPULET. DespisÕd, distressed, hated, martyrÕd, killÕd. Uncomfortable time, why camÕst 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 buried. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Peace, ho, for shame. ConfusionÕs 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 Õtwas your heaven she should be advancÕd, And weep ye now, seeing she is advancÕd 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. SheÕs not well married that lives married long, But sheÕs 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 natureÕs tears are reasonÕs merriment. CAPULET. All things that we ordained 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 LAWRENCE. 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. [ExeuntÊCapulet, Lady Capulet, ParisÊandÊFriar.] 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. FIRST MUSICIAN. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. [ExitÊNurse.] EnterÊPeter. PETER. Musicians, O, musicians, ÔHeartÕs ease,Õ ÔHeartÕs easeÕ, O, and you will have me live, play ÔHeartÕs ease.Õ FIRST MUSICIAN. Why ÔHeartÕs easeÕ? PETER. O musicians, because my heart itself plays ÔMy heart is fullÕ. O play me some merry dump to comfort me. FIRST MUSICIAN. Not a dump we, Õtis no time to play now. PETER. You will not then? FIRST MUSICIAN. No. 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-creatureÕs dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. IÕll re you, IÕll 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. PETER. Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men. ÊÊÊÊÔWhen griping griefs the heart doth wound, ÊÊÊÊÊÊAnd doleful dumps the mind oppress, ÊÊÊÊThen music with her silver soundÕÑ Why Ôsilver soundÕ? Why Ômusic with her silver soundÕ? What say you, Simon Catling? FIRST MUSICIAN. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER. Prates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck? SECOND MUSICIAN. I say Ôsilver soundÕ because musicians sound for silver. PETER. Prates 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 Ômusic with her silver soundÕ because musicians have no gold for sounding. ÊÊÊÊÊÊÔThen music with her silver sound ÊÊÊÊÊÊWith speedy help doth lend redress.Õ [Exit.] FIRST MUSICIAN. What a pestilent knave is this same! SECOND MUSICIAN. Hang him, Jack. Come, weÕll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.] ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A Street. EnterÊRomeo. ROMEO. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosomÕs lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustomÕd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,Ñ Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!Ñ And breathÕd such life with kisses in my lips, That I revivÕd, and was an emperor. Ah me, how sweet is love itself possessÕd, When but loveÕs shadows are so rich in joy. EnterÊBalthasar. 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 CapelÕs monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindredÕs 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 even so? Then I defy you, stars! Thou knowÕst 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 deceivÕd. 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. IÕll be with thee straight. [ExitÊBalthasar.] Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. LetÕs see for means. O mischief thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men. I do remember an apothecary,Ñ And hereabouts he dwells,Ñwhich late I noted In tatterÕd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples, meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuffÕd, 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 scatterÕd, 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 beggarÕs shop is shut. What, ho! Apothecary! EnterÊApothecary. 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 dischargÕd of breath As violently as hasty powder firÕd Doth hurry from the fatal cannonÕs womb. APOTHECARY. Such mortal drugs I have, but MantuaÕs law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fearÕst to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back. The world is not thy friend, nor the worldÕs 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 despatch you straight. ROMEO. There is thy gold, worse poison to menÕs souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. Farewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To JulietÕs grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. Friar LawrenceÕs Cell. EnterÊFriar John. FRIAR JOHN. Holy Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho! EnterÊFriar Lawrence. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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. FRIAR 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, SealÕd up the doors, and would not let us forth, So that my speed to Mantua there was stayÕd. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Who bare my letter then to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN. I could not send it,Ñhere it is again,Ñ Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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. FRIAR JOHN. Brother, IÕll go and bring it thee. [Exit.] FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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, closÕd in a dead manÕs tomb. [Exit.] SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets. EnterÊParis,Êand hisÊPageÊbearing flowers and a torch. PARIS. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof. Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew tree lay thee all along, Holding thy 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 hearÕst 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 distillÕd by moans. The obsequies that I for thee will keep, Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. [TheÊPageÊwhistles.] The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way tonight, To cross my obsequies and true loveÕs rite? What, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile. [Retires.] EnterÊRomeoÊandÊBalthasarÊwith a torch, mattock, &c. 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, WhateÕer thou hearÕst or seest, stand all aloof And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death Is partly to behold my ladyÕs 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 further 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 you. ROMEO. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that. Live, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR. For all this same, IÕll hide me hereabout. His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires] ROMEO. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, GorgÕd with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, [Breaking open the door of the monument.] And in despite, IÕll cram thee with more food. PARIS. This is that banishÕd haughty Montague That murderÕd my loveÕs cousin,Ñwith which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died,Ñ And here is come to do some villainous shame To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him. [Advances.] Stop thy unhallowÕd toil, vile Montague. Can vengeance be pursuÕd further than death? Condemned 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 desperate 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 armÕd against myself. Stay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say, A madmanÕs mercy bid thee run away. PARIS. I do defy thy conjuration, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy! [They fight.] PAGE. O lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. [Exit.] PARIS. O, I am slain! [Falls.] If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.] ROMEO. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. MercutioÕs kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed 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 misfortuneÕs book. IÕll bury thee in a triumphant grave. A grave? O no, a lantern, slaughtÕred 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 interrÕd. [LayingÊParisÊin the monument.] 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 suckÕd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquerÕd. BeautyÕs ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And deathÕs pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour 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 abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace 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, unsavoury guide. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark. HereÕs to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies.] Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard,ÊFriar Lawrence,Êwith a lantern, crow, and spade. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Saint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight Have my old feet stumbled at graves? WhoÕs there? Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead? BALTHASAR. HereÕs one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 CapelsÕ monument. BALTHASAR. It doth so, holy sir, and thereÕs my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Who is it? BALTHASAR. Romeo. FRIAR LAWRENCE. How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR. Full half an hour. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 LAWRENCE. Stay then, IÕll go alone. Fear comes upon me. O, much I fear some ill unlucky 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 LAWRENCE. Romeo! [Advances.] Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolourÕd by this place of peace? [Enters the monument.] Romeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too? And steepÕd in blood? Ah what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance? The lady stirs. [JulietÊwakes and 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? [Noise within.] FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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, IÕll 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. [ExitÊFriar Lawrence.] WhatÕs here? A cup closÕd in my true loveÕs hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. O churl. Drink 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. [Kisses him.] Thy lips are warm! FIRST WATCH. [Within.] Lead, boy. Which way? JULIET. Yea, noise? Then IÕll be brief. O happy dagger. [SnatchingÊRomeoÕsÊdagger.] This is thy sheath. [stabs herself] There rest, and let me die. [Falls onÊRomeoÕsÊbody and dies.] EnterÊWatchÊwith theÊPageÊof Paris. PAGE. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn. FIRST WATCH. The ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard. Go, some of you, whoeÕer you find attach. [Exeunt some of theÊWatch.] 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 theÊWatch.] We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Re-enter some of theÊWatchÊwithÊBalthasar. SECOND WATCH. HereÕs RomeoÕs man. We found him in the churchyard. FIRST WATCH. Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither. Re-enter others of theÊWatchÊwithÊFriar Lawrence. THIRD WATCH. 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 side. FIRST WATCH. A great suspicion. Stay the Friar too. Enter theÊPrinceÊandÊAttendants. PRINCE. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morningÕs rest? EnterÊCapulet, Lady CapuletÊand others. CAPULET. What should it be that they so shriek 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 our ears? FIRST WATCH. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain, And Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new killÕd. PRINCE. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. FIRST WATCH. Here is a Friar, and slaughterÕd RomeoÕs man, With instruments upon them fit to open These dead menÕs tombs. CAPULET. O heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mistaÕen, for lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague, And it mis-sheathed in my daughterÕs bosom. LADY CAPULET. O me! This sight of death is as a bell That warns my old age to a sepulchre. EnterÊMontagueÊand 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 sonÕs exile hath stoppÕd 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 LAWRENCE. 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 condemned and myself excusÕd. PRINCE. Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAWRENCE. 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 RomeoÕs faithful wife. I married them; and their stolÕn marriage day Was TybaltÕs doomsday, whose untimely death BanishÕd the new-made bridegroom from this city; For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pinÕd. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, BetrothÕd, and would have married her perforce To County Paris. Then comes she to me, And with wild looks, bid me devise some means 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 borrowÕd grave, Being the time the potionÕs force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stayÕd by accident; and yesternight ReturnÕd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking Came I to take her from her kindredÕs 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 awaking, 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 ought in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificÕd, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE. We still have known thee for a holy man. WhereÕs RomeoÕs man? What can he say to this? BALTHASAR. I brought my master news of JulietÕs 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 threatenÕd 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 CountyÕs Page that raisÕd the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE. He came with flowers to strew his ladyÕs 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 FriarÕs words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death. And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor Õpothecary, 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 punishÕd. CAPULET. O brother Montague, give me thy hand. This is my daughterÕs 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 RomeoÕs by his ladyÕs 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 pardonÕd, and some punished, For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt.]