Scene I. A public Place.
[Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page,
and Servants.]
Benvolio.
I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's
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
'God send me no need of thee!'
and by the operation of the second
cup draws him on the drawer,
when indeed there is no need.
Benvolio.
Am I like such a fellow?
Mercutio.
Come, come, thou art as hot a
Jack in thy mood as any in
Italy; and as soon moved to be
moody, and as soon moody to be
moved.
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.
An 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!
Benvolio.
By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mercutio.
By my heel, I care not.
[Enter Tybalt and others.]
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, an 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? An thou make
minstrels of us, look to hear
nothing but discords: here's
my
fiddlestick; here's that shall
make you dance. Zounds, consort!
Benvolio.
We talk here in the public haunt
of men:
Either withdraw unto some private
place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes
gaze on us.
Mercutio.
Men's eyes were made to look,
and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man's
pleasure, I.
Tybalt.
Well, peace be with you, sir.--Here
comes my man.
[Enter Romeo.]
Mercutio.
But I'll be hanged, sir, if he
wear your livery:
Marry, go before to field, he'll
be your follower;
Your worship in that sense may
call him man.
Tybalt.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can
afford
No better term than this,--Thou
art a villain.
Romeo.
Tybalt, the reason that I have
to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining
rage
To such a greeting. Villain am
I none;
Therefore farewell; I see thou
know'st 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 injur'd
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!
Alla stoccata carries it away.
[Draws.]
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 pitcher by the ears? make
haste, lest mine be about your
ears
ere it be out.
Tybalt.
I am for you. [Drawing.]
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!--
[Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans.]
Mercutio.
I am hurt;--
A plague o' 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, 'tis enough.--
Where is my page?--go, villain,
fetch a surgeon.
[Exit Page.]
Romeo.
Courage, man; the hurt cannot
be much.
Mercutio.
No, 'tis not so deep as a well,
nor so wide as a church door;
but 'tis enough, 'twill serve:
ask for me to-morrow, and you
shall find me a grave man. I
am peppered, I warrant, for this
world.--A plague o' both your
houses!--Zounds, a dog, a rat,
a
mouse, a cat, to scratch a man
to death! a braggart, a rogue,
a
villain, that fights by the book
of arithmetic!--Why the devil
came you between us? I was hurt
under your arm.
Romeo.
I thought all for the best.
Mercutio.
Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint.--A plague o'
both your houses!
They have made worms' meat of
me:
I have it, and soundly too.--Your
houses!
[Exit Mercutio and Benvolio.]
Romeo.
This gentleman, the prince's
near ally,
My very friend, hath got his
mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt,
that an hour
Hath been my kinsman.--O sweet
Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper soften'd valour's
steel.
[Re-enter Benvolio.]
Benvolio.
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's
dead!
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd
the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn
the earth.
Romeo.
This day's black fate on more
days doth depend;
This but begins the woe others
must end.
Benvolio.
Here comes the furious Tybalt
back again.
Romeo.
Alive in triumph! and Mercutio
slain!
Away to heaven respective lenity,
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct
now!--
[Re-enter Tybalt.]
Now, Tybalt, take the 'villain'
back again
That late thou gavest me; for
Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our
heads,
Staying for thine to keep him
company.
Either thou or I, or both, must
go with him.
Tybalt.
Thou, wretched boy, that didst
consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
Romeo.
This shall determine that.
[They fight; Tybalt falls.]
Benvolio.
Romeo, away, be gone!
The citizens are up, and Tybalt
slain.--
Stand not amaz'd. The prince
will doom thee death
If thou art taken. Hence, be
gone, away!
Romeo.
O, I am fortune's fool!
Benvolio.
Why dost thou stay?
[Exit Romeo.]
[Enter Citizens, &c.]
1 Citizen.
Which way ran he that kill'd
Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murderer, which
way ran he?
Benvolio.
There lies that Tybalt.
1 Citizen.
Up, sir, go with me;
I charge thee in the prince's
name obey.
[Enter Prince, attended; Montague,
Capulet, their Wives,
and 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 brother's
child!--
O prince!--O husband!--O, the
blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman!--Prince,
as thou art true,
For blood of ours shed blood
of Montague.--
O cousin, cousin!
Prince.
Benvolio, who began this bloody
fray?
Benvolio.
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's
hand did slay;
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid
him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and
urg'd withal
Your high displeasure.--All this,--uttered
With gentle breath, calm look,
knees humbly bow'd,--
Could not take truce with the
unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but
that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's
breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly
point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with
one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the
other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!'
and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their
fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath
whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt
hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt
fled:
But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd
revenge,
And to't they go like lightning;
for, ere I
Could draw to part them was stout
Tybalt slain;
And as he fell did Romeo turn
and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio
die.
Lady Capulet.
He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he
speaks not true:
Some twenty of them fought in
this black strife,
And all those twenty could but
kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou,
prince, must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must
not live.
Prince.
Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio:
Who now the price of his dear
blood doth owe?
Montague.
Not Romeo, prince; he was Mercutio's
friend;
His fault concludes but what
the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
Prince.
And for that offence
Immediately we do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hate's
proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls
doth lie a-bleeding;
But I'll amerce you with so strong
a fine
That you shall all repent the
loss of mine:
I will be deaf to pleading and
excuses;
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase
out abuses,
Therefore use none: let Romeo
hence in haste,
Else, when he is found, that
hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend
our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning
those that kill.
[Exeunt.]
Scene II. A Room in Capulet's
House.
[Enter Juliet.]
Juliet.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed
steeds,
Towards Phoebus' 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 rude eyes may wink, and
Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd
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,
Play'd for a pair of stainless
maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating
in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange
love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple
modesty.
Come, night;--come, Romeo;--come,
thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings
of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven's
back.--
Come, gentle night;--come, loving,
black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he
shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little
stars,
And he will make the face of
heaven so fine
That all the world will be in
love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish
sun.--
O, I have bought the mansion
of a love,
But not possess'd it; and, though
I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: 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 Romeo's name speaks heavenly
eloquence.--
[Enter Nurse, with 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.
Ah me! what news? why dost thou
wring thy hands?
Nurse.
Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's
dead, he's dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone!--
Alack the day!--he's gone, he's
kill'd, he's dead!
Juliet.
Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse.
Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot.--O Romeo,
Romeo!--
Who ever would have thought it?--Romeo!
Juliet.
What devil art thou, that dost
torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd
in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say
thou but I,
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 I.
If he be slain, say I; or if
not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my
weal or woe.
Nurse.
I saw the wound, I saw it with
mine eyes,--
God save the mark!--here on his
manly breast.
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous
corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd
in blood,
All in gore-blood;--I swounded
at the sight.
Juliet.
O, break, my heart!--poor bankrout,
break at once!
To prison, eyes; ne'er look on
liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign;
end motion here;
And thou and Romeo press one
heavy bier!
Nurse.
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend
I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see
thee dead!
Juliet.
What storm is this that blows
so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is
Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd 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 kill'd him, he is
banished.
Juliet.
O God!--did Romeo's hand shed
Tybalt's blood?
Nurse.
It did, it did; alas the day,
it did!
Juliet.
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering
face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair
a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening
lamb!
Despised substance of divinest
show!
Just opposite to what thou justly
seem'st,
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.
There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men;
all perjur'd,
All forsworn, all naught, all
dissemblers.--
Ah, where's my man? Give me some
aqua vitae.--
These griefs, these woes, these
sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
Juliet.
Blister'd be thy tongue
For such a wish! he was not born
to shame:
Upon his brow shame is asham'd
to sit;
For 'tis a throne where honour
may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal
earth.
O, what a beast was I to chide
at him!
Nurse.
Will you speak well of him that
kill'd your cousin?
Juliet.
Shall I speak ill of him that
is my husband?
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue
shall smooth thy name,
When I, thy three-hours' wife,
have mangled it?--
But wherefore, villain, didst
thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have
kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to
your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to
woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up
to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt
would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would
have slain my husband:
All this is comfort; wherefore
weep I, then?
Some word there was, worser than
Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget
it fain;
But O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners'
minds:
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.'
That 'banished,' that one word
'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.
Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended
there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with
other griefs,--
Why follow'd not, when she said
Tybalt's dead,
Thy father, or thy mother, nay,
or both,
Which modern lamentation might
have mov'd?
But with a rear-ward following
Tybalt's death,
'Romeo is banished'--to 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 word's death; no words
can that woe sound.--
Where is my father and my mother,
nurse?
Nurse.
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's
corse:
Will you go to them? I will bring
you thither.
Juliet.
Wash they his wounds with tears:
mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's
banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes,
you are beguil'd,
Both you and I; for Romeo is
exil'd:
He made you for a highway to
my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll
to my wedding-bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my
maidenhead!
Nurse.
Hie to your chamber. I'll find
Romeo
To comfort you: I wot well where
he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here
at night:
I'll to him; he is hid at Lawrence'
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 Lawrence's
cell.
[Enter Friar Lawrence.]
Friar.
Romeo, come forth; come forth,
thou fearful man.
Affliction is enanmour'd of thy
parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
[Enter Romeo.]
Romeo.
Father, what news? what is the
prince's doom
What sorrow craves acquaintance
at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Friar.
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour
company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's
doom.
Romeo.
What less than doomsday is the
prince's doom?
Friar.
A gentler judgment vanish'd from
his lips,--
Not body's death, but body's
banishment.
Romeo.
Ha, banishment? be merciful,
say death;
For exile hath more terror in
his look,
Much more than death; do not
say banishment.
Friar.
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 banish'd from
the world,
And world's exile is death,--then
banished
Is death mis-term'd: calling
death banishment,
Thou cutt'st my head off with
a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that
murders me.
Friar.
O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death;
but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath brush'd
aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death
to banishment:
This is dear mercy, and thou
see'st it not.
Romeo.
'Tis torture, and not mercy:
heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every
cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy
thing,
Live here in heaven, and may
look on her;
But Romeo may not.--More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship
lives
In carrion flies than Romeo:
they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's
hand,
And steal immortal blessing from
her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal
modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their
own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished,--
This may flies do, when I from
this must fly.
And sayest thou yet that exile
is not death!
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no
sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though
ne'er so mean,
But banished to kill me; banished?
O friar, the damned use that
word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast
thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend
profess'd,
To mangle me with that word banishment?
Friar.
Thou fond mad man, hear me speak
a little,--
Romeo.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Friar.
I'll give thee armour to keep
off that word;
Adversity's 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 prince's
doom,
It helps not, it prevails not,--talk
no more.
Friar.
O, then I see that madmen have
no ears.
Romeo.
How should they, when that wise
men have no eyes?
Friar.
Let me dispute with thee of thy
estate.
Romeo.
Thou canst not speak of that
thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet
thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt 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.
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.
Hark, how they knock!--Who's
there?--Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken.--Stay awhile;--Stand
up;
[Knocking.]
Run to my study.--By-and-by!--God's
will!
What simpleness is this.--I come,
I come!
[Knocking.]
Who knocks so hard? whence come
you? what's your will?
Nurse.
[Within.] Let me come in, and
you shall know my errand;
I come from Lady Juliet.
Friar.
Welcome then.
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse.
O holy friar, O, tell me, holy
friar,
Where is my lady's lord, where's
Romeo?
Friar.
There on the ground, with his
own tears made drunk.
Nurse.
O, he is even in my mistress'
case,--
Just in her case!
Friar.
O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament!
Nurse.
Even so lies she,
Blubbering and weeping, weeping
and blubbering.--
Stand up, stand up; stand, an
you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her sake,
rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep
an O?
Romeo.
Nurse!
Nurse.
Ah sir! ah sir!--Well, death's
the end of all.
Romeo.
Spakest thou of Juliet? how is
it with her?
Doth not she think me an old
murderer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood
of our joy
With blood remov'd but little
from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she/
and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd
love?
Nurse.
O, she says nothing, sir, but
weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed; and
then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on
Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Romeo.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of
a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's
cursed hand
Murder'd 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.
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!
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming
both!
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy
order,
I thought thy disposition better
temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt
thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady, too, that
lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth,
the heaven, and earth?
Since birth and heaven and earth,
all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at
once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape,
thy love, thy wit;
Which, like a usurer, abound'st
in all,
And usest none in that true use
indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape,
thy love, thy wit:
Thy noble shape is but a form
of wax,
Digressing from the valour of
a man;
Thy dear love sworn, but hollow
perjury,
Killing that love which thou
hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape
and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of
them both,
Like powder in a skilless soldier's
flask,
Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd 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 slewest Tybalt; there
art thou happy too:
The law, that threaten'd death,
becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there
art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon
thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her
best array;
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen
wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune
and thy love:--
Take heed, take heed, for such
die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as
was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and
comfort her:
But, look, thou stay not till
the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass
to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live till we
can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile
your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and
call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand
times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.--
Go before, nurse: commend me
to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house
to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them
apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
Nurse.
O Lord, I could have stay'd here
all the night
To hear good counsel: O, what
learning is!--
My lord, I'll tell my lady you
will come.
Romeo.
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare
to chide.
Nurse.
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 reviv'd
by this!
Friar.
Go hence; good night! and here
stands all your state:
Either be gone before the watch
be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd
from hence.
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find
out your man,
And he shall signify from time
to time
Every good hap to you that chances
here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late;
farewell; good night.
Romeo.
But that a joy past joy calls
out on me,
It were a grief so brief to part
with thee:
Farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV. A Room in Capulet's
House.
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet,
and Paris.]
Capulet.
Things have fallen out, sir,
so unluckily
That we have had no time to move
our daughter:
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman
Tybalt dearly,
And so did I; well, we were born
to die.
'Tis very late; she'll not come
down to-night:
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been a-bed 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
to-morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up to her
heaviness.
Capulet.
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate
tender
Of my child's love: I think she
will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay more,
I doubt it not.--
Wife, go you to her ere you go
to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris'
love;
And bid her, mark you me, on
Wednesday next,--
But, soft! what day is this?
Paris.
Monday, my lord.
Capulet.
Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday
is too soon,
Thursday let it be;--a Thursday,
tell her,
She shall be married to this
noble earl.--
Will you be ready? do you like
this haste?
We'll keep no great ado,--a friend
or two;
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain
so late,
It may be thought we held him
carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel
much:
Therefore we'll have some half
a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say
you to Thursday?
Paris.
My lord, I would that Thursday
were to-morrow.
Capulet.
Well, get you gone: o' Thursday
be it then.--
Go you to Juliet, ere you go
to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this
wedding-day.--
Farewell, my lord.--Light to
my chamber, ho!--
Afore me, it is so very very
late
That we may call it early by
and by.--
Good night.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. An open Gallery to
Juliet's Chamber, overlooking
the
Garden.
[Enter Romeo and Juliet.]
Juliet.
Wilt thou be gone? it is not
yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not
the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow
of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate
tree:
Believe me, love, it was the
nightingale.
Romeo.
It was the lark, the herald of
the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what
envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in
yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out,
and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty 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 torch-bearer
And light thee on the way to
Mantua:
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st
not to be gone.
Romeo.
Let me be ta'en, let me be put
to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have
it so.
I'll say yon gray is not the
morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's
brow;
Nor that is not the lark whose
notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above
our heads:
I have more care to stay than
will to go.--
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet
wills it so.--
How is't, my soul? let's talk,--it
is not day.
Juliet.
It is, it is!--hie hence, be
gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so
out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and
unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet
division;
This doth not so, for she divideth
us:
Some say the lark and loathed
toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had chang'd
voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice
doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up
to the day.
O, now be gone; more light and
light it grows.
Romeo.
More light and light,--more dark
and dark our woes!
[Enter Nurse.]
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 I'll descend.
[Descends.]
Juliet.
Art thou gone so? my lord, my
love, my friend!
I must hear from thee every day
i' 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, think'st 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 below,
As one dead in the bottom of
a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or
thou look'st pale.
Romeo.
And trust me, love, in my eye
so do you:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood.
Adieu, adieu!
[Exit below.]
Juliet.
O fortune, fortune! all men call
thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost
thou with him
That is renown'd 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 is't that calls? is it my
lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up
so early?
What unaccustom'd cause procures
her hither?
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet.
Why, how now, Juliet?
Juliet.
Madam, I am not well.
Lady Capulet.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's
death?
What, wilt thou wash him from
his grave with tears?
An if thou couldst, thou couldst
not make him live;
Therefore have done: some grief
shows much of love;
But much of grief shows still
some want of wit.
Juliet.
Yet let me weep for such a feeling
loss.
Lady Capulet.
So shall you feel the loss, but
not the friend
Which you weep for.
Juliet.
Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep
the friend.
Lady Capulet.
Well, girl, thou weep'st not
so much for his death
As that the villain lives which
slaughter'd 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 cousin's death!
Lady Capulet.
We will have vengeance for it,
fear thou not:
Then weep no more. I'll send
to one in Mantua,--
Where that same banish'd runagate
doth live,--
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd
dram
That he shall soon keep Tybalt
company:
And then I hope thou wilt be
satisfied.
Juliet.
Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo till I behold him--dead--
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman
vex'd:
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 nam'd,--and cannot
come to him,--
To wreak the love I bore my cousin
Tybalt
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd
him!
Lady Capulet.
Find thou the means, and I'll
find such a man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful
tidings, girl.
Juliet.
And joy comes well in such a
needy time:
What are they, I beseech your
ladyship?
Lady Capulet.
Well, well, thou hast a careful
father, child;
One who, to put thee from thy
heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day
of joy
That thou expect'st not, nor
I look'd 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 St. Peter's
Church,
Shall happily make thee there
a joyful bride.
Juliet.
Now by Saint Peter's Church,
and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a
joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste; that
I must wed
Ere he that should be husband
comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and
father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and when
I do, I swear
It shall be Romeo, whom you know
I hate,
Rather than Paris:--these are
news indeed!
Lady Capulet.
Here comes your father: tell
him so yourself,
And see how he will take it at
your hands.
[Enter Capulet and Nurse.]
Capulet.
When the sun sets, the air doth
drizzle dew;
But for the sunset of my brother's
son
It rains downright.--
How now! a conduit, girl? what,
still in tears?
Evermore showering? In one little
body
Thou counterfeit'st 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 deliver'd 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 bles'd,
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, chop-logic!
What is this?
Proud,--and, I thank you,--and
I thank you not;--
And yet not proud:--mistress
minion, you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud
me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst
Thursday next
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's
Church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle
thither.
Out, you 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,--get thee to
church o' 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 bles'd
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 o'er a gossip's
bowl,
For here we need it not.
Lady Capulet.
You are too hot.
Capulet.
God's bread! it makes me mad:
Day, night, hour, time, tide,
work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care
hath been
To have her match'd, and having
now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and
nobly train'd,
Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable
parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart would
wish a man,--
And then to have a wretched puling
fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's
tender,
To answer, 'I'll not wed,--I
cannot love,
I am too young,--I pray you pardon
me:'--
But, an you will not wed, I'll
pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall
not house with me:
Look to't, think on't, I do not
use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on
heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you
to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve,
die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge
thee,
Nor what is mine shall never
do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll
not be forsworn.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
Is there no pity sitting in the
clouds,
That sees into the bottom of
my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast me not
away!
Delay this marriage for a month,
a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal
bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt
lies.
Lady Capulet.
Talk not to me, for I'll not
speak a word;
Do as thou wilt, for I have done
with thee.
[Exit.]
Juliet.
O God!--O nurse! how shall this
be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith
in heaven;
How shall that faith return again
to earth,
Unless that husband send it me
from heaven
By leaving earth?--comfort me,
counsel me.--
Alack, alack, that heaven should
practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!--
What say'st thou? hast thou not
a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse.
Faith, here 'tis; Romeo
Is banished; and all the world
to nothing
That he dares ne'er come back
to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be
by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands
as now it doth,
I think it best you married with
the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him; an
eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick,
so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very
heart,
I think you are happy in this
second match,
For it excels your first: or
if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere
as good he were,
As living here, and you no use
of him.
Juliet.
Speakest thou this 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 displeas'd my father,
to Lawrence' cell,
To make confession and to be
absolv'd.
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 prais'd him with
above compare
So many thousand times?--Go,
counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth
shall be twain.--
I'll to the friar to know his
remedy;
If all else fail, myself have
power to die.
[Exit.]
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