Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare, Traduzioni di Inglese

Scarica Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare e più Traduzioni in PDF di Inglese solo su Docsity! 1 Romeo and Juliet PDF A full version of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet text NoSweatShakespeare.com Making Shakespeare easy and accessible 2 ACT I PROLOGUE 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-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers SAMPSON Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' 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 runn'st away. SAMPSON A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. 5 MONTAGUE Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants PRINCE Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd 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 disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd 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 further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO MONTAGUE Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd 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 to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 6 A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's 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, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far 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 importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. Enter ROMEO BENVOLIO See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE BENVOLIO Good-morrow, cousin. 7 ROMEO Is the day so young? BENVOLIO But new struck nine. ROMEO Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO Not having that, which, having, makes them short. 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. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; 10 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-apparell'd 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. To Servant, giving a paper Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS Servant Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO BENVOLIO Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO Your plaintain-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 mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 11 Servant Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing 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. Reads Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant Up. ROMEO Whither? Servant To supper; to our house. ROMEO Whose house? Servant My master's. ROMEO Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit BENVOLIO At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, 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 fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. 12 BENVOLIO Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. Exeunt SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house. Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse LADY CAPULET Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! Enter JULIET 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 remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET She's not fourteen. Nurse I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth 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--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; 15 hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET We follow thee. Exit Servant Juliet, the county stays. Nurse Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others ROMEO What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's 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; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO If love be rough with you, be rough with love; 16 Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps 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 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO Why, may one ask? ROMEO I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO And so did I. ROMEO Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO That dreamers often lie. ROMEO In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, 17 The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 20 CAPULET Young Romeo is it? TYBALT Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd 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, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT Patience perforce with 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 fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIET Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, 21 And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! 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 nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse JULIET Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse 22 The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET What's he that follows there, 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 What's this? what's this? JULIET A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. One calls within 'Juliet.' Nurse Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Exeunt 25 She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er 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-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET 26 What man art thou that thus bescreen'd 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 not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; 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 found'st thou out this place? ROMEO By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny 27 What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's 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 swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant 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 I'll believe thee. ROMEO If my heart's dear love-- JULIET Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. 30 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 father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. Exit SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small 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, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. Enter ROMEO ROMEO Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; 31 But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd 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 ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: 32 And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. Exeunt SCENE IV. A street. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he 35 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. ROMEO Here's goodly gear! Enter Nurse and PETER MERCUTIO A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse Peter! PETER Anon! Nurse My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse Is it good den? MERCUTIO Tis no less, I tell you, 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 36 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, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO She will indite 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 An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO I will follow you. MERCUTIO Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, Singing lady, lady, lady.' Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO Nurse Marry, farewell! 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 An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such 37 Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER I saw no man use you a 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 bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived 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 top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. 40 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 o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET I have. Nurse Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. Exeunt SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO FRIAR LAURENCE So smile the heavens upon this holy act, 41 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 LAURENCE 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. Enter JULIET Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE 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 heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE 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 42 ACT III 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 those 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 it 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 fun 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 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. 45 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! Exeunt 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 aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! 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 amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO 46 O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO Why dost thou stay? Exit ROMEO Enter Citizens, & c First Citizen Which way ran he that kill'd 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 princes 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 cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O 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, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged 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, 47 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's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt SCENE II. Capulet's orchard. Enter JULIET JULIET Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's 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, 50 For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed 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 lamentations might have moved? 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 beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; 51 And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE FRIAR LAURENCE Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'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 LAURENCE Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE 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 LAURENCE 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 smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, 52 Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest 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 my 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: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st 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 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE 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 LAURENCE O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE 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, 55 But, like a misbehaved 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 revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. Exeunt SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS CAPULET Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: 56 I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is 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 ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS Monday, my lord, CAPULET Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' 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. Capulet's orchard. Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window JULIET Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 57 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 Yon light is not day-light, 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 thy 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 grey 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 changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Enter Nurse, to the chamber 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. He goeth down 60 JULIET Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter CAPULET and Nurse CAPULET When the sun sets, the 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 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, chop-logic! What is this? Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' 61 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 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 god-den. Nurse May not one speak? CAPULET Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET You are too hot. CAPULET God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her 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 thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, 62 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, as 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; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. Exit JULIET Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit JULIET O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should 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 it is. Romeo is banish'd; 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. 65 Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS Thy face is mine, and thou hast 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 LAURENCE My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. Exit JULIET O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE 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 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-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. 66 Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE 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 copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of 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 LAURENCE 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, deprived 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. 67 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 LAURENCE 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 two Servingmen CAPULET So many guests invite as here are writ. Exit First Servant Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET How canst thou try them so? Second 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, be gone. Exit Second Servant We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse Ay, forsooth. CAPULET Well, he 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? 70 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 forefather's 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. She falls upon her bed, within the curtains 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 baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the 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! Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET Make haste, make haste. Exit First Servant 71 Sirrah, 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 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. Enter Nurse Nurse Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! 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 must needs 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? Undraws the curtains 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! 72 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, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 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 LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians FRIAR LAURENCE Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, 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 Accursed, 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 woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! 75 Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician Faith, I know not what to say. PETER O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' Exit First Musician What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt 76 ACT V SCENE I. Mantua. A street. Enter ROMEO ROMEO If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! Enter BALTHASAR, booted News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR No, my good lord. ROMEO No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Exit BALTHASAR 77 Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd 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 stuff'd, 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 scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Enter Apothecary Apothecary Who calls so loud? ROMEO Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO 80 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 [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. Retires ROMEO Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! Opens the tomb PARIS This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Comes forward Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued 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 arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. 81 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. Mercutio's 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 misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd 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 interr'd. Laying PARIS in the tomb 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 suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's 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 chamber-maids; O, here 82 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! Here's 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, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade FRIAR LAURENCE Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE 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 Capel's monument. BALTHASAR It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE Who is it? BALTHASAR Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE 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 LAURENCE Stay, then; I'll 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, 85 CAPULET O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter MONTAGUE and others PRINCE Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd 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 LAURENCE 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 excused. PRINCE Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, 86 And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd 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 borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her 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 aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. 87 PRINCE This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. Exeunt