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PERSONS REPRESENTED
Escalus, Prince of Verona.
Paris, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.
Montague,}Heads of two Houses at variance with each other.
Capulet, }
An Old Man, Uncle to Capulet.
Romeo, Son to Montague.
Mercutio, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to Romeo.
Benvolio, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to Romeo.
Tybalt, Nephew to Lady Capulet.
Friar Lawrence, a Franciscan.
Friar John, of the same Order.
Balthasar, Servant to Romeo.
Sampson, Servant to Capulet.
Gregory, Servant to Capulet.
Peter, Servant to Juliet's Nurse.
Abraham, Servant to Montague.
An Apothecary.
Three Musicians.
Chorus.
Page to Paris; another Page.
An Officer.
Lady Montague, Wife to Montague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.
Juliet, Daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.
Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both
houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.
SCENE.--During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in
the Fifth Act, at Mantua.
THE PROLOGUE
[Enter Chorus.]
Chor.
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 misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Doth 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 naught 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.
Benvolio.
Good morrow, cousin.
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 anything, 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 rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.--
Farewell, my coz.
[Going.]
Benvolio.
Soft! I will go along:
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Romeo.
Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here:
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Benvolio.
Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
Romeo.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Benvolio.
Groan! why, no;
But sadly tell me who.
Romeo.
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,--
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!--
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Benvolio.
I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Romeo.
A right good markman!--And she's fair I love.
Benvolio.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Romeo.
Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow,--she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms
Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she's rich in beauty; only poor
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Benvolio.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
Romeo.
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
Benvolio.
Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Romeo.
O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Benvolio.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
Romeo.
'Tis the way
To call hers, exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.
Benvolio.
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.]
Lady Capulet.
Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.
Nurse.
Now, by my maidenhea,--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 knowest 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 teen 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;
She was too good for me:--but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it--,
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua:
Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband,--God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man,--took up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said 'Ay:'
To see now how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand yeas,
I never should forget it; 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'Ay.'
Lady Capulet.
Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.
Nurse.
Yes, madam;--yet I cannot choose but laugh,
To think it should leave crying, and say 'Ay:'
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
'Yea,' quoth my husband, 'fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted, and said 'Ay.'
Juliet.
And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurse.
Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
Lady Capulet.
Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of.--Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
Juliet.
It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse.
An honour!--were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
Lady Capulet.
Well, think of marriage now: younger than you,
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers: by my count
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;--
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
Nurse.
A man, young lady! lady, such a man
As all the world--why he's a man of wax.
Lady Capulet.
Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nurse.
Nay, he's a flower, in faith, a very flower.
Lady Capulet.
What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse.
No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men
Lady Capulet.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
Juliet.
I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
[Enter a Servant.]
Servant.
Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you
called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed
in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must
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.]
[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 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;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.--
Give me a case to put my visage in: [Putting on a mask.]
A visard for a visard! 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 dreamt 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 waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
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 waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half 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 elf-locks 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.
Romeo.
I fear, too early: for my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail!--On, lusty gentlemen!
Benvolio.
Strike, drum.
[Exeunt.]
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,
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 thine my sin is purg'd.
[Kissing her.]
Juliet.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Romeo.
Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!
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 nurs'd 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, be gone; 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 [to 2 Capulet], 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.
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 Petruchio.
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 danc'd withal.
[One calls within, 'Juliet.']
Nurse.
Anon, anon!
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter Chorus.]
Chorus.
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan'd for, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers us'd to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new beloved anywhere:
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.
[Exit.]
[Enter Romeo.]
Romeo.
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
[He climbs the wall and leaps down within it.]
[Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.]
Benvolio.
Romeo! my cousin Romeo!
Mercutio.
He is wise;
And, on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.
Benvolio.
He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:
Call, good Mercutio.
Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.--
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but 'Ah me!' pronounce but Love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Young auburn Cupid, he that shot so trim
When King Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid!--
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.--
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us!
Benvolio.
An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mercutio.
This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.
Benvolio.
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
Mercutio.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars when they laugh alone.--
Romeo, good night.--I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?
Benvolio.
Go then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter Romeo.]
Romeo.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.--
[Juliet appears above at a window.]
But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!--
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.--
It is my lady; O, it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!--
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.
Ah 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 baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Juliet.
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 yet not 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 cam'st 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'erperch 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, that first did prompt me to enquire;
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 furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Juliet.
Thou knowest 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
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,
They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and 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 'haviour 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 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 unadvis'd, 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.
Juliet.
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
And yet I would it were to give again.
Romeo.
Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?
Juliet.
But to be frank and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have;
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within: dear love, adieu!--
[Nurse calls within.]
Anon, good nurse!--Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
[Enter Juliet above.]
Juliet.
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee, my lord, throughout the world.
Nurse.
[Within.] Madam!
Juliet.
I come anon.-- But if thou meanest not well,
I do beseech thee,--
Nurse.
[Within.] Madam!
Juliet.
By-and-by I come:--
To cease thy suit and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.
Romeo.
So thrive my soul,--
Juliet.
A thousand times good night!
[Exit.]
Romeo.
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light!--
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books;
But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
[Retirong slowly.]
[Re-enter Juliet, above.]
Juliet.
Hist! Romeo, hist!--O for a falconer's voice
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.
Romeo.
It is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
Juliet.
Romeo!
Romeo.
My dear?
Juliet.
At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Romeo.
At the hour of nine.
Juliet.
I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Romeo.
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
Juliet.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.
Romeo.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
Juliet.
'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
And yet no farther than a wanton's bird;
That lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Romeo.
I would I were thy bird.
Juliet.
Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
[Exit.]
Romeo.
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.]
Juliet.
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis'd 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 lowering 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'd 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 sham'st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse.
I am aweary, 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; rhough 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 jauncing 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 Lawrence' 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.]
[Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.]
Friar.
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.
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.
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.
[Enter Juliet.]
Juliet.
Good-even to my ghostly confessor.
Friar.
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 imagin'd 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.
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.]
[Enter Juliet.]
Juliet.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.--
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!
That rude 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 upon 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.
Ah 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 bankrout, 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-lov'd 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 mortal 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 perjur'd,
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 asham'd 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 lamentation might have mov'd?
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 beguil'd,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:
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 Lawrence' cell.
Juliet.
O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
[Exeunt.]
Juliet.
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
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.
Yond light is not daylight, 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 the 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 gray 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 chang'd 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.]
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.
[Descends.]
Juliet.
Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, my friend!
I must hear from thee every day i' the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O, by this count I shall be much in years
Ere I again behold my Romeo!
Romeo.
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Juliet.
O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
Romeo.
I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.
Juliet.
O God! I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Romeo.
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
[Exit below.]
Juliet.
O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long
But send him back.
Lady Capulet.
[Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?
Juliet.
Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet.
Why, how now, Juliet?
Juliet.
Madam, I am not well.
[Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.]
Paris.
Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof;--
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yond yew tree lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,--
Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,--
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
Page.
[Aside.] I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.
[Retires.]
Paris.
Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew:
O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones!
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew;
Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans:
The obsequies that I for thee will keep,
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.
[The Page whistles.]
The boy gives warning something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
To cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
What, with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile.
[Retires.]
[Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c.]
Romeo.
Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light; upon thy life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death
Is partly to behold my lady's face,
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.
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,
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
[Breaking open the door of the monument.]
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!
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.--
[Advances.]
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague!
Can vengeance be pursu'd 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 bid thee run away.
Paris.
I do defy thy conjurations,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.
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 lanthorn, slaught'red 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 monument.]
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 chambermaids: O, here
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 Lawrence, with
a lantern, crow, and spade.]
Friar.
Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at graves!--Who's there?
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?
Balthasar.
Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Friar.
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 Capels' monument.
Balthasar.
It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you love.
Friar.
Who is it?
Balthasar.
Romeo.
Friar.
How long hath he been there?
Balthasar.
Full half an hour.
Friar.
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.
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,
And that my master slew him.
Friar.
Romeo! [Advances.]
Alack, alack! what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?--
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?
[Enters the monument.]
Romeo! O, pale!--Who else? what, Paris too?
And steep'd in blood?--Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!--The lady stirs.
[Juliet wakes and stirs.]
Juliet.
O comfortable friar! where is my lord?--
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am:--where is my Romeo?
[Noise within.]
Friar.
I hear some noise.--Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents:--come, come away!
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too:--come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet [noise within],--I dare no longer stay.
Juliet.
Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.—
[Exit Friar Lawrence.]
What's here? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:--
O churl! drink all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after?--I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restorative.
[Kisses him.]
Thy lips are warm!
1 Watch.
[Within.] Lead, boy:--which way?
Juliet.
Yea, noise?--Then I'll be brief.--O happy dagger!
[Snatching Romeo's dagger.]
This is thy sheath [stabs herself]; there rest, and let me die.
[Falls on Romeo's body and dies.]
[Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris.]
Page.
This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn.
1 Watch.
The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard:
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach.
[Exeunt some of the Watch.]
Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain;--
And Juliet bleeding; warm, and newly dead,
Who here hath lain this two days buried.--
Go, tell the prince;--run to the Capulets,--
Raise up the Montagues,--some others search:--
[Exeunt others of the Watch.]
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance descry.
[Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar.]
2 Watch.
Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard.
1 Watch.
Hold him in safety till the prince come hither.
[Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence.]
3 Watch.
Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and weeps:
We took this mattock and this spade from him
As he was coming from this churchyard side.
1 Watch.
A great suspicion: stay the friar too.
[Enter the Prince and Attendants.]
Prince.
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from our morning's rest?
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others.]
Capulet.
What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
Lady Capulet.
The people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run,
With open outcry, toward our monument.
Prince.
What fear is this which startles in our ears?
1 Watch.
Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain;
And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before,
Warm and new kill'd.
Prince.
Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.
1 Watch.
Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man,
With instruments upon them fit to open
These dead men's tombs.
Capulet.
O heaven!--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.
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 excus'd.
Prince.
Then say at once what thou dost know in this.
Friar.
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 doomsday, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city;
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd.
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,
And with wild looks, bid me devise some means
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her, so tutored 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 ought in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, 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 threaten'd me with death, going in the vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.
Prince.
Give me the letter,--I will look on it.--
Where is the county's page that rais'd the watch?--
Sirrah, what made your master in this place?
Boy.
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.
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.]