Scene I. Friar Lawrence's Cell.
[Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.]
Friar.
On Thursday, sir? the time is
very short.
Paris.
My father Capulet will have it
so;
And I am nothing slow to slack
his haste.
Friar.
You say you do not know the lady's
mind:
Uneven is the course; I like
it not.
Paris.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's
death,
And therefore have I little talk'd
of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house
of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it
dangerous
That she do give her sorrow so
much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hastes our
marriage,
To stop the inundation of her
tears;
Which, too much minded by herself
alone,
May be put from her by society:
Now do you know the reason of
this haste.
Friar.
[Aside.] I would I knew not why
it should be slow'd.--
Look, sir, here comes the lady
toward my cell.
[Enter Juliet.]
Paris.
Happily met, my lady and my wife!
Juliet.
That may be, sir, when I may
be a wife.
Paris.
That may be must be, love, on
Thursday next.
Juliet.
What must be shall be.
Friar.
That's a certain text.
Paris.
Come you to make confession to
this father?
Juliet.
To answer that, I should confess
to you.
Paris.
Do not deny to him that you love
me.
Juliet.
I will confess to you that I
love him.
Paris.
So will ye, I am sure, that you
love me.
Juliet.
If I do so, it will be of more
price,
Being spoke behind your back
than to your face.
Paris.
Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd
with tears.
Juliet.
The tears have got small victory
by that;
For it was bad enough before
their spite.
Paris.
Thou wrong'st it more than tears
with that report.
Juliet.
That is no slander, sir, which
is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it
to my face.
Paris.
Thy face is mine, and thou hast
slander'd it.
Juliet.
It may be so, for it is not mine
own.--
Are you at leisure, holy father,
now;
Or shall I come to you at evening
mass?
Friar.
My leisure serves me, pensive
daughter, now.--
My lord, we must entreat the
time alone.
Paris.
God shield I should disturb devotion!--
Juliet, on Thursday early will
I rouse you:
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.
Ah, 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
hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may
prevent it:
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst
give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution
wise,
And with this knife I'll help
it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's,
thou our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to
Romeo's seal'd,
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-experienc'd
time,
Give me some present counsel;
or, behold,
'Twixt 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 speak'st speak not
of remedy.
Friar.
Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind
of hope,
Which craves as desperate an
execution
As that is desperate which we
would prevent.
If, rather than to marry County
Paris
Thou hast the strength of will
to slay thyself,
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away
this shame,
That cop'st with death himself
to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll 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 shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead
men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks and yellow
chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made
grave,
And hide me with a dead man in
his shroud;
Things that, to hear them told,
have made me tremble;
And I will do it without fear
or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to
my sweet love.
Friar.
Hold, then; go home, be merry,
give consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is
to-morrow;
To-morrow 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 eyes' windows
fall,
Like death, when he shuts up
the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple
government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold,
appear like death:
And in this borrow'd 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, uncover'd,
on the bier,
Thou shalt be borne to that same
ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the
Capulets lie.
In the mean time, 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.
Hold; get you gone, be strong
and prosperous
In this resolve: I'll send a
friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to
thy lord.
Juliet.
Love give me strength! and strength
shall help afford.
Farewell, dear father.
[Exeunt.]
Scene II. Hall in Capulet's
House.
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet,
Nurse, and Servants.]
Capulet.
So many guests invite as here
are writ.--
[Exit first Servant.]
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning
cooks.
2 Servant.
You shall have none ill, sir;
for I'll try if they can
lick their fingers.
Capulet.
How canst thou try them so?
2 Servant.
Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook
that cannot lick his own fingers:
therefore he that cannot lick
his fingers goes not with me.
Capulet.
Go, begone.--
[Exit second Servant.]
We shall be much unfurnish'd
for this time.--
What, is my daughter gone to
Friar Lawrence?
Nurse.
Ay, forsooth.
Capulet.
Well, be may chance to do some
good on her:
A peevish self-will'd harlotry
it is.
Nurse.
See where she comes from shrift
with merry look.
[Enter Juliet.]
Capulet.
How now, my headstrong! where
have you been gadding?
Juliet.
Where I have learn'd me to repent
the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests; and
am enjoin'd
By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate
here,
To beg your pardon:--pardon,
I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd
by you.
Capulet.
Send for the county; go tell
him of this:
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow
morning.
Juliet.
I met the youthful lord at Lawrence'
cell;
And gave him what becomed love
I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds
of modesty.
Capulet.
Why, I am glad on't; this is
well,--stand up,--
This is as't should be.--Let
me see the county;
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch
him hither.--
Now, afore God, this reverend
holy friar,
All our whole city is much bound
to him.
Juliet.
Nurse, will you go with me into
my closet,
To help me sort such needful
ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me
to-morrow?
Lady Capulet.
No, not till Thursday; there
is time enough.
Capulet.
Go, nurse, go with her.--We'll
to church to-morrow.
[Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.]
Lady Capulet.
We shall be short in our provision:
'Tis now near night.
Capulet.
Tush, I will stir about,
And all things shall be well,
I warrant thee, wife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck
up her;
I'll not to bed to-night;--let
me alone;
I'll play the housewife for this
once.--What, ho!--
They are all forth: well, I will
walk myself
To County Paris, to prepare him
up
Against to-morrow: my heart is
wondrous light
Since this same wayward girl
is so reclaim'd.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. Juliet's Chamber.
[Enter Juliet and Nurse.]
Juliet.
Ay, those attires are best:--but,
gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself
to-night;
For I have need of many orisons
To move the heavens to smile
upon my state,
Which, well thou know'st, is
cross and full of sin.
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet.
What, are you busy, ho? need
you my help?
Juliet.
No, madam; we have cull'd such
necessaries
As are behoveful for our state
to-morrow:
So please you, let me now be
left alone,
And let the nurse this night
sit up with you;
For I am sure you have your hands
full all
In this so sudden business.
Lady Capulet.
Good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest; for
thou hast need.
[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.]
Juliet.
Farewell!--God knows when we
shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills
through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat
of life:
I'll call them back again to
comfort me;--
Nurse!--What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must
act alone.--
Come, vial.--
What if this mixture do not work
at all?
Shall I be married, then, to-morrow
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 minister'd to have
me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should
be dishonour'd,
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:--
I will not entertain so bad a
thought.--
How if, when I am laid into the
tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a
fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in
the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome
air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my
Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very
like
The horrible conceit of death
and night,
Together with the terror of the
place,--
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for this many hundred
years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are
pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but
green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud;
where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits
resort;--
Alack, alack, is it not like
that I,
So early waking,--what with loathsome
smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn
out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing
them, run mad;--
O, if I wake, shall I not be
distraught,
Environed with all these hideous
fears?
And madly play with my forefathers'
joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt
from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some
great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate
brains?--
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's
ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit
his body
Upon a rapier's point:--stay,
Tybalt, stay!--
Romeo, I come! this do I drink
to thee.
[Throws herself on the bed.]
Scene IV. Hall in Capulet's
House.
[Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.]
Lady Capulet.
Hold, take these keys and fetch
more spices, nurse.
Nurse.
They call for dates and quinces
in the pastry.
[Enter Capulet.]
Capulet.
Come, stir, stir, stir! The second
cock hath crow'd,
The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis
three o'clock:--
Look to the bak'd meats, good
Angelica;
Spare not for cost.
Nurse.
Go, you cot-quean, go,
Get you to bed; faith, you'll
be sick to-morrow
For this night's watching.
Capulet.
No, not a whit: what! I have
watch'd ere now
All night for lesser cause, and
ne'er been sick.
Lady Capulet.
Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt
in your time;
But I will watch you from such
watching now.
[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.]
Capulet.
A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!--Now,
fellow,
[Enter Servants, with spits,
logs and baskets.]
What's there?
1 Servant.
Things for the cook, sir; but
I know not what.
Capulet.
Make haste, make haste. [Exit
1 Servant.]
--Sirrah, fetch drier logs:
Call Peter, he will show thee
where they are.
2 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 logger-head.--Good
faith, 'tis day.
The county will be here with
music straight,
For so he said he would:--I hear
him near.
[Music within.]
Nurse!--wife!--what, ho!--what,
nurse, I say!
[Re-enter Nurse.]
Go, waken Juliet; go and trim
her up;
I'll go and chat with Paris:--hie,
make haste,
Make haste; the bridegroom he
is come already:
Make haste, I say.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. Juliet's Chamber; Juliet
on the bed.
[Enter Nurse.]
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;
He'll fright you up, i' faith.--Will
it not be?
What, dress'd! and in your clothes!
and down again!
I must needs wake you.--lady!
lady! lady!--
Alas, alas!--Help, help! My lady's
dead!--
O, well-a-day that ever I was
born!--
Some aqua-vitae, ho!--my lord!
my lady!
[Enter Lady 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.
[Enter Capulet.]
Capulet.
For shame, bring Juliet forth;
her lord is come.
Nurse.
She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead;
alack the day!
Lady Capulet
Alack the day, she's dead, she's
dead, she's dead!
Capulet.
Ha! let me see her:--out alas!
she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her
joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long
been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely
frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all
the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old
man!
Nurse.
O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet.
O woful time!
Capulet.
Death, that hath ta'en her hence
to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not
let me speak.
[Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris,
with Musicians.]
Friar.
Come, is the bride ready to go
to church?
Capulet.
Ready to go, but never to return:--
O son, the night before thy wedding
day
Hath death lain with thy 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 death's.
Paris.
Have I thought long to see this
morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight
as this?
Lady Capulet.
Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched,
hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e'er
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 catch'd
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.
Beguil'd, divorced, wronged,
spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee
beguil'd,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!--
O love! O life!--not life, but
love in death!
Capulet.
Despis'd, distressed, hated,
martyr'd, kill'd!--
Uncomfortable time, why cam'st
thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?--
O child! O child!--my soul, and
not my child!--
Dead art thou, dead!--alack,
my child is dead;
And with my child my joys are
buried!
Friar.
Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's
cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and
yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now
heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for
the maid:
Your part in her you could not
keep from death;
But heaven keeps his part in
eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven she should
be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is
advanc'd
Above the clouds, as high as
heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your
child so ill
That you run mad, seeing that
she is well:
She's not well married that lives
married long:
But she's best married that dies
married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick
your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the
custom is,
In all her best array bear her
to church;
For though fond nature bids us
all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's
merriment.
Capulet.
All things that we 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.
Sir, go you in,--and, madam,
go with him;--
And go, Sir Paris;--every one
prepare
To follow this fair corse unto
her grave:
The heavens do lower upon you
for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing
their high will.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet,
Paris, and Friar.]
1 Musician.
Faith, we may put up our pipes
and be gone.
Nurse.
Honest good fellows, ah, put
up, put up;
For well you know this is a pitiful
case.
[Exit.]
1 Musician.
Ay, by my troth, the case may
be amended.
[Enter Peter.]
Peter.
Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's
ease,' 'Heart's ease':
O, an you will have me live,
play 'Heart's ease.'
1 Musician.
Why 'Heart's ease'?
Peter.
O, musicians, because my heart
itself plays 'My heart is
full of woe': O, play me some
merry dump to comfort me.
1 Musician.
Not a dump we: 'tis no time to
play now.
Peter.
You will not then?
1 Musician.
No.
Peter.
I will then give it you soundly.
1 Musician.
What will you give us?
Peter.
No money, on my faith; but the
gleek,--I will give you the
minstrel.
1 Musician.
Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Peter.
Then will I lay the serving-creature's
dagger on your pate.
I will carry no crotchets: I'll
re you, I'll fa you: do you note
me?
1 Musician.
An you re us and fa us, you note
us.
2 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:
'When griping grief the heart
doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound'--
why 'silver sound'? why 'music
with her silver sound'?--
What say you, Simon Catling?
1 Musician.
Marry, sir, because silver hath
a sweet sound.
Peter.
Pretty!--What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
2 Musician.
I say 'silver sound' because
musicians sound for silver.
Peter.
Pretty too!--What say you, James
Soundpost?
3 Musician.
Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter.
O, I cry you mercy; you are the
singer: I will say for you.
It is 'music with her silver
sound' because musicians have
no
gold for sounding:--
'Then music with her silver
sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.'
[Exit.]
1 Musician.
What a pestilent knave is this
same!
2 Musician.
Hang him, Jack!--Come, we'll
in here; tarry for the
mourners, and stay dinner.
[Exeunt.]
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