Scene I. Mantua. A Street.
If I may trust the flattering
eye of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful
news at hand;
My bosom's lord sits lightly
in his throne;
And all this day an unaccustom'd
Lifts me above the ground with
I dreamt my lady came and found
Strange dream, that gives a dead
man leave to think!--
And breath'd such life with kisses
in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself
When but love's shadows are so
rich in joy!
News from Verona!--How now,
Dost thou not bring me letters
from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father
How fares my Juliet? that I ask
For nothing can be ill if she
Then she is well, and nothing
can be ill:
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
And her immortal part with angels
I saw her laid low in her kindred's
And presently took post to tell
O, pardon me for bringing these
Since you did leave it for my
Is it even so? then I defy you,
Thou know'st my lodging: get
me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will
I do beseech you, sir, have patience:
Your looks are pale and wild,
and do import
Tush, thou art deceiv'd:
Leave me, and do the thing I
bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from
No, my good lord.
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be
with thee straight.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with
Let's see for means;--O mischief,
thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate
I do remember an apothecary,--
And hereabouts he dwells,--which
late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming
Culling of simples; meagre were
Sharp misery had worn him to
And in his needy shop a tortoise
An alligator stuff'd, and other
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders,
and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old
cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make
up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself
An if a man did need a poison
Whose sale is present death in
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
Being holiday, the beggar's shop
What, ho! apothecary!
Who calls so loud?
Come hither, man.--I see that
thou art poor;
Hold, there is forty ducats:
let me have
A dram of poison; such soon-speeding
As will disperse itself through
all the veins
That the life-weary taker mall
And that the trunk may be discharg'd
As violently as hasty powder
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's
Such mortal drugs I have; but
Is death to any he that utters
Art thou so bare and full of
And fear'st to die? famine is
in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth
in thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hangs upon
The world is not thy friend,
nor the world's law:
The world affords no law to make
Then be not poor, but break it
and take this.
My poverty, but not my will consents.
I pay thy poverty, and not thy
Put this in any liquid thing
And drink it off; and, if you
had the strength
Of twenty men, it would despatch
There is thy gold; worse poison
to men's souls,
Doing more murders in this loathsome
Than these poor compounds that
thou mayst not sell:
I sell thee poison; thou hast
sold me none.
Farewell: buy food and get thyself
Come, cordial and not poison,
go with me
To Juliet's grave; for there
must I use thee.
Scene II. Friar Lawrence's Cell.
[Enter Friar John.]
Holy Franciscan friar! brother,
[Enter Friar Lawrence.]
This same should be the voice
of Friar John.
Welcome from Mantua: what says
Or, if his mind be writ, give
me his letter.
Going to find a barefoot brother
One of our order, to associate
Here in this city visiting the
And finding him, the searchers
of the town,
Suspecting that we both were
in a house
Where the infectious pestilence
Seal'd up the doors, and would
not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there
Who bare my letter, then, to
I could not send it,--here it
Nor get a messenger to bring
So fearful were they of infection.
Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but
full of charge
Of dear import; and the neglecting
May do much danger. Friar John,
Get me an iron crow and bring
Unto my cell.
Brother, I'll go and bring it
Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will
fair Juliet wake:
She will beshrew me much that
Hath had no notice of these accidents;
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till
Poor living corse, clos'd in
a dead man's tomb!
Scene III. A churchyard; in
it a Monument belonging to the
[Enter Paris, and his Page bearing
flowers and a torch.]
Give me thy torch, boy: hence,
and stand aloof;--
Yet put it out, for I would not
Under yond yew tree lay thee
Holding thine ear close to the
So shall no foot upon the churchyard
Being loose, unfirm, with digging
up of graves,--
But thou shalt hear it: whistle
then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something
Give me those flowers. Do as
I bid thee, go.
[Aside.] I am almost afraid to
Here in the churchyard; yet I
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 distill'd by moans:
The obsequies that I for thee will keep,
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.
[The Page whistles.]
The boy gives warning something
What cursed foot wanders this
To cross my obsequies and true
What, with a torch! muffle me,
and Balthasar with a torch,
Give me that mattock and the
Hold, take this letter; early
in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord
Give me the light; upon thy life
I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest,
stand all aloof
And do not interrupt me in my
Why I descend into this bed of
Is partly to behold my lady's
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
In what I further shall intend
By heaven, I will tear thee joint
And strew this hungry churchyard
with thy limbs:
The time and my intents are savage-wild;
More fierce and more inexorable
Than empty tigers or the roaring
I will be gone, sir, and not
So shalt thou show me friendship.--Take
Live, and be prosperous: and
farewell, good fellow.
For all this same, I'll hide
His looks I fear, and his intents
Thou detestable maw, thou womb
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel
of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws
[Breaking open the door of the
And, in despite, I'll cram thee
with more food!
This is that banish'd haughty
That murder'd my love's cousin,--with
It is supposed, the fair creature
And here is come to do some villanous
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile
Can vengeance be pursu'd further
Condemned villain, I do apprehend
Obey, and go with me; for thou
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
Put not another sin upon my head
By urging me to fury: O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better
For I come hither arm'd against
Stay not, be gone;--live, and
A madman's mercy bid thee run
I do defy thy conjurations,
And apprehend thee for a felon
Wilt thou provoke me? then have
at thee, boy!
O lord, they fight! I will go
call the watch.
O, I am slain! [Falls.] If thou
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.
In faith, I will.--Let me peruse
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County
What said my man, when my betossed
Did not attend him as we rode?
He told me Paris should have
Said he not so? or did I dream
Or am I mad, hearing him talk
To think it was so?--O, give
me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's
I'll bury thee in a triumphant
A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red
For here lies Juliet, and her
This vault a feasting presence
full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead
[Laying Paris in the monument.]
How oft when men are at the
point of death
Have they been merry! which their
A lightning before death: O,
how may I
Call this a lightning?--O my
love! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey
of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's
Is crimson in thy lips and in
And death's pale flag is not
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy
O, what more favour can I do
Than with that hand that cut
thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine
Forgive me, cousin!--Ah, dear
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall
That unsubstantial death is amorous;
And that the lean abhorred monster
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that I still will
stay with thee,
And never from this palace of
Depart again: here, here will
With worms that are thy chambermaids:
Will I set up my everlasting
And shake the yoke of inauspicious
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
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury
Thou desperate pilot, now at
once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick
Here's to my love! [Drinks.]--O
Thy drugs are quick.--Thus with
a kiss I die.
[Enter, at the other end of
the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence,
a lantern, crow, and spade.]
Saint Francis be my speed! how
Have my old feet stumbled at
Who is it that consorts, so late,
Here's one, a friend, and one
that knows you well.
Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good
What torch is yond that vainly
lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls?
as I discern,
It burneth in the Capels' monument.
It doth so, holy sir; and there's
One that you love.
Who is it?
How long hath he been there?
Full half an hour.
Go with me to the vault.
I dare not, sir;
My master knows not but I am
And fearfully did menace me with
If I did stay to look on his
Stay then; I'll go alone:--fear
comes upon me;
O, much I fear some ill unlucky
As I did sleep under this yew
I dreamt my master and another
And that my master slew him.
Alack, alack! what blood is this
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?--
What mean these masterless and
To lie discolour'd by this place
[Enters the monument.]
Romeo! O, pale!--Who else? what,
And steep'd in blood?--Ah, what
an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable
chance!--The lady stirs.
[Juliet wakes and stirs.]
O comfortable friar! where is
I do remember well where I should
And there I am:--where is my
I hear some noise.--Lady, come
from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents:--come,
Thy husband in thy bosom there
And Paris too:--come, I'll dispose
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question, for the
watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet [noise
within],--I dare no longer stay.
Go, get thee hence, for I will
[Exit Friar Lawrence.]
What's here? a cup, clos'd in
my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his
O churl! drink all, and left
no friendly drop
To help me after?--I will kiss
Haply some poison yet doth hang
To make me die with a restorative.
Thy lips are warm!
[Within.] Lead, boy:--which way?
Yea, noise?--Then I'll be brief.--O
[Snatching Romeo's dagger.]
This is thy sheath [stabs herself];
there rest, and let me die.
[Falls on Romeo's body and dies.]
[Enter Watch, with the Page
This is the place; there, where
the torch doth burn.
The ground is bloody; search
about the churchyard:
Go, some of you, whoe'er you
[Exeunt some of the Watch.]
Pitiful sight! here lies the
And Juliet bleeding; warm, and
Who here hath lain this two days
Go, tell the prince;--run to
Raise up the Montagues,--some
[Exeunt others of the Watch.]
We see the ground whereon these
woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these
We cannot without circumstance
[Re-enter some of the Watch
Here's Romeo's man; we found
him in the churchyard.
Hold him in safety till the prince
[Re-enter others of the Watch
with Friar Lawrence.]
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
A great suspicion: stay the friar
[Enter the Prince and Attendants.]
What misadventure is so early
That calls our person from our
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet,
What should it be, that they
so shriek abroad?
The people in the street cry
Some Juliet, and some Paris;
and all run,
With open outcry, toward our
What fear is this which startles
in our ears?
Sovereign, here lies the County
And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead
Warm and new kill'd.
Search, seek, and know how this
foul murder comes.
Here is a friar, and slaughter'd
With instruments upon them fit
These dead men's tombs.
O heaven!--O wife, look how our
This dagger hath mista'en,--for,
lo, his house
Is empty on the back of Montague,--
And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's
O me! this sight of death is
as a bell
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
[Enter Montague and others.]
Come, Montague; for thou art
To see thy son and heir more
Alas, my liege, my wife is dead
Grief of my son's exile hath
stopp'd her breath:
What further woe conspires against
Look, and thou shalt see.
O thou untaught! what manners
is in this,
To press before thy father to
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
And lead you even to death: meantime
And let mischance be slave to
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.
I am the greatest, able to do
Yet most suspected, as the time
Doth make against me, of this
And here I stand, both to impeach
Myself condemned and myself excus'd.
Then say at once what thou dost
know in this.
I will be brief, for my short
date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious
Romeo, there dead, was husband
to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's
I married them; and their stol'n
Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom
from this city;
For whom, and not for Tybalt,
You, to remove that siege of
grief from her,
Betroth'd, and would have married
To County Paris:--then comes
she to me,
And with wild looks, bid me devise
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she
Then gave I her, so tutored by
A sleeping potion; which so took
As I intended, for it wrought
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
Being the time the potion's force
But he which bore my letter,
Was stay'd by accident; and yesternight
Return'd my letter back. Then
At the prefixed hour of her waking
Came I to take her from her kindred's
Meaning to keep her closely at
Till I conveniently could send
But when I came,--some minute
ere the time
Of her awaking,--here untimely
The noble Paris and true Romeo
She wakes; and I entreated her
And bear this work of heaven
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
All this I know; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: and if ought
Miscarried by my fault, let my
Be sacrific'd, some hour before
Unto the rigour of severest law.
We still have known thee for
a holy man.--
Where's Romeo's man? what can
he say in this?
I brought my master news of Juliet's
And then in post he came from
To this same place, to this same
This letter he early bid me give
And threaten'd me with death,
going in the vault,
If I departed not, and left him
Give me the letter,--I will look
Where is the county's page that
rais'd the watch?--
Sirrah, what made your master
in this place?
He came with flowers to strew
his lady's grave;
And bid me stand aloof, and so
Anon comes one with light to
ope the tomb;
And by-and-by my master drew
And then I ran away to call the
This letter doth make good the
Their course of love, the tidings
of her death:
And here he writes that he did
buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and
lie with Juliet.--
Where be these enemies?--Capulet,--Montague,--
See what a scourge is laid upon
That heaven finds means to kill
your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your discords
Have lost a brace of kinsmen:--all
O brother Montague, give me thy
This is my daughter's jointure,
for no more
Can I demand.
But I can give thee more:
For I will raise her statue in
That while Verona by that name
There shall no figure at such
rate be set
As that of true and faithful
As rich shall Romeo's by his
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!
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 pardon'd, and some punished;
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
End of Project Gutenberg Etext
of Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare
PG has multiple editions of William
Shakespeare's Complete Works