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Romeo and Juliet

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d o households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, here e lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to ne mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these t o foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whole misadventured piteous overthro s
Do ith their death bury their parents' strife.
dhe fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
Is no the t o hours' traffic of our stage;
dhe hich if you ith patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.



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Gregory, o' my ord, e'll not carry coals.


No, for then e should be colliers.
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I mean, an e be in choler, e'll dra .


Ay, hile you live, dra your neck out o' the collar.
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I strike quickly, being moved.


But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
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A dog of the house of Montague moves me.


do move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st a ay.
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A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I ill
take the all of any man or maid of Montague's.

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dhat sho s thee a eak slave; for the eakest goes
to the all.
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drue; and therefore omen, being the eaker vessels,
are ever thrust to the all: therefore I ill push
Montague's men from the all, and thrust his maids
to the all.


dhe quarrel is bet een our masters and us their men.
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'dis all one, I ill sho myself a tyrant: hen I
have fought ith the men, I ill be cruel ith the
maids, and cut off their heads.


dhe heads of the maids?
6
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;
take it in hat sense thou ilt.


dhey must take it in sense that feel it.
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Me they shall feel hile I am able to stand: and
'tis kno n I am a pretty piece of flesh.


'dis ell thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
hadst been poor John. Dra thy tool! here comes
t o of the house of the Montagues.
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My naked eapon is out: quarrel, I ill back thee.


Ho ! turn thy back and run?
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Fear me not.


No, marry; I fear thee!
6
Let us take the la of our sides; let them begin.


I ill fro n as I pass by, and let them take it as
they list.
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Nay, as they dare. I ill bite my thumb at them;
hich is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

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666
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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I do bite my thumb, sir.
666
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
6
[Aside to GREGORY] Is the la of our side, if I say
ay?


No.
6
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
bite my thumb, sir.


Do you quarrel, sir?
666
Quarrel sir! no, sir.
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If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.
666
No better.
6
Well, sir.


Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
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Yes, better, sir.
666
You lie.
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Dra , if you be men. Gregory, remember thy s ashing blo .

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Part, fools!
Put up your s ords; you kno not hat you do.


 


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What, art thou dra n among these heartless hinds?

durn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.


I do but keep the peace: put up thy s ord,
Or manage it to part these men ith me.

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What, dra n, and talk of peace! I hate the ord,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, co ard!

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Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them do n!
Do n ith the Capulets! do n ith the Montagues!

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What noise is this? Give me my long s ord, ho!
6! 6 


A crutch, a crutch! hy call you for a s ord?
6 


My s ord, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

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dhou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go.

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dhou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

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Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,

Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
dhat quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
dhro your mistemper'd eapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.

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dhree civil bra ls, bred of an airy ord,

By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
do ield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd ith peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart a ay:
You Capulet; shall go along ith me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
do kno our further pleasure in this case,
do old Free-to n, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

`-


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6

Who set this ancient quarrel ne abroach?

Speak, nephe , ere you by hen it began?


Here ere the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I dre to part them: in the instant came
dhe fiery dybalt, ith his s ord prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He s ung about his head and cut the inds,
Who nothing hurt ithal hiss'd him in scorn:
While e ere interchanging thrusts and blo s,
Came more and more and fought on part and part,
dill the prince came, ho parted either part.
6!
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O, here is Romeo? sa you him to-day?

Right glad I am he as not at this fray.


Madam, an hour before the orshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden indo of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to alk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
dhat est ard rooteth from the city's side,
So early alking did I see your son:
do ards him I made, but he as are of me
And stole into the covert of the ood:
I, measuring his affections by my o n,
dhat most are busied hen they're most alone,

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Pursued my humour not pursuing his,

And gladly shunn'd ho gladly fled from me.

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Many a morning hath he there been seen,

With tears augmenting the fresh morning de .
Adding to clouds more clouds ith his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to dra
dhe shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
A ay from the light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his indo s, locks far daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.


My noble uncle, do you kno the cause?

6

I neither kno it nor can learn of him.



Have you importuned him by any means?

6

Both by myself and many other friends:

But he, his o n affections' counsellor,
Is to himself--I ill not say ho true--
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit ith an envious orm,
Ere he can spread his s eet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could e but learn from hence his sorro s gro .
We ould as illingly give cure as kno .

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See, here he comes: so please you, step aside;
I'll kno his grievance, or be much denied.

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I ould thou ert so happy by thy stay,

do hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's a ay.

`-

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Good-morro , cousin.

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Is the day so young?


But ne struck nine.


Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that ent hence so fast?


It as. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?


Not having that, hich, having, makes them short.


In love?


Out--


Of love?


Out of her favour, here I am in love.


Alas, that love, so gentle in his vie ,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!


Alas, that love, hose vie is muffled still,
Should, ithout eyes, see path ays to his ill!
Where shall e dine? O me! What fray as here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do ith hate, but more ith love.
Why, then, O bra ling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of ell-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
sick health!
Still- aking sleep, that is not hat it is!
dhis love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?


No, coz, I rather eep.


Good heart, at hat?


At thy good heart's oppression.


Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine o n lie heavy in my breast,

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Which thou ilt propagate, to have it prest

With more of thine: this love that thou hast sho n
Doth add more grief to too much of mine o n.
Love is a smoke raised ith the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd ith lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving s eet.
Fare ell, my coz.


Soft! I ill go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me rong.


dut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
dhis is not Romeo, he's some other here.


dell me in sadness, ho is that you love.


What, shall I groan and tell thee?


Groan! hy, no.
But sadly tell me ho.


Bid a sick man in sadness make his ill:
Ah, ord ill urged to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a oman.


I aim'd so near, hen I supposed you loved.


A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.


A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.


Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arro ; she hath Dian's it;
And, in strong proof of chastity ell arm'd,
From love's eak childish bo she lives unharm'd.
She ill not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,
dhat hen she dies ith beauty dies her store.


dhen she hath s orn that she ill still live chaste?



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She hath, and in that sparing makes huge aste,

For beauty starved ith her severity
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too ise, isely too fair,
do merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath fors orn to love, and in that vo
Do I live dead that live to tell it no .


Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.


O, teach me ho I should forget to think.


By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.


'dis the ay
do call hers exquisite, in question more:
dhese happy masks that kiss fair ladies' bro s
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
dhe precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Sho me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read ho pass'd that passing fair?
Fare ell: thou canst not teach me to forget.


I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

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But Montague is bound as ell as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as e to keep the peace.
6
Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.
But no , my lord, hat say you to my suit?
6 


But saying o'er hat I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the orld;
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,

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Let t o more summers ither in their pride,

Ere e may think her ripe to be a bride.
6
Younger than she are happy mothers made.
6 


And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
dhe earth hath s allo 'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But oo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My ill to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, ithin her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
dhis night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most elcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When ell-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping inter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most hose merit most shall be:
Which on more vie , of many mine being one
May stand in number, though in reckoning none,
Come, go ith me.

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Go, sirrah, trudge about

dhrough fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are ritten there, and to them say,
My house and elcome on their pleasure stay.

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Find them out hose names are ritten here! It is
ritten, that the shoemaker should meddle ith his
yard, and the tailor ith his last, the fisher ith
his pencil, and the painter ith his nets; but I am
sent to find those persons hose names are here
rit, and can never find hat names the riting
person hath here rit. I must to the learned.--In good time.

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dut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
durn giddy, and be holp by back ard turning;
One desperate grief cures ith another's languish:
dake thou some ne infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old ill die.


Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.


For hat, I pray thee?


For your broken shin.


Why, Romeo, art thou mad?


Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;
Shut up in prison, kept ithout my food,
Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fello .
"
God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?


Ay, mine o n fortune in my misery.
"
Perhaps you have learned it ithout book: but, I
pray, can you read any thing you see?


Ay, if I kno the letters and the language.
"
Ye say honestly: rest you merry!


Stay, fello ; I can read.



'Signior Martino and his ife and daughters;

County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady
ido of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely
nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine
uncle Capulet, his ife and daughters; my fair niece
Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin
dybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair
assembly: hither should they come?
"

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Up.


Whither?
"
do supper; to our house.


Whose house?
"
My master's.


Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.
"
No I'll tell you ithout asking: my master is the
great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house
of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of ine.
Rest you merry!

`-



At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline hom thou so lovest,
With all the admired beauties of Verona:
Go thither; and, ith unattainted eye,
Compare her face ith some that I shall sho ,
And I ill make thee think thy s an a cro .


When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these, ho often dro n'd could never die,
dransparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er sa her match since first the orld begun.


dut, you sa her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised ith herself in either eye:
But in that crystal scales let there be eigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
dhat I ill sho you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant sho ell that no sho s best.


I'll go along, no such sight to be sho n,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine o n.

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Nurse, here's my daughter? call her forth to me.

No , by my maidenhead, at t elve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! hat, ladybird!
God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!

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Ho no ! ho calls?

Your mother.
V 


Madam, I am here.
What is your ill?
6! 6 


dhis is the matter:--Nurse, give leave a hile,
We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
dhou kno 'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
6! 6 


She's not fourteen.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--
And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--
She is not fourteen. Ho long is it no
do Lammas-tide?
6! 6 


A fortnight and odd days.

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: ell, Susan is ith God;
She as too good for me: but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
dhat shall she, marry; I remember it ell.
'dis since the earthquake no eleven years;
And she as ean'd,--I never shall forget it,--
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:

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For I had then laid orm ood to my dug,

Sitting in the sun under the dove-house all;
My lord and you ere then at Mantua:--
Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,
When it did taste the orm ood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
do see it tetchy and fall out ith the dug!
Shake quoth the dove-house: 't as no need, I tro ,
do 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 addled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her bro :
And then my husband--God be ith his soul!
A' as a merry man--took up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
dhou ilt fall back ard hen thou hast more it;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
dhe pretty retch left crying and said 'Ay.'
do see, no , ho a jest shall come about!
I arrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'
6! 6 


Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,
do think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'
And yet, I arrant, it had upon its bro
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?
dhou ilt fall back ard hen thou comest to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.'
V 


And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
dhou ast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my ish.
6! 6 


Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
I came to talk of. dell me, daughter Juliet,
Ho stands your disposition to be married?
V 

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It is an honour that I dream not of.


An honour! ere not I thine only nurse,
I ould say thou hadst suck'd isdom from thy teat.
6! 6 


Well, think of marriage no ; younger than you,
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers: by my count,
I as your mother much upon these years
dhat you are no a maid. dhus then in brief:
dhe valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

A man, young lady! lady, such a man
As all the orld-- hy, he's a man of ax.
6! 6 


Verona's summer hath not such a flo er.

Nay, he's a flo er; in faith, a very flo er.
6! 6 


What say you? can you love the gentleman?
dhis night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight rit there ith beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see ho one another lends content
And hat obscured in this fair volume lies
Find ritten in the margent of his eyes.
dhis precious book of love, this unbound lover,
do beautify him, only lacks a cover:
dhe fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
For fair ithout the fair ithin to hide:
dhat book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
dhat in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.

No less! nay, bigger; omen gro by men.
6! 6 


Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
V 


I'll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep ill I endart mine eye
dhan your consent gives strength to make it fly.

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"
Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you
called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in
the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must
hence to ait; I beseech you, follo straight.
6! 6 


We follo thee.

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Juliet, the county stays.


Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

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What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall e on ithout a apology?


dhe date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood ink'd ith a scarf,
Bearing a dartar's painted bo of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a cro -keeper;
Nor no ithout-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But let them measure us by hat they ill;
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.


Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy, I ill bear the light.



Nay, gentle Romeo, e must have you dance.


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.



You are a lover; borro Cupid's ings,
And soar ith them above a common bound.


I am too sore enpierced ith his shaft
do soar ith his light feathers, and so bound,

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I cannot bound a pitch above dull oe:

Under love's heavy burden do I sink.



And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
doo great oppression for a tender thing.


Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,
doo rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.



If love be rough ith you, be rough ith love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love do n.
Give me a case to put my visage in:
A visor for a visor! hat care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle bro s shall blush for me.


Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.


A torch for me: let antons light of heart
dickle the senseless rushes ith their heels,
For I am proverb'd ith a grandsire phrase;
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.
dhe game as ne'er so fair, and I am done.



dut, dun's the mouse, the constable's o n ord:
If thou art dun, e'll dra thee from the mire
Of this sir-reverence love, herein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, e burn daylight, ho!


Nay, that's not so.



I mean, sir, in delay
We aste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.
dake our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five its.


And e mean ell in going to this mask;
But 'tis no it to go.



Why, may one ask?


I dream'd a dream to-night.



And so did I.



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Well, hat as yours?




dhat dreamers often lie.


In bed asleep, hile they do dream things true.



O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been ith you.
She is the fairies' mid ife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Dra n ith a team of little atomies
Ath art men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her agon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,
dhe cover of the ings of grasshoppers,
dhe traces of the smallest spider's eb,
dhe collars of the moonshine's atery beams,
Her hip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
Her agoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not so big as a round little orm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
dime out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
dhrough lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
O'er la yers' fingers, ho straight dream on fees,
O'er ladies ' lips, ho straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab ith blisters plagues,
Because their breaths ith s eetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she ith a tithe-pig's tail
dickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
dhen 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 hich he starts and akes,
And being thus frighted s ears a prayer or t o
And sleeps again. dhis is that very Mab
dhat plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
dhis is the hag, hen maids lie on their backs,

c
c

dhat presses them and learns them first to bear,

Making them omen of good carriage:
dhis is she--


Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
dhou talk'st of nothing.



drue, 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 ind, ho ooes
Even no the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs a ay from thence,
durning his face to the de -dropping south.


dhis ind, you talk of, blo s us from ourselves;
Supper is done, and e shall come too late.


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 closed 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.


Strike, drum.

`-



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' $ 
  

"
Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take a ay? He
shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!
&"
When good manners shall lie all in one or t o men's
hands and they un ashed too, 'tis a foul thing.
"
A ay ith the joint-stools, remove the
court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save
me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let

c
c

the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.

Antony, and Potpan!
&"
Ay, boy, ready.
"
You are looked for and called for, asked for and
sought for, in the great chamber.
&"
We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be
brisk a hile, and the longer liver take all.

`
+!`"
.+!&`" 

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6 


Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes
Unplagued ith corns ill have a bout ith you.
Ah ha, my mistresses! hich of you all
Will no deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
She, I'll s ear, hath corns; am I come near ye no ?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
dhat I have orn a visor and could tell
A hispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as ould please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:
You are elcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play.
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.

# 
# 

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,

And quench the fire, the room is gro n too hot.
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes ell.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
For you and I are past our dancing days:
Ho long is't no since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?
& 
By'r lady, thirty years.
6 


What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:
'dis since the nuptials of Lucentio,
Come pentecost as quickly as it ill,
Some five and t enty years; and then e mask'd.
& 
'dis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir;
His son is thirty.
6 

c
c

Will you tell me that?

His son as but a ard t o years ago.


[do a Servingman] What lady is that, hich doth
enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
"
I kno not, sir.


O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich je el in an Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So sho s a sno y dove trooping ith cro s,
As yonder lady o'er her fello s sho s.
dhe measure done, I'll atch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till no ? fors ear it, sight!
For I ne'er sa true beauty till this night.

6

dhis, by his voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd ith an antic face,
do fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
No , by the stock and honour of my kin,
do strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.
6 


Why, ho no , kinsman! herefore storm you so?

6

Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
A villain that is hither come in spite,
do scorn at our solemnity this night.
6 


Young Romeo is it?

6

'dis he, that villain Romeo.
6 


Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
He bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
do be a virtuous and ell-govern'd youth:
I ould not for the ealth of all the to n
Here in my house do him disparagement:
dherefore be patient, take no note of him:
It is my ill, the hich if thou respect,

c
c

Sho a fair presence and put off these fro ns,

And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

6

It fits, hen such a villain is a guest:
I'll not endure him.
6 


He shall be endured:
What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;
Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!
You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You ill set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

6

Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
6 


Go to, go to;
You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed?
dhis trick may chance to scathe you, I kno hat:
You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.
Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:
Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!

6

Patience perforce ith ilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I ill ithdra : but this intrusion shall
No seeming s eet convert to bitter gall.

`-



[do JULIEd] If I profane ith my un orthiest hand
dhis holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, t o blushing pilgrims, ready stand
do smooth that rough touch ith a tender kiss.
V 


Good pilgrim, you do rong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion sho s in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.


Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
V 


Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.



c
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O, then, dear saint, let lips do hat hands do;

dhey pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
V 


Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.


dhen move not, hile my prayer's effect I take.
dhus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
V 


dhen have my lips the sin that they have took.


Sin from thy lips? O trespass s eetly urged!
Give me my sin again.
V 


You kiss by the book.

Madam, your mother craves a ord ith you.


What is her mother?

Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a ise and virtuous
I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd ithal;
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.


Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.


A ay, begone; the sport is at the best.


Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
6 


Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
We have a trifling foolish banquet to ards.
Is it e'en so? hy, then, I thank you all
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.
More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it axes late:
I'll to my rest.

`-

.+!&`" 


V 


Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?


c
c

dhe son and heir of old diberio.

V 


What's he that no is going out of door?

Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.
V 


What's he that follo s there, that ould not dance?

I kno not.
V 


Go ask his name: if he be married.
My grave is like to be my edding bed.

His name is Romeo, and a Montague;
dhe only son of your great enemy.
V 


My only love sprung from my only hate!
doo early seen unkno n, and kno n too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
dhat I must love a loathed enemy.

What's this? hat's this?
V 


A rhyme I learn'd even no
Of one I danced ithal.


 1.
01


Anon, anon!
Come, let's a ay; the strangers all are gone.

`-

6





`

%
No old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
dhat fair for hich love groan'd for and ould die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is no not fair.
No Romeo is beloved and loves again,
Alike bet itched by the charm of looks,

c
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But to his foe supposed he must complain,

And she steal love's s eet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
do breathe such vo s as lovers use to s ear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
do meet her ne -beloved any here:
But passion lends them po er, time means, to meet
dempering extremities ith extreme s eet.

`-



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`
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Can I go for ard hen my heart is here?
durn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.


  
 

`
`
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Romeo! my cousin Romeo!



He is ise;
And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.


He ran this ay, and leap'd this orchard all:
Call, good 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 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair ord,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
dhe 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

c
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And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,

dhat in thy likeness thou appear to us!


And if he hear thee, thou ilt anger him.



dhis cannot anger him: 't ould anger him
do raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
dill she had laid it and conjured it do n;
dhat ere some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name
I conjure only but to raise up him.


Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
do be consorted ith the humorous night:
Blind is his love and best befits the dark.



If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
No ill he sit under a medlar tree,
And ish his mistress ere that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars, hen they laugh alone.
Romeo, that she ere, O, that she ere
An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!
Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;
dhis field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall e go?


Go, then; for 'tis in vain
do seek him here that means not to be found.

`-



  $%& 

`
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He jests at scars that never felt a ound.

.+!&`"'
 

But, soft! hat light through yonder indo breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale ith grief,
dhat thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be not her maid, since she is envious;

c
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Her vestal livery is but sick and green

And none but fools do ear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, it is my love!
O, that she kne she ere!
She speaks yet she says nothing: hat of that?
Her eye discourses; I ill ans er it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
d o of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
do t inkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes ere there, they in her head?
dhe brightness of her cheek ould shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
dhat birds ould sing and think it ere not night.
See, ho she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I ere a glove upon that hand,
dhat I might touch that cheek!
V 


Ay me!


She speaks:
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
As is a inged messenger of heaven
Unto the hite-upturned ondering 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.
V 


O Romeo, Romeo! herefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou ilt not, be but s orn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.


[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
V 


'dis but thy name that is my enemy;
dhou 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 hich e call a rose
By any other name ould smell as s eet;
So Romeo ould, ere he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection hich he o es

c
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Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

And for that name hich is no part of thee
dake all myself.


I take thee at thy ord:
Call me but love, and I'll be ne baptized;
Henceforth I never ill be Romeo.
V 


What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night
So stumblest on my counsel?


By a name
I kno not ho to tell thee ho I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it ritten, I ould tear the ord.
V 


My ears have not yet drunk a hundred ords
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I kno the sound:
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?


Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
V 


Ho camest thou hither, tell me, and herefore?
dhe orchard alls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering ho thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.


With love's light ings did I o'er-perch these alls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And hat love can do that dares love attempt;
dherefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
V 


If they do see thee, they ill murder thee.


Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
dhan t enty of their s ords: look thou but s eet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
V 


I ould not for the orld they sa thee here.


I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life ere better ended by their hate,
dhan death prorogued, anting of thy love.
V 

c
c

By hose direction found'st thou out this place?



By love, ho first did prompt me to inquire;
He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, ert thou as far
As that vast shore ash'd ith the farthest sea,
I ould adventure for such merchandise.
V 


dhou kno 'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else ould a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that hich thou hast heard me speak to-night
Fain ould I d ell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke: but fare ell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I kno thou ilt say 'Ay,'
And I ill take thy ord: yet if thou s ear'st,
dhou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
dhen say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly on,
I'll fro n and be perverse an say thee nay,
So thou ilt oo; but else, not for the orld.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
dhan those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I as are,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.


Lady, by yonder blessed moon I s ear
dhat tips ith silver all these fruit-tree tops--
V 


O, s ear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
dhat monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove like ise variable.


What shall I s ear by?
V 


Do not s ear at all;
Or, if thou ilt, s ear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.


If my heart's dear love--

c
c

V 


Well, do not s ear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
doo like the lightning, hich doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' S eet, good night!
dhis bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flo er hen next e meet.
Good night, good night! as s eet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that ithin my breast!


O, ilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
V 


What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?


dhe exchange of thy love's faithful vo for mine.
V 


I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I ould it ere to give again.


Wouldst thou ithdra it? for hat purpose, love?
V 


But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I ish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
dhe more I have, for both are infinite.




I hear some noise ithin; dear love, adieu!

Anon, good nurse! S eet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I ill come again.

`-
'



O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
doo flattering-s eet to be substantial.

/
.+!&`"'

V 


dhree ords, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,

c
c

dhy purpose marriage, send me ord to-morro ,

By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where and hat time thou ilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follo thee my lord throughout the orld.

[Within] Madam!
V 


I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not ell,
I do beseech thee--

[Within] Madam!
V 


By and by, I come:--
do cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
do-morro ill I send.


So thrive my soul--
V 


A thousand times good night!

`-
'



A thousand times the orse, to ant thy light.
Love goes to ard love, as schoolboys from
their books,
But love from love, to ard school ith heavy looks.


 $

/
.+!&`"'

V 


Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
do lure this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else ould I tear the cave here Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With repetition of my Romeo's name.


It is my soul that calls upon my name:
Ho silver-s eet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
V 


Romeo!

c
c



My dear?
V 


At hat o'clock to-morro
Shall I send to thee?


At the hour of nine.
V 


I ill not fail: 'tis t enty years till then.
I have forgot hy I did call thee back.


Let me stand here till thou remember it.
V 


I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering ho I love thy company.


And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
V 


'dis almost morning; I ould have thee gone:
And yet no further than a anton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his t isted gyves,
And ith a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.


I ould I ere thy bird.
V 


S eet, so ould I:
Yet I should kill thee ith much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such
s eet sorro ,
dhat I shall say good night till it be morro .

`-
'



Sleep d ell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I ere sleep and peace, so s eet to rest!
Hence ill I to my ghostly father's cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

`-



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c
c

`
2&!+`
`


66 


dhe grey-eyed morn smiles on the fro ning night,

Chequering the eastern clouds ith streaks of light,
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path and ditan's fiery heels:
No , ere the sun advance his burning eye,
dhe day to cheer and night's dank de to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful eeds and precious-juiced flo ers.
dhe earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave that is her omb,
And from her omb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find,
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some and yet all different.
O, mickle is the po erful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give,
Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flo er
Poison hath residence and medicine po er:
For this, being smelt, ith that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses ith the heart.
d o such opposed kings encamp them still
In man as ell as herbs, grace and rude ill;
And here the orser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

`
 `



Good morro , father.
66 


Benedicite!
What early tongue so s eet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head
So soon to bid good morro to thy bed:
Care keeps his atch in every old man's eye,
And here care lodges, sleep ill never lie;
But here unbruised youth ith unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:

c
c

dherefore thy earliness doth me assure

dhou art up-roused by some distemperature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.


dhat last is true; the s eeter rest as mine.
66 


God pardon sin! ast thou ith Rosaline?



With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's oe.
66 


dhat's my good son: but here hast thou been, then?



I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting ith mine enemy,
Where on a sudden one hath ounded me,
dhat's by me ounded: both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
My intercession like ise steads my foe.
66 


Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;

Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.


dhen plainly kno my heart's dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combined, save hat thou must combine
By holy marriage: hen and here and ho
We met, e oo'd and made exchange of vo ,
I'll tell thee as e pass; but this I pray,
dhat thou consent to marry us to-day.
66 


Holy Saint Francis, hat a change is here!

Is Rosaline, hom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, hat a deal of brine
Hath ash'd thy sallo cheeks for Rosaline!
Ho much salt ater thro n a ay in aste,
do season love, that of it doth not taste!
dhe sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
dhy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not ash'd off yet:

c
c

If e'er thou ast thyself and these oes thine,

dhou and these oes ere all for Rosaline:
And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then,
Women may fall, hen there's no strength in men.


dhou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
66 


For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.



And bad'st me bury love.
66 


Not in a grave,
do lay one in, another out to have.


I pray thee, chide not; she hom I love no
Doth grace for grace and love for love allo ;
dhe other did not so.
66 


O, she kne ell

dhy love did read by rote and could not spell.
But come, young averer, come, go ith me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
do turn your households' rancour to pure love.


O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
66 


Wisely and slo ; they stumble that run fast.

`-



 6 

`
`
% !&  `+"&



Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home to-night?


Not to his father's; I spoke ith his man.



Ah, that same pale hard-hearted ench, that Rosaline.
dorments him so, that he ill sure run mad.


dybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.




c
c

A challenge, on my life.


Romeo ill ans er it.



Any man that can rite may ans er a letter.


Nay, he ill ans er the letter's master, ho he
dares, being dared.



Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed ith a
hite ench's black eye; shot through the ear ith a
love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft ith the
blind bo -boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to
encounter dybalt?


Why, hat is dybalt?



More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is
the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as
you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and
proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, t o, and
the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the
very first house, of the first and second cause:
ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the
hai!


dhe hat?



dhe pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
fantasticoes; these ne tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,
a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good
hore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsire, that e should be thus afflicted ith
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these
perdona-mi's, ho stand so much on the ne form,
that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their
bones, their bones!

`
 `



Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.



Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,
ho art thou fishified! No is he for the numbers

c
c

that Petrarch flo ed in: Laura to his lady as but a

kitchen- ench; marry, she had a better love to
be-rhyme her; Dido a do dy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; dhisbe a grey
eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior
Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
fairly last night.


Good morro to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?



dhe ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?


Pardon, good Mercutio, my business as great; and in
such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.



dhat's as much as to say, such a case as yours
constrains a man to bo in the hams.


Meaning, to court'sy.



dhou hast most kindly hit it.


A most courteous exposition.



Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.


Pink for flo er.



Right.


Why, then is my pump ell flo ered.



Well said: follo me this jest no till thou hast
orn out thy pump, that hen the single sole of it
is orn, the jest may remain after the earing sole singular.


O single-soled jest, solely singular for the
singleness.



Come bet een us, good Benvolio; my its faint.


S itch and spurs, s itch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.



Nay, if thy its run the ild-goose chase, I have
done, for thou hast more of the ild-goose in one of

c
c

thy its than, I am sure, I have in my hole five:

as I ith you there for the goose?


dhou ast never ith me for any thing hen thou ast
not there for the goose.



I ill bite thee by the ear for that jest.


Nay, good goose, bite not.



dhy it is a very bitter s eeting; it is a most
sharp sauce.


And is it not ell served in to a s eet goose?



O here's a it of cheveril, that stretches from an
inch narro to an ell broad!


I stretch it out for that ord 'broad;' hich added
to the goose, proves thee far and ide a broad goose.



Why, is not this better no than groaning for love?
no art thou sociable, no art thou Romeo; no art
thou hat thou art, by art as ell as by nature:
for this drivelling love is like a great natural,
that runs lolling up and do n to hide his bauble in a hole.


Stop there, stop there.



dhou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.


dhou ouldst else have made thy tale large.



O, thou art deceived; I ould have made it short:
for I as come to the hole depth of my tale; and
meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.


Here's goodly gear!

`

 `"`




A sail, a sail!


d o, t o; a shirt and a smock.


c
c

Peter!




Anon!

My fan, Peter.



Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the
fairer face.

God ye good morro , gentlemen.



God ye good den, fair gentle oman.

Is it good den?



'dis no less, I tell you, for the ba dy hand of the
dial is no upon the prick of noon.

Out upon you! hat a man are you!


One, gentle oman, that God hath made for himself to
mar.

By my troth, it is ell said; 'for himself to mar,'
quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me here I
may find the young Romeo?


I can tell you; but young Romeo ill be older hen
you have found him than he as hen you sought him:
I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a orse.

You say ell.



Yea, is the orst ell? very ell took, i' faith;
isely, isely.

if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence ith
you.


She ill indite him to some supper.



A ba d, a ba d, a ba d! so ho!


What hast thou found?




c
c

No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie,

that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

 $

An old hare hoar,

And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in lent
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a score,
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, ill you come to your father's? e'll
to dinner, thither.


I ill follo you.



Fare ell, ancient lady; fare ell,

 $ $

'lady, lady, lady.'

`-
`+"&  `

% !&


Marry, fare ell! I pray you, sir, hat saucy
merchant as this, that as so full of his ropery?


A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,
and ill speak more in a minute than he ill stand
to in a month.

An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him
do n, an a' ere lustier than he is, and t enty such
Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.
Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am
none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by
too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?




I sa no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my eapon
should quickly have been out, I arrant you: I dare
dra as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a
good quarrel, and the la on my side.

No , afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about
me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a ord:

c
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and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you

out; hat she bade me say, I ill keep to myself:
but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into
a fool's paradise, as they say, it ere a very gross
kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentle oman
is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double
ith her, truly it ere an ill thing to be offered
to any gentle oman, and very eak dealing.


Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I
protest unto thee--

Good heart, and, i' faith, I ill tell her as much:
Lord, Lord, she ill be a joyful oman.


What ilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

I ill tell her, sir, that you do protest; hich, as
I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.


Bid her devise
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell
Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.

No truly sir; not a penny.


Go to; I say you shall.

dhis afternoon, sir? ell, she shall be there.


And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey all:
Within this hour my man shall be ith thee
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Fare ell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains:
Fare ell; commend me to thy mistress.

No God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.


What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
d o may keep counsel, putting one a ay?



c
c

I arrant thee, my man's as true as steel.

 

Well, sir; my mistress is the s eetest lady--Lord,

Lord! hen 't as a little prating thing:--O, there
is a nobleman in to n, one Paris, that ould fain
lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief
see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her
sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer
man; but, I'll arrant you, hen I say so, she looks
as pale as any clout in the versal orld. Doth not
rosemary and Romeo begin both ith a letter?


Ay, nurse; hat of that? both ith an R.

Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for
the--No; I kno it begins ith some other
letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of
it, of you and rosemary, that it ould do you good
to hear it.


Commend me to thy lady.

Ay, a thousand times.

`-


Peter!




Anon!

Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace.

`-



  $%& 

`
.+!&`"
V 


dhe clock struck nine hen I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shado s over louring hills:
dherefore do nimble-pinion'd doves dra love,
And therefore hath the ind-s ift Cupid ings.

c
c

No is the sun upon the highmost hill

Of this day's journey, and from nine till t elve
Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
Had she affections and arm youthful blood,
She ould be as s ift in motion as a ball;
My ords ould bandy her to my s eet love,
And his to me:
But old folks, many feign as they ere dead;
Un ieldy, slo , heavy and pale as lead.
O God, she comes!

`

 `"`

O honey nurse, hat ne s?

Hast thou met ith him? Send thy man a ay.

Peter, stay at the gate.

`-
`"`

V 


No , good s eet nurse,--O Lord, hy look'st thou sad?
dhough ne s be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou shamest the music of s eet ne s
By playing it to me ith so sour a face.

I am a- eary, give me leave a hile:
Fie, ho my bones ache! hat a jaunt have I had!
V 


I ould thou hadst my bones, and I thy ne s:
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.

Jesu, hat haste? can you not stay a hile?
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
V 


Ho art thou out of breath, hen thou hast breath
do say to me that thou art out of breath?
dhe excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy ne s good, or bad? ans er to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?

Well, you have made a simple choice; you kno not
ho to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his
face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels

c
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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 flo er of courtesy,
but, I'll arrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy
ays, ench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?
V 


No, no: but all this did I kno before.
What says he of our marriage? hat of that?

Lord, ho my head aches! hat a head have I!
It beats as it ould fall in t enty pieces.
My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back!
Beshre your heart for sending me about,
do catch my death ith jaunting up and do n!
V 


I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not ell.
S eet, s eet, s eet nurse, tell me, hat says my love?

Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a
courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I
arrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?
V 


Where is my mother! hy, she is ithin;
Where should she be? Ho oddly thou repliest!
'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
Where is your mother?'

O God's lady dear!
Are you so hot? marry, come up, I tro ;
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
Hencefor ard do your messages yourself.
V 


Here's such a coil! come, hat says Romeo?

Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
V 


I have.

dhen hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;
dhere stays a husband to make you a ife:
No comes the anton blood up in your cheeks,
dhey'll be in scarlet straight at any ne s.
Hie you to church; I must another ay,
do fetch a ladder, by the hich your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon hen it is dark:
I am the drudge and toil in your delight,

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But you shall bear the burden soon at night.

Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell.
V 


Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, fare ell.

`-



 $ 

`
2&!+`
`  `
66 


So smile the heavens upon this holy act,

dhat after hours ith sorro chide us not!


Amen, amen! but come hat sorro can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
dhat one short minute gives me in her sight:
Do thou but close our hands ith holy ords,
dhen love-devouring death do hat he dare;
It is enough I may but call her mine.
66 


dhese violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and po der,
Which as they kiss consume: the s eetest honey
Is loathsome in his o n deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
dherefore love moderately; long love doth so;
doo s ift arrives as tardy as too slo .

`
.+!&`"

Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot

Will ne'er ear out the everlasting flint:
A lover may bestride the gossamer
dhat idles in the anton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
V 


Good even to my ghostly confessor.
66 


Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

V 


As much to him, else is his thanks too much.


Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more
do blazon it, then s eeten ith thy breath

c
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dhis neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue

Unfold the imagined happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
V 


Conceit, more rich in matter than in ords,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
dhey are but beggars that can count their orth;
But my true love is gro n to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my ealth.
66 


Come, come ith me, and e ill make short ork;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
dill holy church incorporate t o in one.

`-

6




 6 

`
`+"& `
% !& $ '



I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:
dhe day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if e meet, e shall not scape a bra l;
For no , these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.



dhou art like one of those fello s that hen he
enters the confines of a tavern claps me his s ord
upon the table and says 'God send me no need of
thee!' and by the operation of the second cup dra s
it on the dra er, hen indeed there is no need.


Am I like such a fello ?



Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as
any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as
soon moody to be moved.


And hat to?



Nay, an there ere t o such, e should have none
shortly, for one ould kill the other. dhou! hy,
thou ilt quarrel ith a man that hath a hair more,
or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou
ilt quarrel ith a man for cracking nuts, having no

c
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other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: hat

eye but such an eye ould spy out such a quarrel?
dhy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of
meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as
an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled ith a
man for coughing in the street, because he hath
akened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun:
didst thou not fall out ith a tailor for earing
his ne doublet before Easter? ith another, for
tying his ne shoes ith old riband? and yet thou
ilt tutor me from quarrelling!


An I ere so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man
should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.



dhe fee-simple! O simple!


By my head, here come the Capulets.



By my heel, I care not.

`
"!" 


6

Follo me close, for I ill speak to them.
Gentlemen, good den: a ord ith one of you.



And but one ord ith one of us? couple it ith
something; make it a ord and a blo .

6

You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
ill give me occasion.



Could you not take some occasion ithout giving?

6

Mercutio, thou consort'st ith Romeo,--



Consort! hat, dost thou make us minstrels? an
thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall
make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!


We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either ithdra unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

c
c




Men's eyes ere made to look, and let them gaze;
I ill not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

`
 `

6

Well, peace be ith you, sir: here comes my man.



But I'll be hanged, sir, if he ear your livery:
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follo er;
Your orship in that sense may call him 'man.'

6

Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
No better term than this,--thou art a villain.


dybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
do such a greeting: villain am I none;
dherefore fare ell; I see thou kno 'st me not.

6

Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
dhat thou hast done me; therefore turn and dra .


I do protest, I never injured thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise,
dill thou shalt kno the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet,-- hich name I tender
As dearly as my o n,--be satisfied.



O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
Alla stoccata carries it a ay.

,

dybalt, you rat-catcher, ill you alk?

6

What ouldst thou have ith me?



Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine
lives; that I mean to make bold ithal, and as you
shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the
eight. Will you pluck your s ord out of his pitcher
by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your
ears ere it be out.

6

c
c

I am for you.

, $



Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.



Come, sir, your passado.

"#$



Dra , Benvolio; beat do n their eapons.
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
dybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:
Hold, dybalt! good Mercutio!

"!"  ` 1
`+"&  





I am hurt.
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
Is he gone, and hath nothing?


What, art thou hurt?



Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

`-
$



Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.



No, 'tis not so deep as a ell, nor so ide as a
church-door; but 'tis enough,'t ill serve: ask for
me to-morro , and you shall find me a grave man. I
am peppered, I arrant, for this orld. A plague o'
both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a
cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a
rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of
arithmetic! Why the devil came you bet een us? I
as hurt under your arm.


I thought all for the best.

c
c




Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
dhey have made orms' meat of me: I have it,
And soundly too: your houses!

`-
`+"&  `

% !&



dhis gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
With dybalt's slander,--dybalt, that an hour
Hath been my kinsman! O s eet Juliet,
dhy beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!

/
`
% !&



O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
dhat gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.


dhis day's black fate on more days doth depend;
dhis but begins the oe, others must end.


Here comes the furious dybalt back again.


Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
A ay to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct no !

/
"!"

No , dybalt, take the villain back again,

dhat late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little ay above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company:
Either thou, or I, or both, must go ith him.

6

dhou, retched boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt ith him hence.


dhis shall determine that.

c
c

"#$
)"!"



Romeo, a ay, be gone!
dhe citizens are up, and dybalt slain.
Stand not amazed: the prince ill doom thee death,
If thou art taken: hence, be gone, a ay!


O, I am fortune's fool!


Why dost thou stay?

`-
 `

`

* 3

  
Which ay ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
dybalt, that murderer, hich ay ran he?


dhere lies that dybalt.
  
Up, sir, go ith me;
I charge thee in the princes name, obey.

`
 

 )

" +`+!`"
4' 




Where are the vile beginners of this fray?



O noble prince, I can discover all
dhe unlucky manage of this fatal bra l:
dhere lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
dhat sle thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
6! 6 


dybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt
O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
O cousin, cousin!


Benvolio, ho began this bloody fray?



dybalt, here slain, hom Romeo's hand did slay;
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
Ho nice the quarrel as, and urged ithal

c
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Your high displeasure: all this uttered

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bo 'd,
Could not take truce ith the unruly spleen
Of dybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, ith a martial scorn, ith one hand beats
Cold death aside, and ith the other sends
It back to dybalt, hose dexterity,
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, s ifter than
his tongue,
His agile arm beats do n their fatal points,
And 't ixt them rushes; underneath hose arm
An envious thrust from dybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then dybalt fled;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but ne ly entertain'd revenge,
And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I
Could dra to part them, as stout dybalt slain.
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
dhis is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
6! 6 


He is a kinsman to the Montague;
Affection makes him false; he speaks not true:
Some t enty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those t enty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, hich thou, prince, must give;
Romeo sle dybalt, Romeo must not live.


Romeo sle him, he sle Mercutio;

Who no the price of his dear blood doth o e?

6

Not Romeo, prince, he as Mercutio's friend;

His fault concludes but hat the la should end,
dhe life of dybalt.


And for that offence

Immediately e do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
My blood for your rude bra ls doth lie a-bleeding;
But I'll amerce you ith so strong a fine
dhat you shall all repent the loss of mine:
I ill be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses:
dherefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,

c
c

Else, hen he's found, that hour is his last.

Bear hence this body and attend our ill:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

`-



  $%& 

`
.+!&`"
V 


Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
do ards Phoebus' lodging: such a agoner
As Phaethon ould hip you to the est,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
dhat runa ay's eyes may ink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their o n beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees ith night. Come, civil night,
dhou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me ho to lose a inning 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, gro n bold,
dhink true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou ilt lie upon the ings of night
Whiter than ne sno on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-bro 'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, hen he shall die,
dake him and cut him out in little stars,
And he ill make the face of heaven so fine
dhat all the orld ill be in love ith night
And pay no orship 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
do an impatient child that hath ne robes
And may not ear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings ne s; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.

`




c
c

No , nurse, hat ne s? What hast thou there? the cords

dhat Romeo bid thee fetch?

Ay, ay, the cords.

"


V 


Ay me! hat ne s? hy dost thou ring thy hands?

Ah, ell-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
We are undone, lady, e are undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
V 


Can heaven be so envious?

Romeo can,
dhough heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!
Who ever ould have thought it? Romeo!
V 


What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
dhis torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'
And that bare vo el 'I' shall poison more
dhan the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an I;
Or those eyes shut, that make thee ans er 'I.'
If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my eal or oe.

I sa the ound, I sa it ith 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 s ounded at the sight.
V 


O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!
do prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!

O dybalt, dybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous dybalt! honest gentleman!
dhat ever I should live to see thee dead!
V 

c
c

What storm is this that blo s so contrary?

Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is dybalt dead?
My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?
dhen, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For ho is living, if those t o are gone?

dybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.
V 


O God! did Romeo's hand shed dybalt's blood?

It did, it did; alas the day, it did!
V 


O serpent heart, hid ith a flo ering face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven! olvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest sho !
Just opposite to hat thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature, hat hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou didst bo er the spirit of a fiend
In moral paradise of such s eet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O that deceit should d ell
In such a gorgeous palace!

dhere's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,
All fors orn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, here's my man? give me some aqua vitae:
dhese griefs, these oes, these sorro s make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
V 


Blister'd be thy tongue
For such a ish! he as not born to shame:
Upon his bro shame is ashamed to sit;
For 'tis a throne here honour may be cro n'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, hat a beast as I to chide at him!

Will you speak ell of him that kill'd your cousin?
V 


Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Ah, poor my lord, hat tongue shall smooth thy name,
When I, thy three-hours ife, have mangled it?

c
c

But, herefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?

dhat villain cousin ould have kill'd my husband:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to oe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that dybalt ould have slain;
And dybalt's dead, that ould have slain my husband:
All this is comfort; herefore eep I then?
Some ord there as, orser than dybalt's death,
dhat murder'd me: I ould forget it fain;
But, O, it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
'dybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;'
dhat 'banished,' that one ord 'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand dybalts. dybalt's death
Was oe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour oe delights in fello ship
And needly ill be rank'd ith other griefs,
Why follo 'd not, hen she said 'dybalt's dead,'
dhy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentations might have moved?
But ith a rear- ard follo ing dybalt's death,
'Romeo is banished,' to speak that ord,
Is father, mother, dybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'
dhere is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that ord's death; no ords can that oe sound.
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Weeping and ailing over dybalt's corse:
Will you go to them? I ill bring you thither.
V 


Wash they his ounds ith tears: mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
dake up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:
He made you for a high ay to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden- ido ed.
Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my edding-bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
do comfort you: I ot ell here he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo ill be here at night:
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
V 

c
c

O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,

And bid him come to take his last fare ell.

`-



 $ 

`
2&!+`
`
66 


Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:

Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art edded to calamity.

`
 `



Father, hat ne s? hat is the prince's doom?
What sorro craves acquaintance at my hand,
dhat I yet kno not?
66 


doo familiar
Is my dear son ith such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.


What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?
66 


A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,

Not body's death, but body's banishment.


Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;'
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'
66 


Hence from Verona art thou banished:

Be patient, for the orld is broad and ide.


dhere is no orld ithout Verona alls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banished is banish'd from the orld,
And orld's exile is death: then banished,
Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,
dhou cutt'st my head off ith a golden axe,
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
66 


O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!

dhy fault our la calls death; but the kind prince,

c
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daking thy part, hath rush'd aside the la ,

And turn'd that black ord death to banishment:
dhis is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.


'dis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every un orthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
But Romeo may not: more validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize
On the hite onder of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their o n kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
dhey are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'?
O friar, the damned use that ord in hell;
Ho lings attend it: ho hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
do mangle me ith that ord 'banished'?
66 


dhou fond mad man, hear me but speak a ord.



O, thou ilt speak again of banishment.
66 


I'll give thee armour to keep off that ord:

Adversity's s eet milk, philosophy,
do comfort thee, though thou art banished.


Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a to n, reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.
66 


O, then I see that madmen have no ears.



Ho should they, hen that ise men have no eyes?
66 


Let me dispute ith thee of thy estate.

c
c



dhou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, dybalt murdered,
Doting like me and like me banished,
dhen mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do no ,
daking the measure of an unmade grave.

 $


66 


Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.



Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

 $

66 


Hark, ho they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;

dhou ilt be taken. Stay a hile! Stand up;

 $

Run to my study. By and by! God's ill,

What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

 $

Who knocks so hard? hence come you? hat's your ill?


[Within] Let me come in, and you shall kno
my errand;
I come from Lady Juliet.
66 


Welcome, then.

`




O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord, here's Romeo?
66 


dhere on the ground, ith his o n tears made drunk.



c
c

O, he is even in my mistress' case,

Just in her case! O oful sympathy!
Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,
Blubbering and eeping, eeping and blubbering.
Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep an O?


Nurse!

Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.


Spakest thou of Juliet? ho is it ith her?
Doth she not think me an old murderer,
No I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her o n?
Where is she? and ho doth she? and hat says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

O, she says nothing, sir, but eeps and eeps;
And no falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And dybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then do n falls again.


As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,
In hat vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
dhe hateful mansion.

, $

66 


Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
dhy tears are omanish; thy ild acts denote
dhe unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly oman in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
dhou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain dybalt? ilt thou slay thyself?
And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?

c
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Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?

Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; hich thou at once ouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy it;
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy it:
dhy noble shape is but a form of ax,
Digressing from the valour of a man;
dhy dear love s orn but hollo perjury,
Killing that love hich thou hast vo 'd to cherish;
dhy it, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
Like po der in a skitless soldier's flask,
Is set afire by thine o n ignorance,
And thou dismember'd ith thine o n defence.
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
For hose dear sake thou ast but lately dead;
dhere art thou happy: dybalt ould kill thee,
But thou sle 'st dybalt; there are thou happy too:
dhe la that threaten'd death becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a misbehaved and sullen ench,
dhou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
dake heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as as decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But look thou stay not till the atch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till e can find a time
do blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With t enty hundred thousand times more joy
dhan thou ent'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorro makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.

O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
do hear good counsel: O, hat learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you ill come.


Do so, and bid my s eet prepare to chide.

c
c


Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it gro s very late.

`-



Ho ell my comfort is revived by this!
66 


Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:

Either be gone before the atch be set,
Or by the break of day disguised from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: fare ell; good night.


But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It ere a grief, so brief to part ith thee: Fare ell.

`-



 6# $% 

`
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6 


dhings have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,
dhat e have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she loved her kinsman dybalt dearly,
And so did I:--Well, e ere born to die.
'dis very late, she'll not come do n to-night:
I promise you, but for your company,
I ould have been a-bed an hour ago.
6
dhese times of oe afford no time to oo.
Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
6! 6 


I ill, and kno her mind early to-morro ;
do-night she is me 'd up to her heaviness.
6 


Sir Paris, I ill make a desperate tender
Of my child's love: I think she ill be ruled
In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;

c
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And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--

But, soft! hat day is this?
6
Monday, my lord,
6 


Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,
O' dhursday let it be: o' dhursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl.
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or t o;
For, hark you, dybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought e held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if e revel much:
dherefore e'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But hat say you to dhursday?
6
My lord, I ould that dhursday ere to-morro .
6 


Well get you gone: o' dhursday be it, then.
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, ife, against this edding-day.
Fare ell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me! it is so very very late,
dhat e may call it early by and by.
Good night.

`-



  $%& 

`
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V 


Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It as the nightingale, and not the lark,
dhat pierced the fearful hollo of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it as the nightingale.


It as the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, hat 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.
V 

c
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Yon light is not day-light, I kno it, I:

It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
do be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy ay to Mantua:
dherefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.


Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou ilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'dis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's bro ;
Nor that is not the lark, hose notes do beat
dhe vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than ill to go:
Come, death, and elcome! Juliet ills it so.
Ho is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.
V 


It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, a ay!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes s eet division;
dhis doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
O, no I ould they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence ith hunt's-up to the day,
O, no be gone; more light and light it gro s.


More light and light; more dark and dark our oes!

`






Madam!
V 


Nurse?

Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:
dhe day is broke; be ary, look about.

`-

V 


dhen, indo , let day in, and let life out.


Fare ell, fare ell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

c
c

$


V 


Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!
I must hear from thee every day in 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!


Fare ell!
I ill omit no opportunity
dhat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
V 


O think'st thou e shall ever meet again?


I doubt it not; and all these oes shall serve
For s eet discourses in our time to come.
V 


O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, no thou art belo ,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.


And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
Dry sorro drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!

`-

V 


O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, hat dost thou ith him.
dhat is reno n'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou ilt not keep him long,
But send him back.
6! 6 


[Within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
V 


Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
Is she not do n so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

`
!,+!`"

6! 6 


Why, ho no , Juliet!
V 

c
c

Madam, I am not ell.

6! 6 


Evermore eeping for your cousin's death?
What, ilt thou ash him from his grave ith tears?
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;
dherefore, have done: some grief sho s much of love;
But much of grief sho s still some ant of it.
V 


Yet let me eep for such a feeling loss.
6! 6 


So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you eep for.
V 


Feeling so the loss,
Cannot choose but ever eep the friend.
6! 6 


Well, girl, thou eep'st not so much for his death,
As that the villain lives hich slaughter'd him.
V 


What villain madam?
6! 6 


dhat same villain, Romeo.
V 


[Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.--
God Pardon him! I do, ith all my heart;
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
6! 6 


dhat is, because the traitor murderer lives.
V 


Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:
Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!
6! 6 


We ill have vengeance for it, fear thou not:
dhen eep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram,
dhat he shall soon keep dybalt company:
And then, I hope, thou ilt be satisfied.
V 


Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him--dead--
Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd.
Madam, if you could find out but a man
do bear a poison, I ould temper it;
dhat Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, ho my heart abhors

c
c

do hear him named, and cannot come to him.

do reak the love I bore my cousin
Upon his body that slaughter'd him!
6! 6 


Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
But no I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
V 


And joy comes ell in such a needy time:
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
6! 6 


Well, ell, thou hast a careful father, child;
One ho, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
dhat thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for.
V 


Madam, in happy time, hat day is that?
6! 6 


Marry, my child, early next dhursday morn,
dhe gallant, young and noble gentleman,
dhe County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
V 


No , by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I onder at this haste; that I must ed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to oo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I ill not marry yet; and, hen I do, I s ear,
It shall be Romeo, hom you kno I hate,
Rather than Paris. dhese are ne s indeed!
6! 6 


Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,
And see ho he ill take it at your hands.

`
+!`" 


6 


When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle de ;
But for the sunset of my brother's son
It rains do nright.
Ho no ! a conduit, girl? hat, still in tears?
Evermore sho ering? In one little body
dhou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a ind;
For still thy eyes, hich I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flo ith tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the inds, thy sighs;

c
c

Who, raging ith thy tears, and they ith them,

Without a sudden calm, ill overset
dhy tempest-tossed body. Ho no , ife!
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?
6! 6 


Ay, sir; but she ill none, she gives you thanks.
I ould the fool ere married to her grave!
6 


Soft! take me ith you, take me ith you, ife.
Ho ! ill she none? doth she not give us thanks?
Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest,
Un orthy as she is, that e have rought
So orthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
V 


Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have:
Proud can I never be of hat I hate;
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.
6 


Ho no , ho no , chop-logic! What is this?
'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;'
And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you,
dhank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst dhursday next,
do go ith Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
Or I ill drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!
You tallo -face!
6! 6 


Fie, fie! hat, are you mad?
V 


Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me ith patience but to speak a ord.
6 


Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient retch!
I tell thee hat: get thee to church o' dhursday,
Or never after look me in the face:
Speak not, reply not, do not ans er me;
My fingers itch. Wife, e scarce thought us blest
dhat God had lent us but this only child;
But no I see this one is one too much,
And that e have a curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding!

God in heaven bless her!
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
6 

c
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And hy, my lady isdom? hold your tongue,

Good prudence; smatter ith your gossips, go.

I speak no treason.
6 


O, God ye god-den.

May not one speak?
6 


Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bo l;
For here e need it not.
6! 6 


You are too hot.
6 


God's bread! it makes me mad:
Day, night, hour, tide, time, ork, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
do have her match'd: and having no provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd, as they say, ith honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought ould ish a man;
And then to have a retched puling fool,
A hining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
do ans er 'I'll not ed; I cannot love,
I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.'
But, as you ill not ed, I'll pardon you:
Graze here you ill you shall not house ith me:
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
dhursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in
the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er ackno ledge thee,
Nor hat is mine shall never do thee good:
drust to't, bethink you; I'll not be fors orn.

`-

V 


Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
dhat sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, s eet my mother, cast me not a ay!
Delay this marriage for a month, a eek;

c
c

Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed

In that dim monument here dybalt lies.
6! 6 


dalk not to me, for I'll not speak a ord:
Do as thou ilt, for I have done ith thee.

`-

V 


O God!--O nurse, ho shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
Ho shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say'st thou? hast thou not a ord of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.

Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banish'd; and all the orld to nothing,
dhat he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
dhen, since the case so stands as no it doth,
I think it best you married ith the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshre my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 't ere as good he ere,
As living here and you no use of him.
V 


Speakest thou from thy heart?

And from my soul too;
Or else beshre them both.
V 


Amen!

What?
V 


Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,

c
c

Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,

do make confession and to be absolved.

Marry, I ill; and this is isely done.

`-

V 


Ancient damnation! O most icked fiend!
Is it more sin to ish me thus fors orn,
Or to dispraise my lord ith that same tongue
Which she hath praised him ith above compare
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
dhou and my bosom henceforth shall be t ain.
I'll to the friar, to kno his remedy:
If all else fail, myself have po er to die.

`-

6




 $ 

`
2&!+`
` &
66 


On dhursday, sir? the time is very short.

6
My father Capulet ill have it so;
And I am nothing slo to slack his haste.
66 


You say you do not kno the lady's mind:

Uneven is the course, I like it not.
6
Immoderately she eeps for dybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
No , sir, her father counts it dangerous
dhat she doth give her sorro so much s ay,
And in his isdom hastes our marriage,
do stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society:
No do you kno the reason of this haste.
66 


[Aside] I ould I kne not hy it should be slo 'd.

Look, sir, here comes the lady to ards my cell.

c
c

`
.+!&`"

6
Happily met, my lady and my ife!
V 


dhat may be, sir, hen I may be a ife.
6
dhat may be must be, love, on dhursday next.
V 


What must be shall be.
66 


dhat's a certain text.

6
Come you to make confession to this father?
V 


do ans er that, I should confess to you.
6
Do not deny to him that you love me.
V 


I ill confess to you that I love him.
6
So ill ye, I am sure, that you love me.
V 


If I do so, it ill be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
6
Poor soul, thy face is much abused ith tears.
V 


dhe tears have got small victory by that;
For it as bad enough before their spite.
6
dhou rong'st it, more than tears, ith that report.
V 


dhat is no slander, sir, hich is a truth;
And hat I spake, I spake it to my face.
6
dhy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.
V 


It may be so, for it is not mine o n.
Are you at leisure, holy father, no ;
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?
66 


My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, no .

My lord, e must entreat the time alone.
6

c
c

God shield I should disturb devotion!

Juliet, on dhursday early ill I rouse ye:
dill then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.

`-

V 


O shut the door! and hen thou hast done so,
Come eep ith me; past hope, past cure, past help!
66 


Ah, Juliet, I already kno thy grief;

It strains me past the compass of my its:
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On dhursday next be married to this county.
V 


dell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me ho I may prevent it:
If, in thy isdom, thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution ise,
And ith this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart ith treacherous revolt
durn to another, this shall slay them both:
dherefore, out of thy long-experienced time,
Give me some present counsel, or, behold,
'd ixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If hat thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
66 


Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope,

Which craves as desperate an execution.
As that is desperate hich e ould prevent.
If, rather than to marry County Paris,
dhou hast the strength of ill to slay thyself,
dhen is it likely thou ilt undertake
A thing like death to chide a ay this shame,
dhat copest ith death himself to scape from it:
And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.
V 


O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder to er;

c
c

Or alk in thievish ays; or bid me lurk

Where serpents are; chain me ith roaring bears;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite ith dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks and yello chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a ne -made grave
And hide me ith a dead man in his shroud;
dhings that, to hear them told, have made me tremble;
And I ill do it ithout fear or doubt,
do live an unstain'd ife to my s eet love.
66 


Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent

do marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morro :
do-morro night look that thou lie alone;
Let not thy nurse lie ith thee in thy chamber:
dake thou this vial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and dro sy humour, for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:
No armth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
dhe roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
do paly ashes, thy eyes' indo s fall,
Like death, hen he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, deprived of supple government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
And in this borro 'd likeness of shrunk death
dhou shalt continue t o and forty hours,
And then a ake as from a pleasant sleep.
No , hen the bridegroom in the morning comes
do rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
dhen, as the manner of our country is,
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier
dhou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt a ake,
Shall Romeo by my letters kno our drift,
And hither shall he come: and he and I
Will atch thy aking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
If no inconstant toy, nor omanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.
V 


Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!
66 


c
c

Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous

In this resolve: I'll send a friar ith speed
do Mantua, ith my letters to thy lord.
V 


Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.
Fare ell, dear father!

`-



  $% 

`
+!`"!,+!`"
 
' $
6 


So many guests invite as here are rit.

`-
2
'

Sirrah, go hire me t enty cunning cooks.

&"
You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they
can lick their fingers.
6 


Ho canst thou try them so?
&"
Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his
o n fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his
fingers goes not ith me.
6 


Go, be gone.

`-
 '

We shall be much unfurnished for this time.

What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?

Ay, forsooth.
6 


Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
A peevish self- ill'd harlotry it is.

See here she comes from shrift ith merry look.

`
.+!&`"

6 


Ho no , my headstrong! here have you been gadding?

c
c

V 


Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
do you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you!
Hencefor ard I am ever ruled by you.
6 


Send for the county; go tell him of this:
I'll have this knot knit up to-morro morning.
V 


I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
And gave him hat becomed love I might,
Not step o'er the bounds of modesty.
6 


Why, I am glad on't; this is ell: stand up:
dhis is as't should be. Let me see the county;
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
No , afore God! this reverend holy friar,
Our hole city is much bound to him.
V 


Nurse, ill you go ith me into my closet,
do help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morro ?
6! 6 


No, not till dhursday; there is time enough.
6 


Go, nurse, go ith her: e'll to church to-morro .

`-
.+!&`" 


6! 6 


We shall be short in our provision:
'dis no near night.
6 


dush, I ill stir about,
And all things shall be ell, I arrant thee, ife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone;
I'll play the house ife for this once. What, ho!
dhey are all forth. Well, I ill alk myself
do County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morro : my heart is ondrous light,
Since this same ay ard girl is so reclaim'd.

`-

c
c



 V$%# 

`
.+!&`" 

V 


Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night,
For I have need of many orisons
do move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Which, ell thou kno 'st, is cross, and full of sin.

`
!,+!`"

6! 6 


What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?
V 


No, madam; e have cull'd such necessaries
As are behoveful for our state to-morro :
So please you, let me no be left alone,
And let the nurse this night sit up ith you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.
6! 6 


Good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.

`-
!,+!`" 


V 


Fare ell! God kno s hen e shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
dhat almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me:
Nurse! What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
Come, vial.
What if this mixture do not ork at all?
Shall I be married then to-morro morning?
No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.

!# $ $$

What if it be a poison, hich the friar

Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,

c
c

For he hath still been tried a holy man.

Ho if, hen I am laid into the tomb,
I ake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault,
do hose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
dhe horrible conceit of death and night,
dogether ith the terror of the place,--
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed:
Where bloody dybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; here, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;--
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early aking, hat ith loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
dhat living mortals, hearing them, run mad:--
O, if I ake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed ith all these hideous fears?
And madly play ith my forefather's joints?
And pluck the mangled dybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, ith some great kinsman's bone,
As ith a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point: stay, dybalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

 
 

 



  $% 

`
!,+!`" 

6! 6 


Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

dhey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

`
+!`"

6 


Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath cro 'd,
dhe curfe -bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:

c
c

Look to the baked meats, good Angelica:

Spare not for the cost.

Go, you cot-quean, go,
Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morro
For this night's atching.
6 


No, not a hit: hat! I have atch'd ere no
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.
6! 6 


Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
But I ill atch you from such atching no .

`-
!,+!`" 


6 


A jealous hood, a jealous hood!

`

' $ 

$ 


No , fello ,
What's there?
"
dhings for the cook, sir; but I kno not hat.
6 


Make haste, make haste.

`-
2
'

Sirrah, fetch drier logs:

Call Peter, he ill sho thee here they are.
&"
I have a head, sir, that ill find out logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter.

`-

6 


Mass, and ell said; a merry horeson, ha!
dhou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day:
dhe county ill be here ith music straight,
For so he said he ould: I hear him near.




Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!

c
c

/



Go aken Juliet, go and trim her up;

I'll go and chat ith Paris: hie, make haste,
Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say.

`-



 V$%# 

`



Mistress! hat, mistress! Juliet! fast, I arrant her, she:
Why, lamb! hy, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
Why, love, I say! madam! s eet-heart! hy, bride!
What, not a ord? you take your penny orths no ;
Sleep for a eek; for the next night, I arrant,
dhe County Paris hath set up his rest,
dhat you shall rest but little. God forgive me,
Marry, and amen, ho sound is she asleep!
I must needs ake her. Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?

+ 

 

What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and do n again!

I must needs ake you; Lady! lady! lady!
Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead!
O, ell-a-day, that ever I as born!
Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!

`
!,+!`"

6! 6 


What noise is here?

O lamentable day!
6! 6 


What is the matter?

Look, look! O heavy day!
6! 6 

c
c

O me, O me! My child, my only life,

Revive, look up, or I ill die ith thee!
Help, help! Call help.

`
+!`"

6 


For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.

She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!
6! 6 


Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!
6 


Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold:
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the s eetest flo er of all the field.

O lamentable day!
6! 6 


O oful time!
6 


Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me ail,
dies up my tongue, and ill not let me speak.

`
2&!+`
` &
 

66 


Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

6 


Ready to go, but never to return.
O son! the night before thy edding-day
Hath Death lain ith thy ife. dhere she lies,
Flo er as she as, deflo ered by him.
Death is my son-in-la , Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath edded: I ill die,
And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.
6
Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
6! 6 


Accursed, unhappy, retched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e'er time sa
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,

c
c

But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight!

O oe! O oful, oful, oful day!
Most lamentable day, most oful day,
dhat ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never as seen so black a day as this:
O oful day, O oful day!
6
Beguiled, divorced, ronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthro n!
O love! O life! not life, but love in death!
6 


Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Uncomfortable time, hy camest thou no
do murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
And ith my child my joys are buried.
66 


Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not

In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; no heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
dhe most you sought as her promotion;
For 't as your heaven she should be advanced:
And eep ye no , seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
dhat you run mad, seeing that she is ell:
She's not ell married that lives married long;
But she's best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids us an lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
6 


All things that e ordained festival,
durn from their office to black funeral;
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our edding cheer to a sad burial feast,

c
c

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,

Our bridal flo ers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
66 


Sir, go you in; and, madam, go ith him;

And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare
do follo this fair corse unto her grave:
dhe heavens do lour upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high ill.

`-
+!`"!,+!`"& 2&!+`

`


Faith, e may put up our pipes, and be gone.

Honest goodfello s, ah, put up, put up;
For, ell you kno , this is a pitiful case.

`-


Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

`
`"`





Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's
ease:' O, an you ill have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'

Why 'Heart's ease?'




O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My
heart is full of oe:' O, play me some merry dump,
to comfort me.

Not a dump e; 'tis no time to play no .




You ill not, then?

No.




I ill then give it you soundly.

What ill you give us?





c
c

No money, on my faith, but the gleek;

I ill give you the minstrel.

dhen I ill give you the serving-creature.




dhen ill I lay the serving-creature's dagger on
your pate. I ill carry no crotchets: I'll re you,
I'll fa you; do you note me?

An you re us and fa us, you note us.
&
Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your it.




dhen have at you ith my it! I ill dry-beat you
ith an iron it, and put up my iron dagger. Ans er
me like men:
'When griping grief the heart doth ound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
dhen music ith her silver sound'--
hy 'silver sound'? hy 'music ith her silver
sound'? What say you, Simon Catling?

Marry, sir, because silver hath a s eet sound.




Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
&
I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver.




Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

%&
Faith, I kno not hat to say.




O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I ill say
for you. It is 'music ith her silver sound,'
because musicians have no gold for sounding:
'dhen music ith her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.'

`-


What a pestilent knave is this same!
&
Hang him, Jack! Come, e'll in here; tarry for the
mourners, and stay dinner.

c
c

`-

6




  6 

`
 `


If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful ne s at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground ith cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead--
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave
to think!--
And breathed such life ith kisses in my lips,
dhat I revived, and as an emperor.
Ah me! ho s eet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shado s are so rich in joy!

`
!" 


Ne s from Verona!--Ho no , Balthasar!

Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
Ho doth my lady? Is my father ell?
Ho fares my Juliet? that I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be ell.
6
66
dhen she is ell, and nothing can be ill:
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
And her immortal part ith angels lives.
I sa her laid lo in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O, pardon me for bringing these ill ne s,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.


Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!
dhou kno 'st my lodging: get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses; I ill hence to-night.
6
66
I do beseech you, sir, have patience:
Your looks are pale and ild, and do import
Some misadventure.



c
c

dush, thou art deceived:

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
6
66
No, my good lord.


No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be ith thee straight.

`-
!" 

Well, Juliet, I ill lie ith thee to-night.

Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art s ift
do enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,--
And hereabouts he d ells,-- hich late I noted
In tatter'd eeds, ith over helming bro s,
Culling of simples; meagre ere his looks,
Sharp misery had orn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a sho .
Noting this penury, to myself I said
'An if a man did need a poison no ,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff retch ould sell it him.'
O, this same thought did but forerun my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house.
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
What, ho! apothecary!

`

#

6%'
Who calls so loud?


Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor:
Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As ill disperse itself through all the veins
dhat the life- eary taker may fall dead

c
c

And that the trunk may be discharged of breath

As violently as hasty po der fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's omb.
6%'
Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's la
Is death to any he that utters them.


Art thou so bare and full of retchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back;
dhe orld is not thy friend nor the orld's la ;
dhe orld affords no la to make thee rich;
dhen be not poor, but break it, and take this.
6%'
My poverty, but not my ill, consents.


I pay thy poverty, and not thy ill.
6%'
Put this in any liquid thing you ill,
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
Of t enty men, it ould dispatch you straight.


dhere is thy gold, orse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murders in this loathsome orld,
dhan these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none.
Fare ell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial and not poison, go ith me
do Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.

`-



 $ 

`
2&.

6V
Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

`
2&!+`
`

66 


dhis same should be the voice of Friar John.

Welcome from Mantua: hat says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be rit, give me his letter.
6V

c
c

Going to find a bare-foot brother out

One of our order, to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick,
And finding him, the searchers of the to n,
Suspecting that e both ere in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and ould not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there as stay'd.
66 


Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?

6V
I could not send it,--here it is again,--
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful ere they of infection.
66 


Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,

dhe letter as not nice but full of charge
Of dear import, and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron cro , and bring it straight
Unto my cell.
6V
Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.

`-

66 


No must I to the monument alone;

Within three hours ill fair Juliet ake:
She ill beshre me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents;
But I ill rite again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;
Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb!

`-



 6%%'&*#++%  

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& $ $ 


6
Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof:
Yet put it out, for I ould not be seen.
Under yond ye -trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollo ground;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,

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c

Being loose, unfirm, ith digging up of graves,

But thou shalt hear it: histle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flo ers. Do as I bid thee, go.
6

[Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone

Here in the churchyard; yet I ill adventure.




6
S eet flo er, ith flo ers thy bridal bed I stre ,--
O oe! thy canopy is dust and stones;--
Which ith s eet ater nightly I ill de ,
Or, anting that, ith tears distill'd by moans:
dhe obsequies that I for thee ill keep
Nightly shall be to stre thy grave and eep.

"$


dhe boy gives arning something doth approach.

What cursed foot anders this ay to-night,
do cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
What ith a torch! muffle me, night, a hile.




`
 `  !" 



3



Give me that mattock and the renching 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 hat I further shall intend to do,
By heaven, I ill tear thee joint by joint
And stre this hungry churchyard ith thy limbs:
dhe time and my intents are savage- ild,

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c

More fierce and more inexorable far

dhan empty tigers or the roaring sea.
6
66
I ill be gone, sir, and not trouble you.


So shalt thou sho me friendship. dake thou that:
Live, and be prosperous: and fare ell, good fello .
6
66
[Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout:
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.






dhou detestable ma , thou omb of death,
Gorged ith the dearest morsel of the earth,
dhus I enforce thy rotten ja s to open,
And, in despite, I'll cram thee ith more food!

 



6
dhis is that banish'd haughty Montague,
dhat murder'd my love's cousin, ith hich grief,
It is supposed, the fair creature died;
And here is come to do some villanous shame
do the dead bodies: I ill apprehend him.



Stop thy unhallo 'd toil, vile Montague!

Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go ith me; for thou must die.


I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Put not another sin upon my head,
By urging me to fury: O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself:
Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say,
A madman's mercy bade thee run a ay.
6

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I do defy thy conjurations,

And apprehend thee for a felon here.


Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy!

"#$

6

O Lord, they fight! I ill go call the atch.

`-

6
O, I am slain!

2

If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me ith Juliet.

,



In faith, I ill. Let me peruse this face.
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man, hen my betossed soul
Did not attend him as e 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,
do think it as so? O, give me thy hand,
One rit ith me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth,
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
dhis vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.

!# $& 



Ho oft hen men are at the point of death

Have they been merry! hich their keepers call
A lightning before death: O, ho may I
Call this a lightning? O my love! my ife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no po er yet upon thy beauty:

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c

dhou 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.
dybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, hat more favour can I do to thee,
dhan ith that hand that cut thy youth in t ain
do sunder his that as thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe
dhat unsubstantial death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
dhee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I still ill stay ith thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again: here, here ill I remain
With orms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this orld- earied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
dhe doors of breath, seal ith a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
dhou desperate pilot, no at once run on
dhe dashing rocks thy sea-sick eary bark!
Here's to my love!

, 

O true apothecary!
dhy drugs are quick. dhus ith a kiss I die.

,

`



 
#2&!+`

`

  

66 


Saint Francis be my speed! ho oft to-night

Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there?
6
66
Here's one, a friend, and one that kno s you ell.
66 


Bliss be upon you! dell me, good my friend,

What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
do grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,
It burneth in the Capel's monument.

c
c

6
66
It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you love.
66 


Who is it?
6
66
Romeo.
66 


Ho long hath he been there?

6
66
Full half an hour.
66 


Go ith me to the vault.

6
66
I dare not, sir
My master kno s not but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me ith death,
If I did stay to look on his intents.
66 


Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me:

O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
6
66
As I did sleep under this ye -tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master sle him.
66 


Romeo!

' 

Alack, alack, hat blood is this, hich stains

dhe stony entrance of this sepulchre?
What mean these masterless and gory s ords
do lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

`




Romeo! O, pale! Who else? hat, Paris too?

And steep'd in blood? Ah, hat an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!
dhe lady stirs.

.+!&`"

V 

c
c

O comfortable friar! here is my lord?

I do remember ell here I should be,
And there I am. Where is my Romeo?




66 


I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest

Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
A greater po er than e can contradict
Hath th arted our intents. Come, come a ay.
dhy 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 atch is coming;
Come, go, good Juliet,

$

I dare no longer stay.

V 


Go, get thee hence, for I ill not a ay.

`-
2&!+`
`

What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand?

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:
O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
do help me after? I ill kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
do make die ith a restorative.



dhy lips are arm.

,%#
[Within] Lead, boy: hich ay?
V 


Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!

 
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dhis is thy sheath;




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there rust, and let me die.

2  ` 1# 

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4


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6

dhis is the place; there, here the torch doth burn.

,%#
dhe ground is bloody; search about the churchyard:
Go, some of you, hoe'er you find attach.
Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain,
And Juliet bleeding, arm, and ne ly dead,
Who here hath lain these t o days buried.
Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets:
Raise up the Montagues: some others search:
We see the ground hereon these oes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous oes
We cannot ithout circumstance descry.

/

4

!" 

&,%#
Here's Romeo's man; e found him in the churchyard.
,%#
Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither.

/


4

2&!+`

`

%&,%#
Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and eeps:
We took this mattock and this spade from him,
As he as coming from this churchyard side.
,%#
A great suspicion: stay the friar too.

`

&
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What misadventure is so early up,

dhat calls our person from our morning's rest?

`
+!`"!,+!`" 


6 


What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?

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6! 6 


dhe people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run,
With open outcry to ard our monument.


What fear is this hich startles in our ears?

,%#
Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain;
And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before,
Warm and ne kill'd.


Search, seek, and kno ho this foul murder comes.

,%#
Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man;
With instruments upon them, fit to open
dhese dead men's tombs.
6 


O heavens! O ife, look ho our daughter bleeds!
dhis dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house
Is empty on the back of Montague,--
And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom!
6! 6 


O me! this sight of death is as a bell,
dhat arns my old age to a sepulchre.

`

" +` 




Come, Montague; for thou art early up,

do see thy son and heir more early do n.

6

Alas, my liege, my ife is dead to-night;

Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath:
What further oe conspires against mine age?


Look, and thou shalt see.


6

O thou untaught! hat manners is in this?

do press before thy father to a grave?


Seal up the mouth of outrage for a hile,

dill e can clear these ambiguities,
And kno their spring, their head, their
true descent;
And then ill I be general of your oes,
And lead you even to death: meantime forbear,

c
c

And let mischance be slave to patience.

Bring forth the parties of suspicion.
66 


I am the greatest, able to do least,

Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me of this direful murder;
And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
Myself condemned and myself excused.


dhen say at once hat thou dost kno in this.

66 


I ill be brief, for my short date of breath

Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
Romeo, there dead, as husband to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful ife:
I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day
Was dybalt's dooms-day, hose untimely death
Banish'd the ne -made bridegroom from the city,
For hom, and not for dybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth'd and ould have married her perforce
do County Paris: then comes she to me,
And, ith ild looks, bid me devise some mean
do rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there ould she kill herself.
dhen gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping potion; hich so took effect
As I intended, for it rought on her
dhe form of death: meantime I rit to Romeo,
dhat he should hither come as this dire night,
do help to take her from her borro 'd grave,
Being the time the potion's force should cease.
But he hich bore my letter, Friar John,
Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight
Return'd my letter back. dhen all alone
At the prefixed hour of her aking,
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
dill I conveniently could send to Romeo:
But hen I came, some minute ere the time
Of her a aking, here untimely lay
dhe noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
She akes; and I entreated her come forth,
And bear this ork of heaven ith patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, too desperate, ould not go ith me,

c
c

But, as it seems, did violence on herself.

All this I kno ; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest la .


We still have kno n thee for a holy man.

Where's Romeo's man? hat can he say in this?
6
66
I brought my master ne s of Juliet's death;
And then in post he came from Mantua
do this same place, to this same monument.
dhis letter he early bid me give his father,
And threatened me ith death, going in the vault,
I departed not and left him there.


Give me the letter; I ill look on it.

Where is the county's page, that raised the atch?
Sirrah, hat made your master in this place?
6

He came ith flo ers to stre his lady's grave;

And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:
Anon comes one ith light to ope the tomb;
And by and by my master dre on him;
And then I ran a ay to call the atch.


dhis letter doth make good the friar's ords,

dheir course of love, the tidings of her death:
And here he rites that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and there ithal
Came to this vault to die, and lie ith Juliet.
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See, hat a scourge is laid upon your hate,
dhat heaven finds means to kill your joys ith love.
And I for inking at your discords too
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd.
6 


O brother Montague, give me thy hand:
dhis is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.

6

But I can give thee more:

For I ill raise her statue in pure gold;
dhat hile Verona by that name is kno n,

c
c

dhere shall no figure at such rate be set

As that of true and faithful Juliet.
6 


As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!


A glooming peace this morning ith it brings;

dhe sun, for sorro , ill not sho his head:
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished:
For never as a story of more oe
dhan this of Juliet and her Romeo.

`-