| 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 |
| 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 |
| 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. |
| |
| Nurse |
| Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. |
| |
| ROMEO |
| What say'st thou, my dear nurse? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, |
| Two may keep counsel, putting one away? |
| |
| ROMEO |
| I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. |
| |
| NURSE |
| Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, |
| Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there |
| is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain |
| lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief |
| see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her |
| sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer |
| man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks |
| as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not |
| rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? |
| |
| ROMEO |
| Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. |
| |
| Nurse |
| Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for |
| the--No; I know it begins with some other |
| letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of |
| it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good |
| to hear it. |
| |
| ROMEO |
| Commend me to thy lady. |
| |
| Nurse |
| Ay, a thousand times. |
| |
| Exit Romeo |
| Peter! |
| |
| PETER |
| Anon! |
| |
| Nurse |
| Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. |
| |
| Exeunt |
| SCENE V. Capulet's orchard. |
| Enter JULIET |
| JULIET |
| The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; |
| In half an hour she promised to return. |
| Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. |
| O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, |
| Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, |
| Driving back shadows over louring hills: |
| Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, |
| And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. |
| Now is the sun upon the highmost hill |
| Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve |
| Is three long hours, yet she is not come. |
| Had she affections and warm youthful blood, |
| She would be as swift in motion as a ball; |
| My words would bandy her to my sweet love, |
| And his to me: |
| But old folks, many feign as they were dead; |
| Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. |
| O God, she comes! |
| |
| Enter Nurse and PETER |
| O honey nurse, what news? |
| Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. |
| |
| Nurse |
| Peter, stay at the gate. |
| |
| Exit PETER |
| JULIET |
| Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? |
| Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; |
| If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news |
| By playing it to me with so sour a face. |
| |
| Nurse |
| I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: |
| Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! |
| |
| JULIET |
| I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: |
| Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. |
| |
| Nurse |
| Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? |
| Do you not see that I am out of breath? |
| |
| JULIET |
| How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath |
| To say to me that thou art out of breath? |
| The excuse that thou dost make in this delay |
| Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. |
| Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; |
| Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: |
| Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not |
| how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his |
| face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels |
| all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, |
| though they be not to be talked on, yet they are |
| past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, |
| but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy |
| ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? |
| |
| JULIET |
| No, no: but all this did I know before. |
| What says he of our marriage? what of that? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! |
| It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. |
| My back 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, |
| 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 |
| 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. |
| |
| Enter TYBALT and others |
| TYBALT |
| Follow me close, for I will speak to them. |
| Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| And but one word with one of us? couple it with |
| something; make it a word and a blow. |
| |
| TYBALT |
| You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you |
| will give me occasion. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Could you not take some occasion without giving? |
| |
| TYBALT |
| Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an |
| thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but |
| discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall |
| make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! |
| |
| BENVOLIO |
| We talk here in the public haunt of men: |
| Either withdraw unto some private place, |
| And reason coldly of your grievances, |
| Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; |
| I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. |
| |
| Enter ROMEO |
| TYBALT |
| Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: |
| Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; |
| Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' |
| |
| TYBALT |
| Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford |
| No better term than this,--thou art a villain. |
| |
| ROMEO |
| Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee |
| Doth much excuse the appertaining rage |
| To such a greeting: villain am I none; |
| Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. |
| |
| TYBALT |
| Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries |
| That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. |
| |
| ROMEO |
| I do protest, I never injured thee, |
| But love thee better than thou canst devise, |
| Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: |
| And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender |
| As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! |
| Alla stoccata carries it away. |
| |
| Draws |
| Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? |
| |
| TYBALT |
| What wouldst thou have with me? |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine |
| lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you |
| shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the |
| eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher |
| by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your |
| ears ere it be out. |
| |
| TYBALT |
| I am for you. |
| |
| Drawing |
| ROMEO |
| Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Come, sir, your passado. |
| |
| They fight |
| ROMEO |
| Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. |
| Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! |
| Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath |
| Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: |
| Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! |
| |
| TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers |
| MERCUTIO |
| I am hurt. |
| A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. |
| Is he gone, and hath nothing? |
| |
| BENVOLIO |
| What, art thou hurt? |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. |
| Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. |
| |
| Exit Page |
| ROMEO |
| Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a |
| church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for |
| me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I |
| am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' |
| both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a |
| cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a |
| rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of |
| arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I |
| was hurt under your arm. |
| |
| ROMEO |
| I thought all for the best. |
| |
| MERCUTIO |
| Help me into some house, Benvolio, |
| Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! |
| They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, |
| And soundly too: your houses! |
| |
| 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 |
| 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, |
| 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, |
| Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: |
| Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, |
| With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, |
| Think true love acted simple modesty. |
| Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; |
| For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night |
| Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. |
| Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, |
| Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, |
| Take him and cut him out in little stars, |
| And he will make the face of heaven so fine |
| That all the world will be in love with night |
| And pay no worship to the garish sun. |
| O, I have bought the mansion of a love, |
| But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, |
| Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day |
| As is the night before some festival |
| To an impatient child that hath new robes |
| And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, |
| And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks |
| But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. |
| |
| Enter Nurse, with cords |
| Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords |
| That Romeo bid thee fetch? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Ay, ay, the cords. |
| |
| Throws them down |
| JULIET |
| Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! |
| We are undone, lady, we are undone! |
| Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! |
| |
| JULIET |
| Can heaven be so envious? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Romeo can, |
| Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! |
| Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! |
| |
| JULIET |
| What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? |
| This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. |
| Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' |
| And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more |
| Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: |
| I am not I, if there be such an I; |
| Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' |
| If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: |
| Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. |
| |
| Nurse |
| I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- |
| God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: |
| A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; |
| Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, |
| All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. |
| |
| JULIET |
| O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! |
| To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! |
| Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; |
| And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! |
| |
| Nurse |
| O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! |
| O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! |
| That ever I should live to see thee dead! |
| |
| JULIET |
| What storm is this that blows so contrary? |
| Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? |
| My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? |
| Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! |
| For who is living, if those two are gone? |
| |
| Nurse |
| Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; |
| Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. |
| |
| JULIET |
| O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? |
| |
| Nurse |
| It did, it did; alas the day, it did! |
| |
| JULIET |
| O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! |
| Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? |
| Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! |
| Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! |
| Despised substance of divinest show! |
| Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, |
| A damned saint, an honourable villain! |
| O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, |
| When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend |
| In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? |
| Was ever book containing such vile matter |
| So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell |
| In such a gorgeous palace! |
| |
| Nurse |
| There's no trust, |
| No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, |
| All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. |
| Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: |
| These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. |
| Shame come to Romeo! |
| |
| JULIET |
| Blister'd be thy tongue |
| For such a wish! he was not born to shame: |
| Upon his brow shame is 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; |
| 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, |
| 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. |
| |