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2
[Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants]
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I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:
5
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
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And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;
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For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
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Thou art like one of those fellows that when he
10
enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword
11
upon the table and says 'God send me no need of
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thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws
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it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
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Am I like such a fellow?
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Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as
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any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as
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soon moody to be moved.
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Nay, an there were two such, we should have none
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shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why,
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thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more,
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or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou
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wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no
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other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what
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eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?
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Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of
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meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as
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an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a
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man for coughing in the street, because he hath
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wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun:
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didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing
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his new doublet before Easter? with another, for
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tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou
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wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
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An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man
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should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
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The fee-simple! O simple!
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By my head, here come the Capulets.
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By my heel, I care not.
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[Enter TYBALT and others]
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Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
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Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.
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And but one word with one of us? couple it with
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something; make it a word and a blow.
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You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
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will give me occasion.
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Could you not take some occasion without giving?
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Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,—
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Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an
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thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
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discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall
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make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!
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We talk here in the public haunt of men:
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Either withdraw unto some private place,
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And reason coldly of your grievances,
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Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
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Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
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I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
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Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.
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But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:
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Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;
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Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'
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Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
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No better term than this,—thou art a villain.
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Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
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Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
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To such a greeting: villain am I none;
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Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.
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Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
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That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
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I do protest, I never injured thee,
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But love thee better than thou canst devise,
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Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
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And so, good Capulet,—which name I tender
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As dearly as my own,—be satisfied.
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O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
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Alla stoccata carries it away.
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Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
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What wouldst thou have with me?
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Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine
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lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you
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shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the
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eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher
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by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your
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Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
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Come, sir, your passado.
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Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
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Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
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Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
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Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:
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Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!
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[TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers]
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A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
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Is he gone, and hath nothing?
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Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
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Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
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Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
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No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a
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church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for
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me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I
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am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o'
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both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a
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cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a
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rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of
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arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I
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was hurt under your arm.
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I thought all for the best.
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Help me into some house, Benvolio,
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Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
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They have made worms' meat of me: I have it,
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And soundly too: your houses!
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[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO]
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This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
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My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
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In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
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With Tybalt's slander,—Tybalt, that an hour
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Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet,
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Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
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And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!
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O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
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That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
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Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
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This day's black fate on more days doth depend;
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This but begins the woe, others must end.
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Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
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Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
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Away to heaven, respective lenity,
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And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
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Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
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That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul
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Is but a little way above our heads,
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Staying for thine to keep him company:
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Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
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Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
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Shalt with him hence.
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This shall determine that.
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[They fight; TYBALT falls]
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Romeo, away, be gone!
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The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
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Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death,
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If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!
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O, I am fortune's fool!
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Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
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Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
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There lies that Tybalt.
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I charge thee in the princes name, obey.
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[Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their]
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Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
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O noble prince, I can discover all
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The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:
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There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
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That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
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Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
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O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt
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O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
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For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
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Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
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Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;
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Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
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How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
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Your high displeasure: all this uttered
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With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
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Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
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Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
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With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
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Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
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And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
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Cold death aside, and with the other sends
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It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,
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Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
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'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than
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His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
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And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
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An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
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Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
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But by and by comes back to Romeo,
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Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
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And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I
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Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.
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And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
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This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
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He is a kinsman to the Montague;
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Affection makes him false; he speaks not true:
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Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
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And all those twenty could but kill one life.
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I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;
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Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
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Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
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Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
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Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;
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His fault concludes but what the law should end,
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Immediately we do exile him hence:
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I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
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My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
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But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
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That you shall all repent the loss of mine:
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I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
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Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses:
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Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
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Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
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Bear hence this body and attend our will:
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Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
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Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
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Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
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As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
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And bring in cloudy night immediately.
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Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
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That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
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Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
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Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
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By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
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It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
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Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
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And learn me how to lose a winning match,
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Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
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Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
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With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,
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Think true love acted simple modesty.
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Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
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For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
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Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
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Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
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Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
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Take him and cut him out in little stars,
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And he will make the face of heaven so fine
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That all the world will be in love with night
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And pay no worship to the garish sun.
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O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
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But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
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Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
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As is the night before some festival
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To an impatient child that hath new robes
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And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
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And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
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But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
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[Enter Nurse, with cords]
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Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords
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That Romeo bid thee fetch?
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Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?
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Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
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We are undone, lady, we are undone!
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Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
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Can heaven be so envious?
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Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!
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Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
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What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
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This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
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Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'
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And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more
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Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
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I am not I, if there be such an I;
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Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.'
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If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no:
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Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
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I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,—
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God save the mark!—here on his manly breast:
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A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
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Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
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All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.
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O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!
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To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!
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Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
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And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
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O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
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O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
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That ever I should live to see thee dead!
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What storm is this that blows so contrary?
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Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?
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My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?
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Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
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For who is living, if those two are gone?
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Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
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Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.
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O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
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It did, it did; alas the day, it did!
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O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
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Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
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Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
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Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
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Despised substance of divinest show!
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Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
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A damned saint, an honourable villain!
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O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,
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When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
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In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?
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Was ever book containing such vile matter
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So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell
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In such a gorgeous palace!
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No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,
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All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
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Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae:
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These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
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Blister'd be thy tongue
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For such a wish! he was not born to shame:
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Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;
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For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
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Sole monarch of the universal earth.
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O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
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Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?
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Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
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Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
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When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
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But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
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That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:
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Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
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Your tributary drops belong to woe,
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Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
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My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
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And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:
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All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
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Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
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That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
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But, O, it presses to my memory,
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Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
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'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo—banished;'
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That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
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Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
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Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
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Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
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And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
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Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'
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Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
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Which modern lamentations might have moved?
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But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
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'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,
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Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
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All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'
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There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
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In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
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Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
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Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:
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Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
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Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,
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When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
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Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,
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Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:
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He made you for a highway to my bed;
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But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
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Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed;
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And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
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To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
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Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:
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I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
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O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,
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And bid him come to take his last farewell.
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Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:
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Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
6
And thou art wedded to calamity.
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Father, what news? what is the prince's doom?
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What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
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Is my dear son with such sour company:
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I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
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What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?
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A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
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Not body's death, but body's banishment.
22
Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;'
23
For exile hath more terror in his look,
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Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'
26
Hence from Verona art thou banished:
27
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
29
There is no world without Verona walls,
30
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
31
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
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And world's exile is death: then banished,
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Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,
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Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
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And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
37
O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
38
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
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Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
40
And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
41
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
43
'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
44
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
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And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
46
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
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But Romeo may not: more validity,
48
More honourable state, more courtship lives
49
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize
50
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
51
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
52
Who even in pure and vestal modesty,
53
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
54
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
55
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
56
They are free men, but I am banished.
57
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?
58
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
59
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
60
But 'banished' to kill me?—'banished'?
61
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
62
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
63
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
64
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
65
To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
67
Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.
69
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
71
I'll give thee armour to keep off that word:
72
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
73
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
75
Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!
76
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
77
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
78
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.
80
O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
82
How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
84
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
86
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:
87
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
88
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
89
Doting like me and like me banished,
90
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
91
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
92
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
95
Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.
97
Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,
98
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.
101
Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;
102
Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;
104
Run to my study. By and by! God's will,
105
What simpleness is this! I come, I come!
107
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?
109
[Within]Let me come in, and you shall know
111
I come from Lady Juliet.
116
O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
117
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?
119
There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
121
O, he is even in my mistress' case,
122
Just in her case! O woful sympathy!
123
Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,
124
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
125
Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:
126
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
127
Why should you fall into so deep an O?
131
Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.
133
Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
134
Doth she not think me an old murderer,
135
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
136
With blood removed but little from her own?
137
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
138
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?
140
O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
141
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
142
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
143
And then down falls again.
146
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
147
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
148
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,
149
In what vile part of this anatomy
150
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
154
Hold thy desperate hand:
155
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
156
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
157
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
158
Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
159
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
160
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
161
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
162
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
163
And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,
164
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
165
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
166
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
167
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
168
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
169
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
170
And usest none in that true use indeed
171
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:
172
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
173
Digressing from the valour of a man;
174
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
175
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
176
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
177
Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
178
Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,
179
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
180
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
181
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
182
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
183
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
184
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:
185
The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend
186
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
187
A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;
188
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
189
But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,
190
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
191
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
192
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
193
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
194
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
195
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
196
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
197
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
198
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
199
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
200
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
201
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
202
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
203
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
206
O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
207
To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!
208
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
210
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
212
Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
213
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
216
How well my comfort is revived by this!
218
Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:
219
Either be gone before the watch be set,
220
Or by the break of day disguised from hence:
221
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
222
And he shall signify from time to time
223
Every good hap to you that chances here:
224
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.
226
But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
227
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.
1
A room in Capulet’s house.
2
[Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS]
4
Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,
5
That we have had no time to move our daughter:
6
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
7
And so did I:—Well, we were born to die.
8
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:
9
I promise you, but for your company,
10
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
12
These times of woe afford no time to woo.
13
Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
15
I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
16
To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.
18
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
19
Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled
20
In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.
21
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
22
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
23
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next—
24
But, soft! what day is this?
28
Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,
29
O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,
30
She shall be married to this noble earl.
31
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
32
We'll keep no great ado,—a friend or two;
33
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
34
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
35
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
36
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
37
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
39
My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
41
Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.
42
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
43
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
44
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!
45
Afore me! it is so very very late,
46
That we may call it early by and by.
2
[Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window]
4
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
5
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
6
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
7
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
8
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
10
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
11
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
12
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
13
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
14
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
15
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
17
Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
18
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
19
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
20
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
21
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
23
Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
24
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
25
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
26
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
27
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
28
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
29
I have more care to stay than will to go:
30
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
31
How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.
33
It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away!
34
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
35
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
36
Some say the lark makes sweet division;
37
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
38
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
39
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
40
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
41
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,
42
O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
44
More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!
45
[Enter Nurse, to the chamber]
51
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:
52
The day is broke; be wary, look about.
55
Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
57
Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.
60
Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!
61
I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
62
For in a minute there are many days:
63
O, by this count I shall be much in years
64
Ere I again behold my Romeo!
67
I will omit no opportunity
68
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
70
O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
72
I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
73
For sweet discourses in our time to come.
75
O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
76
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
77
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
78
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
80
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
81
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
84
O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
85
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
86
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
87
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
90
[Within]Ho, daughter! are you up?
92
Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
93
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
94
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
101
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
102
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
103
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;
104
Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love;
105
But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
107
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
109
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
113
Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
115
Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,
116
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
120
That same villain, Romeo.
122
[Aside]Villain and he be many miles asunder.—
123
God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
124
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
126
That is, because the traitor murderer lives.
128
Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:
129
Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!
131
We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not:
132
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
133
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
134
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram,
135
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
136
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.
138
Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
139
With Romeo, till I behold him—dead—
140
Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd.
141
Madam, if you could find out but a man
142
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
143
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
144
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
145
To hear him named, and cannot come to him.
146
To wreak the love I bore my cousin
147
Upon his body that slaughter'd him!
149
Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
150
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
152
And joy comes well in such a needy time:
153
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
155
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;
156
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
157
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
158
That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for.
160
Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
162
Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,
163
The gallant, young and noble gentleman,
164
The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,
165
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
167
Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too,
168
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
169
I wonder at this haste; that I must wed
170
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
171
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
172
I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,
173
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
174
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!
176
Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,
177
And see how he will take it at your hands.
178
[Enter CAPULET and Nurse]
180
When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;
181
But for the sunset of my brother's son
183
How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
184
Evermore showering? In one little body
185
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
186
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
187
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
188
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
189
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
190
Without a sudden calm, will overset
191
Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife!
192
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?
194
Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
195
I would the fool were married to her grave!
197
Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife.
198
How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks?
199
Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest,
200
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
201
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
203
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have:
204
Proud can I never be of what I hate;
205
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.
207
How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this?
208
'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;'
209
And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you,
210
Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds,
211
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
212
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
213
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
214
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!
217
Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
219
Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
220
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
222
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
223
I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday,
224
Or never after look me in the face:
225
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;
226
My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest
227
That God had lent us but this only child;
228
But now I see this one is one too much,
229
And that we have a curse in having her:
232
God in heaven bless her!
233
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
235
And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
236
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
244
Peace, you mumbling fool!
245
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl;
246
For here we need it not.
250
God's bread! it makes me mad:
251
Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
252
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
253
To have her match'd: and having now provided
254
A gentleman of noble parentage,
255
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
256
Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
257
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man;
258
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
259
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
260
To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love,
261
I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.'
262
But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
263
Graze where you will you shall not house with me:
264
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
265
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
266
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
267
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in
269
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
270
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
271
Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn.
274
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
275
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
276
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!
277
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
278
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
279
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
281
Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
282
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
285
O God!—O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
286
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
287
How shall that faith return again to earth,
288
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
289
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.
290
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
291
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
292
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
296
Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing,
297
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
298
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
299
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
300
I think it best you married with the county.
301
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
302
Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,
303
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
304
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
305
I think you are happy in this second match,
306
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
307
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
308
As living here and you no use of him.
310
Speakest thou from thy heart?
312
And from my soul too;
313
Or else beshrew them both.
319
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
320
Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,
321
Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,
322
To make confession and to be absolved.
324
Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.
327
Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
328
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
329
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
330
Which she hath praised him with above compare
331
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
332
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
333
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy:
334
If all else fail, myself have power to die.
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