Romeo and Juliet

Enter Sampson and Gregory , with swords and bucklers , of the house of Capulet .

Gregory , on my word we’ll not carry coals .

No , for then we should be colliers .

I mean , an we be in choler , we’ll draw .

Ay , while you live , draw your neck out of
collar .

I strike quickly , being moved .

But thou art not quickly moved to strike .

A dog of the house of Montague moves me .

To move is to stir , and to be valiant is to
stand . Therefore if thou art moved thou runn’st
away .

A dog of that house shall move me to stand . I
will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s .

That shows thee a weak slave , for the weakest
goes to the wall .

’Tis true , and therefore women , being the
weaker vessels , are ever thrust to the wall . Therefore
I will push Montague’s men from the wall and
thrust his maids to the wall .

The quarrel is between our masters and us
their men .

’Tis all one . I will show myself a tyrant .
When I have fought with the men , I will be civil
with the maids ; I will cut off their heads .

The heads of the maids ?

Ay , the heads of the maids , or their maidenheads .
Take it in what sense thou wilt .

They must take it in sense that feel it .

Me they shall feel while I am able to stand ,
and ’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh .

’Tis well thou art not fish ; if thou hadst , thou
hadst been poor-john . Draw thy tool . Here comes
of the house of Montagues .

Enter Abram with another Servingman .

My naked weapon is out . Quarrel , I will back
thee .

How ? Turn thy back and run ?

Fear me not .

No , marry . I fear thee !

Let us take the law of our sides ; let them
begin .

I will frown as I pass by , and let them take it
as they list .

Nay , as they dare . I will bite my thumb at
them , which is disgrace to them if they bear it .

He bites his thumb .

Do you bite your thumb at us , sir ?

I do bite my thumb , sir .

Do you bite your thumb at us , sir ?

Is the law of our side if I
say “ Ay ” ?

, aside to Gregory

No .

, aside to Sampson

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

Do you quarrel , sir ?

Quarrel , sir ? No , sir .

But if you do , sir , I am for you . I serve as
good a man as you .

No better .

Well , sir .

Enter Benvolio .

Say “ better ” ; here comes
one of my master’s kinsmen .

, aside to Sampson

Yes , better , sir .

You lie .

Draw if you be men . — Gregory , remember
thy washing blow .

They fight .

Put up your swords . You know not what you do .
Part , fools !

Drawing his sword .

Enter Tybalt , drawing his sword .

What , art thou drawn among these heartless hinds ?
Turn thee , Benvolio ; look upon thy death .

I do but keep the peace . Put up thy sword ,
Or manage it to part these men with me .

What , drawn and talk of peace ? I hate the word
As I hate hell , all Montagues , and thee .
Have at thee , coward !

They fight .

Enter three or four Citizens with clubs or partisans .

Clubs , bills , and partisans ! Strike ! Beat them down !
Down with the Capulets ! Down with the Montagues !

Enter old Capulet in his gown , and his Wife .

What noise is this ? Give me my long sword , ho !

A crutch , a crutch ! Why call you for a sword ?

Enter old Montague and his Wife .

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

Thou villain Capulet ! — Hold me not ; let me go .

Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe .

Enter Prince Escalus with his train .

Rebellious subjects , enemies to peace ,
Profaners of this neighbor-stainèd steel —
Will they not hear ? — What ho ! You men , you beasts ,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins :
On pain of torture , from those bloody hands
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground ,
And hear the sentence of your movèd prince .
Three civil brawls bred of an airy word
By thee , old Capulet , and Montague ,
Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets
And made Verona’s ancient citizens
Cast by their grave-beseeming ornaments
To wield old partisans in hands as old ,
Cankered with peace , to part your cankered hate .
If ever you disturb our streets again ,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace .
For this time all the rest depart away .
You , Capulet , shall go along with me ,
And , Montague , come you this afternoon
To know our farther pleasure in this case ,
To old Free-town , our common judgment-place .
Once more , on pain of death , all men depart .

All but Montague , Lady Montague , and Benvolio exit .

Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ?
Speak , nephew , were you by when it began ?

, to Benvolio

Here were the servants of your adversary ,
And yours , close fighting ere I did approach .
I drew to part them . In the instant came
The fiery Tybalt with his sword prepared ,
Which , as he breathed defiance to my ears ,
He swung about his head and cut the winds ,
Who , nothing hurt withal , hissed him in scorn .
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows
Came more and more and fought on part and part ,
Till the Prince came , who parted either part .

O , where is Romeo ? Saw you him today ?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray .

Madam , an hour before the worshiped sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east ,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad ,
Where underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from this city side ,
So early walking did I see your son .
Towards him I made , but he was ’ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood .
I , measuring his affections by my own
( Which then most sought where most might not be found ,
Being one too many by my weary self ) ,
Pursued my humor , not pursuing his ,
And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me .

Many a morning hath he there been seen ,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew ,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs .
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed ,
Away from light steals home my heavy son
And private in his chamber pens himself ,
Shuts up his windows , locks fair daylight out ,
And makes himself an artificial night .
Black and portentous must this humor prove ,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove .

My noble uncle , do you know the cause ?

I neither know it nor can learn of him .

Have you importuned him by any means ?

Both by myself and many other friends .
But he , his own affections’ counselor ,
Is to himself — I will not say how true ,
But to himself so secret and so close ,
So far from sounding and discovery ,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air
Or dedicate his beauty to the same .
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow ,
We would as willingly give cure as know .

Enter Romeo .

See where he comes . So please you , step aside .
I’ll know his grievance or be much denied .

I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift . — Come , madam , let’s away .

Montague and Lady Montague exit .

Good morrow , cousin .

Is the day so young ?

But new struck nine .

Ay me , sad hours seem long .
Was that my father that went hence so fast ?

It was . What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours ?

Not having that which , having , makes them short .

In love ?

Out —

Of love ?

Out of her favor where I am in love .

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

Alas that love , whose view is muffled still ,
Should without eyes see pathways to his will !
Where shall we dine ? — O me ! What fray was here ?
Yet tell me not , for I have heard it all .
Here’s much to do with hate , but more with love .
Why then , O brawling love , O loving hate ,
O anything of nothing first create !
O heavy lightness , serious vanity ,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms ,
Feather of lead , bright smoke , cold fire , sick health ,
Still-waking sleep that is not what it is !
This love feel I , that feel no love in this .
Dost thou not laugh ?

No , coz , I rather weep .

Good heart , at what ?

At thy good heart’s oppression .

Why , such is love’s transgression .
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it pressed
With more of thine . This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own .
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs ;
Being purged , a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes ;
Being vexed , a sea nourished with loving tears .
What is it else ? A madness most discreet ,
A choking gall , and a preserving sweet .
Farewell , my coz .

Soft , I will go along .
An if you leave me so , you do me wrong .

Tut , I have lost myself . I am not here .
This is not Romeo . He’s some other where .

Tell me in sadness , who is that you love ?

What , shall I groan and tell thee ?

Groan ? Why , no . But sadly tell me who .

A sick man in sadness makes his will —
A word ill urged to one that is so ill .
In sadness , cousin , I do love a woman .

I aimed so near when I supposed you loved .

A right good markman ! 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 arrow . She hath Dian’s wit ,
And , in strong proof of chastity well armed ,
From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharmed .
She will not stay the siege of loving terms ,
Nor bide th’ encounter of assailing eyes ,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold .
O , she is rich in beauty , only poor
That , when she dies , with beauty dies her store .

Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste ?

She hath , and in that sparing makes huge waste ;
For beauty , starved with her severity ,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity .
She is too fair , too wise , wisely too fair ,
To merit bliss by making me despair .
She hath forsworn to love , and in that vow
Do I live dead , that live to tell it now .

Be ruled by me . Forget to think of her .

O , teach me how I should forget to think !

By giving liberty unto thine eyes .
Examine other beauties .

’Tis the way
To call hers , exquisite , in question more .
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows ,
Being black , puts us in mind they hide the fair .
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost .
Show me a mistress that is passing fair ;
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who passed that passing fair ?
Farewell . Thou canst not teach me to forget .

I’ll pay that doctrine or else die in debt .

They exit .

Enter Capulet , County Paris , and a Servingman .

But Montague is bound as well as I ,
In penalty alike , and ’tis not hard , I think ,
For men so old as we to keep the peace .

Of honorable reckoning are you both ,
And pity ’tis you lived at odds so long .
But now , my lord , what say you to my suit ?

But saying o’er what I have said before .
My child is yet a stranger in the world .
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years .
Let two more summers wither in their pride
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride .

Younger than she are happy mothers made .

And too soon marred are those so early made .
Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she ;
She’s the hopeful lady of my earth .
But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart ;
My will to her consent is but a part .
And , she agreed , within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice .
This night I hold an old accustomed feast ,
Whereto I have invited many a guest
Such as I love ; and you among the store ,
One more , most welcome , makes my number more .
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light .
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-appareled April on the heel
Of limping winter treads , even such delight
Among fresh fennel buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house . Hear all , all see ,
And like her most whose merit most shall be ;
Which , on more view of many , mine , being one ,
May stand in number , though in reck’ning none .
Come go with me .
Go , sirrah , trudge about
Through fair Verona , find those persons out
Whose names are written there , and to them say
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay .

To Servingman , giving him a list .

Capulet and Paris exit .

Find them out whose names are written
here ! It is written that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last , the
fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets .
But I am sent to find those persons whose names
are here writ , and can never find what names the
writing person hath here writ . I must to the learned .
In good time !

Enter Benvolio and Romeo .

Tut , man , one fire burns out another’s burning ;
One pain is lessened by another’s anguish .
Turn giddy , and be helped by backward turning .
One desperate grief cures with another’s languish .
Take thou some new infection to thy eye ,
And the rank poison of the old will die .

, to Romeo

Your plantain leaf is excellent for that .

For what , I pray thee ?

For your broken shin .

Why Romeo , art thou mad ?

Not mad , but bound more than a madman is ,
Shut up in prison , kept without my food ,
Whipped and tormented , and — good e’en , good fellow .

God gi’ good e’en . I pray , sir , can you
read ?

Ay , mine own fortune in my misery .

Perhaps you have learned it without
book . But I pray , can you read anything you see ?

Ay , if I know the letters and the language .

You say honestly . Rest you merry .

A fair assembly . Whither should they come ?
Stay , fellow . I can read .

( He reads the letter . )

Up .

Whither ? To supper ?

To our house .

Whose house ?

My master’s .

Indeed I should have asked thee that before .

Now I’ll tell you without asking . My
master is the great rich Capulet , and , if you be not
of the house of Montagues , I pray come and crush a
cup of wine . Rest you merry .

He exits .

At this same ancient feast of Capulet’s
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so loves ,
With all the admirèd beauties of Verona .
Go thither , and with unattainted eye
Compare her face with some that I shall show ,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow .

When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood , then turn tears to fire ;
And these who , often drowned , could never die ,
Transparent heretics , be burnt for liars .
One fairer than my love ? The all-seeing sun
Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun .

Tut , you saw her fair , none else being by ,
Herself poised with herself in either eye ;
But in that crystal scales let there be weighed
Your lady’s love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast ,
And she shall scant show well that now seems best .

I’ll go along , no such sight to be shown ,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own .

They exit .

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse .

Nurse , where’s my daughter ? Call her forth to me .

Now , by my maidenhead at twelve year old ,
I bade her come . — What , lamb ! What , ladybird !
God forbid . Where’s this girl ? What , Juliet !

Enter Juliet .

How now , who calls ?

Your mother .

Madam , I am here . What is your will ?

This is the matter . — Nurse , give leave awhile .
We must talk in secret . — Nurse , come back again .
I have remembered me , thou ’s hear our counsel .
Thou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age .

Faith , I can tell her age unto an hour .

She’s not fourteen .

I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth ( and yet , to my teen
be it spoken , I have but four ) she’s not fourteen .
How long is it now to Lammastide ?

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 . Well , Susan is with God ;
She was too good for me . But , as I said ,
On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen .
That shall she . Marry , I remember it well .
’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ,
And she was weaned ( I never shall forget it )
Of all the days of the year , upon that day .
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug ,
Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall .
My lord and you were then at Mantua .
Nay , I do bear a brain . But , as I said ,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter , pretty fool ,
To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug .
“ Shake , ” quoth the dovehouse . ’Twas no need , I trow ,
To bid me trudge .
And since that time it is eleven years .
For then she could stand high-lone . Nay , by th’ rood ,
She could have run and waddled all about ,
For even the day before , she broke her brow ,
And then my husband ( God be with his soul ,
He was a merry man ) took up the child .
“ Yea , ” quoth he , “ Dost thou fall upon thy face ?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit ,
Wilt thou not , Jule ? ” And , by my holidam ,
The pretty wretch left crying and said “ Ay . ”
To see now how a jest shall come about !
I warrant , an I should live a thousand years ,
I never should forget it . “ Wilt thou not , Jule ? ” quoth he .
And , pretty fool , it stinted and said “ Ay . ”

Enough of this . I pray thee , hold thy peace .

Yes , madam , yet I cannot choose but laugh
To think it should leave crying and say “ Ay . ”
And yet , I warrant , it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cock’rel’s stone ,
A perilous knock , and it cried bitterly .
“ Yea , ” quoth my husband . “ Fall’st upon thy face ?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age ,
Wilt thou not , Jule ? ” It stinted and said “ Ay . ”

And stint thou , too , I pray thee , nurse , say I .

Peace . I have done . God mark thee to his grace ,
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nursed .
An I might live to see thee married once ,
I have my wish .

Marry , that “ marry ” is the very theme
I came to talk of . — Tell me , daughter Juliet ,
How stands your disposition to be married ?

It is an honor that I dream not of .

An honor ? Were not I thine only nurse ,
I would say thou hadst sucked wisdom from thy teat .

Well , think of marriage now . Younger than you
Here in Verona , ladies of esteem ,
Are made already mothers . By my count
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid . Thus , then , in brief :
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love .

A man , young lady — lady , such a man
As all the world — why , he’s a man of wax .

Verona’s summer hath not such a flower .

Nay , he’s a flower , in faith , a very flower .

What say you ? Can you love the gentleman ?
This night you shall behold him at our feast .
Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face ,
And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen .
Examine every married lineament
And see how one another lends content ,
And what obscured in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent of his eyes .
This precious book of love , this unbound lover ,
To beautify him only lacks a cover .
The fish lives in the sea , and ’tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide .
That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story .
So shall you share all that he doth possess
By having him , making yourself no less .

No less ? Nay , bigger . Women grow by men .

Speak briefly . Can you like of Paris’ love ?

I’ll look to like , if looking liking move .
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly .

Enter Servingman .

Madam , the guests are come , supper
served up , you called , my young lady asked for , the
Nurse cursed in the pantry , and everything in
extremity . I must hence to wait . I beseech you ,
follow straight .

We follow thee .
Juliet , the County stays .

Servingman exits .

Go , girl , seek happy nights to happy days .

They exit .

Enter Romeo , Mercutio , Benvolio , with five or six other Maskers , Torchbearers , and a Boy with a drum .

What , shall this speech be spoke for our excuse ?
Or shall we on without apology ?

The date is out of such prolixity .
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwinked with a scarf ,
Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath ,
Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper ,
Nor no without-book prologue , faintly spoke
After the prompter , for our entrance .
But let them measure us by what they will .
We’ll measure them a measure and be gone .

Give me a torch . I am not for this ambling .
Being but heavy I will bear the light .

Nay , gentle Romeo , we 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 . Borrow Cupid’s wings
And soar with them above a common bound .

I am too sore enpiercèd with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers , and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe .
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink .

And to sink in it should you burden love —
Too great oppression for a tender thing .

Is love a tender thing ? It is too rough ,
Too rude , too boist’rous , and it pricks like thorn .

If love be rough with you , be rough with love .
Prick love for pricking , and you beat love down . —
Give me a case to put my visage in . —
A visor for a visor . What care I
What curious eye doth cote deformities ?
Here are the beetle brows 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 wantons light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ,
For I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase :
I’ll be a candle holder and look on ;
The game was ne’er so fair , and I am done .

Tut , dun’s the mouse , the constable’s own word .
If thou art dun , we’ll draw thee from the mire —
Or , save your reverence , love — wherein thou stickest
Up to the ears . Come , we burn daylight , ho !

Nay , that’s not so .

I mean , sir , in delay
We waste our lights ; in vain , light lights by day .
Take our good meaning , for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits .

And we mean well in going to this masque ,
But ’tis no wit to go .

Why , may one ask ?

I dreamt a dream tonight .

And so did I .

Well , what was yours ?

That dreamers often lie .

In bed asleep while they do dream things true .

O , then I see Queen Mab hath been with you .
She is the fairies’ midwife , and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
On the forefinger of an alderman ,
Drawn with a team of little atomi
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep .
Her wagon spokes made of long spinners’ legs ,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers ,
Her traces of the smallest spider web ,
Her collars of the moonshine’s wat’ry beams ,
Her whip of cricket’s bone , the lash of film ,
Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat ,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid .
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut ,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub ,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers .
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains , and then they dream of love ;
On courtiers’ knees , that dream on cur’sies straight ;
O’er lawyers’ fingers , who straight dream on fees ;
O’er ladies’ lips , who straight on kisses dream ,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are .
Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose ,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit .
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail ,
Tickling a parson’s nose as he lies asleep ;
Then he dreams of another benefice .
Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck ,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats ,
Of breaches , ambuscadoes , Spanish blades ,
Of healths five fathom deep , and then anon
Drums in his ear , at which he starts and wakes
And , being thus frighted , swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again . This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs ,
Which once untangled much misfortune bodes .
This is the hag , when maids lie on their backs ,
That presses them and learns them first to bear ,
Making them women of good carriage .
This is she —

Peace , peace , Mercutio , peace .
Thou talk’st of nothing .

True , I talk of dreams ,
Which are the children of an idle brain ,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ,
Which is as thin of substance as the air
And more inconstant than the wind , who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north
And , being angered , puffs away from thence ,
Turning his side to the dew-dropping south .

This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves .
Supper is done , and we 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 despisèd 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 .

They march about the stage and then withdraw to the side .

Servingmen come forth with napkins .

Where’s Potpan that he helps not
to take away ? He shift a trencher ? He scrape a
trencher ?

When good manners shall lie
all in one or two men’s hands , and they unwashed
too , ’tis a foul thing .

Away with the joint stools , remove
the court cupboard , look to the plate . —
Good thou , save me a piece of marchpane , and , as
thou loves me , let the porter let in Susan Grindstone
and Nell . — Anthony 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 awhile , and the longer liver
take all .

They move aside .

Enter Capulet and his household , all the guests and gentlewomen to Romeo , Mercutio , Benvolio , and the other Maskers .

Welcome , gentlemen . Ladies that have their toes
Unplagued with corns will walk a bout with you . —
Ah , my mistresses , which of you all
Will now deny to dance ? She that makes dainty ,
She , I’ll swear , hath corns . Am I come near you now ? —
Welcome , gentlemen . I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear ,
Such as would please . ’Tis gone , ’tis gone , ’tis gone .
You are welcome , 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 grown too hot . —
Ah , sirrah , this unlooked-for sport comes well . —
Nay , sit , nay , sit , good cousin Capulet ,
For you and I are past our dancing days .
How long is ’t now since last yourself and I
Were in a mask ?

Music plays and they dance .

Music plays

By ’r Lady , thirty years .

What , man , ’tis not so much , ’tis not so much .
’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio ,
Come Pentecost as quickly as it will ,
Some five and twenty years , and then we masked .

’Tis more , ’tis more . His son is elder , sir .
His son is thirty .

Will you tell me that ?
His son was but a ward two years ago .

What lady’s that which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight ?

, to a Servingman

I know not , sir .

O , she doth teach the torches to burn bright !
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear —
Beauty too rich for use , for Earth too dear .
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows .
The measure done , I’ll watch her place of stand
And , touching hers , make blessèd my rude hand .
Did my heart love till now ? Forswear it , sight ,
For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night .

This , by his voice , should be a Montague . —
Fetch me my rapier , boy .
What , dares the slave
Come hither covered with an antic face
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ?
Now , by the stock and honor of my kin ,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin .

Page exits .

Why , how now , kinsman ? Wherefore storm you so ?

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

Young Romeo is it ?

’Tis he , that villain Romeo .

Content thee , gentle coz . Let him alone .
He bears him like a portly gentleman ,
And , to say truth , Verona brags of him
To be a virtuous and well-governed youth .
I would not for the wealth of all this town
Here in my house do him disparagement .
Therefore be patient . Take no note of him .
It is my will , the which if thou respect ,
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns ,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast .

It fits when such a villain is a guest .
I’ll not endure him .

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

Why , uncle , ’tis a shame .

Go to , go to .
You are a saucy boy . Is ’t so indeed ?
This trick may chance to scathe you . I know what .
You must contrary me . Marry , ’tis time —
Well said , my hearts . — You are a princox , go .
Be quiet , or — More light , more light ! — for shame ,
I’ll make you quiet . — What , cheerly , my hearts !

Patience perforce with willful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting .
I will withdraw , but this intrusion shall ,
Now seeming sweet , convert to bitt’rest gall .

He exits .

If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine , the gentle sin is this :
My lips , two blushing pilgrims , ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss .

, taking Juliet’s hand

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

Have not saints lips , and holy palmers too ?

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

O then , dear saint , let lips do what hands do .
They pray : grant thou , lest faith turn to despair .

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

Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take .
Thus from my lips , by thine , my sin is purged .

He kisses her .

Then have my lips the sin that they have took .

Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly urged !
Give me my sin again .

He kisses her .

You kiss by th’ book .

Madam , your mother craves a word with you .

Juliet moves toward her mother .

What is her mother ?

Marry , bachelor ,
Her mother is the lady of the house ,
And a good lady , and a wise and virtuous .
I nursed her daughter that you talked withal .
I tell you , he that can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks .

Nurse moves away .

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

, aside

Away , begone . The sport is at the best .

Ay , so I fear . The more is my unrest .

Nay , gentlemen , prepare not to be gone .
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards . —
Is it e’en so ? Why then , I thank you all .
I thank you , honest gentlemen . Good night . —
More torches here . — Come on then , let’s to bed . —
Ah , sirrah , by my fay , it waxes late .
I’ll to my rest .

All but Juliet and the Nurse begin to exit .

Come hither , nurse . What is yond gentleman ?

The son and heir of old Tiberio .

What’s he that now is going out of door ?

Marry , that , I think , be young Petruchio .

What’s he that follows here , that would not dance ?

I know not .

Go ask his name . The Nurse goes . If he be marrièd ,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed .

The Nurse goes .

His name is Romeo , and a Montague ,
The only son of your great enemy .

, returning

My only love sprung from my only hate !
Too early seen unknown , and known too late !
Prodigious birth of love it is to me
That I must love a loathèd enemy .

What’s this ? What’s this ?

A rhyme I learned even now
Of one I danced withal .

One calls within “ Juliet . ”

Anon , anon .
Come , let’s away . The strangers all are gone .

They exit .

Enter Romeo alone .

Can I go forward when my heart is here ?
Turn back , dull earth , and find thy center out .

He withdraws .

Enter Benvolio with Mercutio .

Romeo , my cousin Romeo , Romeo !

He is wise
And , on my life , hath stol’n him home to bed .

He ran this way and leapt this orchard wall .
Call , good Mercutio .

Nay , I’ll conjure too .
Romeo ! Humors ! 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 word ,
One nickname for her purblind son and heir ,
Young Abraham Cupid , he that shot so trim
When King Cophetua loved the beggar maid . —
He heareth not , he stirreth not , he moveth not .
The ape is dead , and I must conjure him . —
I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes ,
By her high forehead , and her scarlet lip ,
By her fine foot , straight leg , and quivering thigh ,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie ,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us .

An if he hear thee , thou wilt anger him .

This cannot anger him . ’Twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle
Of some strange nature , letting it there stand
Till she had laid it and conjured it down .
That were some spite . My invocation
Is fair and honest . In his mistress’ name ,
I conjure only but to raise up him .

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

If love be blind , love cannot hit the mark .
Now will he sit under a medlar tree
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars when they laugh alone . —
O Romeo , that she were , O , that she were
An open-arse , thou a pop’rin pear .
Romeo , good night . I’ll to my truckle bed ;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep . —
Come , shall we go ?

Go , then , for ’tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found .

They exit .

Romeo comes forward .

He jests at scars that never felt a wound .
But soft , what light through yonder window breaks ?
It is the East , and Juliet is the sun .
Arise , fair sun , and kill the envious moon ,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou , her maid , art far more fair than she .
Be not her maid since she is envious .
Her vestal livery is but sick and green ,
And none but fools do wear it . Cast it off .
It is my lady . O , it is my love !
O , that she knew she were !
She speaks , yet she says nothing . What of that ?
Her eye discourses ; I will answer it .
I am too bold . ’Tis not to me she speaks .
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven ,
Having some business , do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return .
What if her eyes were there , they in her head ?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp ; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night .
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand .
O , that I were a glove upon that hand ,
That I might touch that cheek !

Enter Juliet above .

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 wingèd messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturnèd wond’ring eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air .

, aside

O Romeo , Romeo , wherefore art thou Romeo ?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name ,
Or , if thou wilt not , be but sworn my love ,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet .

Shall I hear more , or shall I speak at this ?

, aside

’Tis but thy name that is my enemy .
Thou art thyself , though not a Montague .
What’s Montague ? It is nor hand , nor foot ,
Nor arm , nor face . O , be some other name
Belonging to a man .
What’s in a name ? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet .
So Romeo would , were he not Romeo called ,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title . Romeo , doff thy name ,
And , for thy name , which is no part of thee ,
Take all myself .

I take thee at thy word .
Call me but love , and I’ll be new baptized .
Henceforth I never will be Romeo .

What man art thou that , thus bescreened in night ,
So stumblest on my counsel ?

By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am .
My name , dear saint , is hateful to myself
Because it is an enemy to thee .
Had I it written , I would tear the word .

My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of thy tongue’s uttering , yet I know the sound .
Art thou not Romeo , and a Montague ?

Neither , fair maid , if either thee dislike .

How camest thou hither , tell me , and wherefore ?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb ,
And the place death , considering who thou art ,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here .

With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls ,
For stony limits cannot hold love out ,
And what love can do , that dares love attempt .
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me .

If they do see thee , they will murder thee .

Alack , there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords . Look thou but sweet ,
And I am proof against their enmity .

I would not for the world they saw thee here .

I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes ,
And , but thou love me , let them find me here .
My life were better ended by their hate
Than death proroguèd , wanting of thy love .

By whose direction found’st thou out this place ?

By love , that first did prompt me to inquire .
He lent me counsel , and I lent him eyes .
I am no pilot ; yet , wert thou as far
As that vast shore washed with the farthest sea ,
I should adventure for such merchandise .

Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face ,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight .
Fain would I dwell on form ; fain , fain deny
What I have spoke . But farewell compliment .
Dost thou love me ? I know thou wilt say “ Ay , ”
And I will take thy word . Yet , if thou swear’st ,
Thou mayst prove false . At lovers’ perjuries ,
They say , Jove laughs . O gentle Romeo ,
If thou dost love , pronounce it faithfully .
Or , if thou thinkest I am too quickly won ,
I’ll frown and be perverse and say thee nay ,
So thou wilt woo , but else not for the world .
In truth , fair Montague , I am too fond ,
And therefore thou mayst think my havior light .
But trust me , gentleman , I’ll prove more true
Than those that have more coying to be strange .
I should have been more strange , I must confess ,
But that thou overheard’st ere I was ware
My true-love passion . Therefore pardon me ,
And not impute this yielding to light love ,
Which the dark night hath so discoverèd .

Lady , by yonder blessèd moon I vow ,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops —

O , swear not by the moon , th’ inconstant moon ,
That monthly changes in her circled orb ,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable .

What shall I swear by ?

Do not swear at all .
Or , if thou wilt , swear by thy gracious self ,
Which is the god of my idolatry ,
And I’ll believe thee .

If my heart’s dear love —

Well , do not swear . Although I joy in thee ,
I have no joy of this contract tonight .
It is too rash , too unadvised , too sudden ,
Too like the lightning , which doth cease to be
Ere one can say “ It lightens . ” Sweet , good night .
This bud of love , by summer’s ripening breath ,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet .
Good night , good night . As sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast .

O , wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied ?

What satisfaction canst thou have tonight ?

Th’ exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine .

I gave thee mine before thou didst request it ,
And yet I would it were to give again .

Wouldst thou withdraw it ? For what purpose , love ?

But to be frank and give it thee again .
And yet I wish but for the thing I have .
My bounty is as boundless as the sea ,
My love as deep . The more I give to thee ,
The more I have , for both are infinite .
I hear some noise within . Dear love , adieu . —
Anon , good nurse . — Sweet Montague , be true .
Stay but a little ; I will come again .

Nurse calls from within .

She exits .

O blessèd , blessèd night ! I am afeard ,
Being in night , all this is but a dream ,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial .

Reenter Juliet above .

Three words , dear Romeo , and good night indeed .
If that thy bent of love be honorable ,
Thy purpose marriage , send me word tomorrow ,
By one that I’ll procure to come to thee ,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite ,
And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world .

Madam .

, within

I come anon . — But if thou meanest not well ,
I do beseech thee —

Madam .

, within

By and by , I come . —
To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief .
Tomorrow will I send .

So thrive my soul —

A thousand times good night .

She exits .

A thousand times the worse to want thy light .
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books ,
But love from love , toward school with heavy looks .

Going .

Enter Juliet above again .

Hist , Romeo , hist ! O , for a falc’ner’s voice
To lure this tassel-gentle back again !
Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud ,
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of “ My Romeo ! ”

It is my soul that calls upon my name .
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night ,
Like softest music to attending ears .

Romeo .

My dear .

What o’clock tomorrow
Shall I send to thee ?

By the hour of nine .

I will not fail . ’Tis twenty year till then .
I have forgot why I did call thee back .

Let me stand here till thou remember it .

I shall forget , to have thee still stand there ,
Rememb’ring how I love thy company .

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

’Tis almost morning . I would have thee gone ,
And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird ,
That lets it hop a little from his hand ,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves ,
And with a silken thread plucks it back again ,
So loving-jealous of his liberty .

I would I were thy bird .

Sweet , so would I .
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing .
Good night , good night . Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say “ Good night ” till it be morrow .

She exits .

Sleep dwell upon thine eyes , peace in thy breast .
Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest .
Hence will I to my ghostly friar’s close cell ,
His help to crave , and my dear hap to tell .

He exits .

Enter Friar Lawrence alone with a basket .

The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night ,
Check’ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light ,
And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels .
Now , ere the sun advance his burning eye ,
The day to cheer and night’s dank dew to dry ,
I must upfill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juicèd flowers .
The Earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb ;
What is her burying grave , that is her womb ;
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find ,
Many for many virtues excellent ,
None but for some , and yet all different .
O , mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants , herbs , stones , and their true qualities .
For naught so vile that on the Earth doth live
But to the Earth some special good doth give ;
Nor aught so good but , strained from that fair use ,
Revolts from true birth , stumbling on abuse .
Virtue itself turns vice , being misapplied ,
And vice sometime by action dignified .
Within the infant rind of this weak flower
Poison hath residence and medicine power :
For this , being smelt , with that part cheers each part ;
Being tasted , stays all senses with the heart .
Two such opposèd kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs — grace and rude will ;
And where the worser is predominant ,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant .

Enter Romeo .

Good morrow , father .

Benedicite .
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me ?
Young son , it argues a distempered head
So soon to bid “ Good morrow ” to thy bed .
Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye ,
And , where care lodges , sleep will never lie ;
But where unbruisèd youth with unstuffed brain
Doth couch his limbs , there golden sleep doth reign .
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art uproused with some distemp’rature ,
Or , if not so , then here I hit it right :
Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight .

That last is true . The sweeter rest was mine .

God pardon sin ! Wast thou with Rosaline ?

With Rosaline , my ghostly father ? No .
I have forgot that name and that name’s woe .

That’s my good son . But where hast thou been then ?

I’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again .
I have been feasting with mine enemy ,
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me
That’s by me wounded . Both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies .
I bear no hatred , blessèd man , for , lo ,
My intercession likewise steads my foe .

Be plain , good son , and homely in thy drift .
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift .

Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet .
As mine on hers , so hers is set on mine ,
And all combined , save what thou must combine
By holy marriage . When and where and how
We met , we wooed , and made exchange of vow
I’ll tell thee as we pass , but this I pray ,
That thou consent to marry us today .

Holy Saint Francis , what a change is here !
Is Rosaline , that thou didst love so dear ,
So soon forsaken ? Young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts , but in their eyes .
Jesu Maria , what a deal of brine
Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline !
How much salt water thrown away in waste
To season love , that of it doth not taste !
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears ,
Thy old groans yet ringing in mine ancient ears .
Lo , here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not washed off yet .
If e’er thou wast thyself , and these woes thine ,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline .
And art thou changed ? Pronounce this sentence then :
Women may fall when there’s no strength in men .

Thou chid’st me oft for loving Rosaline .

For doting , not for loving , pupil mine .

And bad’st me bury love .

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

I pray thee , chide me not . Her I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow .
The other did not so .

O , she knew well
Thy love did read by rote , that could not spell .
But come , young waverer , come , go with me .
In one respect I’ll thy assistant be ,
For this alliance may so happy prove
To turn your households’ rancor to pure love .

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

Wisely and slow . They stumble that run fast .

They exit .

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio .

Where the devil should this Romeo be ?
Came he not home tonight ?

Not to his father’s . I spoke with his man .

Why , that same pale hard-hearted wench , that Rosaline ,
Torments him so that he will sure run mad .

Tybalt , the kinsman to old Capulet ,
Hath sent a letter to his father’s house .

A challenge , on my life .

Romeo will answer it .

Any man that can write may answer a letter .

Nay , he will answer the letter’s master , how
he dares , being dared .

Alas , poor Romeo , he is already dead ,
stabbed with a white wench’s black eye , run
through the ear with a love-song , the very pin of his
heart cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt shaft . And
is he a man to encounter Tybalt ?

Why , what is Tybalt ?

More than prince of cats . O , he’s the courageous
captain of compliments . He fights as you sing
prick-song , keeps time , distance , and proportion .
He rests his minim rests , one , two , and the third in
your bosom — the very butcher of a silk button , a
duelist , a duelist , a gentleman of the very first house
of the first and second cause . Ah , the immortal
passado , the punto reverso , the hay !

The what ?

The pox of such antic , lisping , affecting
phantasimes , these new tuners of accent : “ By
Jesu , a very good blade ! A very tall man ! A very good
whore ! ” Why , is not this a lamentable thing , grandsire ,
that we should be thus afflicted with these
strange flies , these fashion-mongers , these “pardon-me” ’s ,
who stand so much on the new form
that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench ? O their
bones , their bones !

Enter Romeo .

Here comes Romeo , here comes Romeo .

Without his roe , like a dried herring . O
flesh , flesh , how art thou fishified ! Now is he for the
numbers that Petrarch flowed in . Laura to his lady
was a kitchen wench ( marry , she had a better love
to berhyme her ) , Dido a dowdy , Cleopatra a gypsy ,
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots , Thisbe a gray
eye or so , but not to the purpose . — Signior Romeo ,
bonjour . There’s a French salutation to your French
slop . You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night .

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

The slip , sir , the slip . Can you not conceive ?

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

That’s as much as to say such a case as
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams .

Meaning , to curtsy .

Thou hast most kindly hit it .

A most courteous exposition .

Nay , I am the very pink of courtesy .

“ Pink ” for flower .

Right .

Why , then is my pump well flowered .

Sure wit , follow me this jest now till thou
hast worn out thy pump , that when the single sole
of it is worn , the jest may remain , after the wearing ,
solely singular .

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

Come between us , good Benvolio . My wits
faints .

Switch and spurs , switch and spurs , or I’ll cry
a match .

Nay , if our wits run the wild-goose chase , I
am done , for thou hast more of the wild goose in
one of thy wits than , I am sure , I have in my whole
five . Was I with you there for the goose ?

Thou wast never with me for anything when
thou wast not there for the goose .

I will bite thee by the ear for that jest .

Nay , good goose , bite not .

Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ; it is a most
sharp sauce .

And is it not , then , well served into a sweet
goose ?

O , here’s a wit of cheveril that stretches
from an inch narrow to an ell broad .

I stretch it out for that word “ broad , ” which
added to the goose , proves thee far and wide a
broad goose .

Why , is not this better now than groaning
for love ? Now art thou sociable , now art thou
Romeo , now art thou what thou art , by art as well as
by nature . For this driveling love is like a great
natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his
bauble in a hole .

Stop there , stop there .

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

Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large .

O , thou art deceived . I would have made it
short , for I was come to the whole depth of my tale
and meant indeed to occupy the argument no
longer .

Enter Nurse and her man Peter .

Here’s goodly gear . A sail , a sail !

Two , two — a shirt and a smock .

Peter .

Anon .

My fan , Peter .

Good Peter , to hide her face , for her fan’s
the fairer face .

God you good morrow , gentlemen .

God you good e’en , fair gentlewoman .

Is it good e’en ?

’Tis no less , I tell you , for the bawdy hand of
the dial is now upon the prick of noon .

Out upon you ! What a man are you ?

One , gentlewoman , that God hath made , himself
to mar .

By my troth , it is well said : “ for himself to
mar , ” quoth he ? Gentlemen , can any of you tell me
where I may find the young Romeo ?

I can tell you , but young Romeo will be older
when you have found him than he was when you
sought him . I am the youngest of that name , for
fault of a worse .

You say well .

Yea , is the worst well ? Very well took , i’
faith , wisely , wisely .

If you be he , sir , I desire some confidence with
you .

She will indite him to some supper .

A bawd , a bawd , a bawd . So ho !

What hast thou found ?

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 .
No hare , sir , unless a hare , sir , in a Lenten
pie that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent .
Romeo , will you come to your father’s ? We’ll to
dinner thither .

Singing .

I will follow you .

Farewell , ancient lady . Farewell , lady , lady ,
lady .

Mercutio and Benvolio exit .

I pray you , sir , what saucy merchant was this
that was so full of his ropery ?

A gentleman , nurse , that loves to hear himself
talk and will speak more in a minute than he will
stand to in a month .

An he speak anything against me , I’ll take him
down , an he were lustier than he is , and twenty
such jacks . An 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 . To Peter . And thou must stand
by too and suffer every knave to use me at his
pleasure .

To Peter .

I saw no man use you at his pleasure . If I had ,
my weapon should quickly have been out . I warrant
you , I dare draw as soon as another man , if I
see occasion in a good quarrel , and the law on my
side .

Now , afore God , I am so vexed that every part
about me quivers . Scurvy knave ! To Romeo . Pray
you , sir , a word . And , as I told you , my young lady
bid me inquire you out . What she bid me say , I will
keep to myself . But first let me tell you , if you
should lead her in a fool’s paradise , as they say , it
were a very gross kind of behavior , as they say . For
the gentlewoman is young ; and therefore , if you
should deal double with her , truly it were an ill
thing to be offered to any gentlewoman , and very
weak dealing .

To Romeo .

Nurse , commend me to thy lady and mistress .
I protest unto thee —

Good heart , and i’ faith I will tell her as much .
Lord , Lord , she will be a joyful woman .

What wilt thou tell her , nurse ? Thou dost not
mark me .

I will tell her , sir , that you do protest , which , 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 Lawrence’ cell
Be shrived and married . Here is for thy pains .

Offering her money .

No , truly , sir , not a penny .

Go to , I say you shall .

This afternoon , sir ? Well , she shall be there .

And stay , good nurse , behind the abbey wall .
Within this hour my man shall be with thee
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair ,
Which to the high topgallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night .
Farewell . Be trusty , and I’ll quit thy pains .
Farewell . Commend me to thy mistress .

Now , God in heaven bless thee ! Hark you , sir .

What sayst thou , my dear nurse ?

Is your man secret ? Did you ne’er hear say
“ Two may keep counsel , putting one away ” ?

Warrant thee , my man’s as true as steel .

Well , sir , my mistress is the sweetest lady . Lord ,
Lord , when ’twas a little prating thing — O , there is
a nobleman in town , one Paris , that would fain lay
knife aboard , but she , good soul , had as lief see a
toad , a very toad , as see him . I anger her sometimes
and tell her that Paris is the properer man , but I’ll
warrant you , when I say so , she looks as pale as any
clout in the versal world . Doth not rosemary and
Romeo begin both with a letter ?

Ay , nurse , what of that ? Both with an R .

Ah , mocker , that’s the dog’s name . R is for
the — No , I know it begins with some other letter ,
and she hath the prettiest sententious of it , of you
and rosemary , that it would do you good to hear it .

Commend me to thy lady .

Ay , a thousand times . — Peter .

Anon .

Before and apace .

They exit .

Enter Juliet .

The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse .
In half an hour she promised to return .
Perchance she cannot meet him . That’s not so .
O , she is lame ! Love’s heralds should be thoughts ,
Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams ,
Driving back shadows over louring hills .
Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love ,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings .
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day’s journey , and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours , yet she is not come .
Had she affections and warm youthful blood ,
She would be as swift in motion as a ball ;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love ,
And his to me .
But old folks , many feign as they were dead ,
Unwieldy , slow , heavy , and pale as lead .
O God , she comes ! — O , honey nurse , what news ?
Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away .

Enter Nurse and Peter .

Peter , stay at the gate .

Peter exits .

Now , good sweet nurse — O Lord , why lookest thou sad ?
Though news be sad , yet tell them merrily .
If good , thou shamest the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face .

I am aweary . Give me leave awhile .
Fie , how my bones ache ! What a jaunt have I !

I would thou hadst my bones , and I thy news .
Nay , come , I pray thee , speak . Good , good nurse , speak .

Jesu , what haste ! Can you not stay awhile ?
Do you not see that I am out of breath ?

How art thou out of breath , when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out of breath ?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse .
Is thy news good or bad ? Answer to that .
Say either , and I’ll stay the circumstance .
Let me be satisfied ; is ’t good or bad ?

Well , you have made a simple choice . You know
not how to choose a man . Romeo ? No , not he .
Though his face be better than any man’s , yet his leg
excels all men’s , and for a hand and a foot and a
body , though they be not to be talked on , yet they
are past compare . He is not the flower of courtesy ,
but I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb . Go thy
ways , wench . Serve God . What , have you dined at
home ?

No , no . But all this did I know before .
What says he of our marriage ? What of that ?

Lord , how my head aches ! What a head have I !
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces .
My back o’ t’ other side ! Ah , my back , my back !
Beshrew your heart for sending me about
To catch my death with jaunting up and down .

I’ faith , I am sorry that thou art not well .
Sweet , sweet , sweet nurse , tell me , what says my love ?

Your love says , like an honest gentleman , and a
courteous , and a kind , and a handsome , and , I
warrant , a virtuous — Where is your mother ?

Where is my mother ? Why , she is within .
Where should she be ? How oddly thou repliest :
“ Your love says , like an honest gentleman ,
Where is your mother ? ”

O God’s lady dear ,
Are you so hot ? Marry , come up , I trow .
Is this the poultice for my aching bones ?
Henceforward do your messages yourself .

Here’s such a coil . Come , what says Romeo ?

Have you got leave to go to shrift today ?

I have .

Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell .
There stays a husband to make you a wife .
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks ;
They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news .
Hie you to church . I must another way ,
To fetch a ladder by the which your love
Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark .
I am the drudge and toil in your delight ,
But you shall bear the burden soon at night .
Go . I’ll to dinner . Hie you to the cell .

Hie to high fortune ! Honest nurse , farewell .

They exit .

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo .

So smile the heavens upon this holy act
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not .

Amen , amen . But come what sorrow can ,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight .
Do thou but close our hands with holy words ,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare ,
It is enough I may but call her mine .

These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die , like fire and powder ,
Which , as they kiss , consume . The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite .
Therefore love moderately . Long love doth so .
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow .
Here comes the lady . O , so light a foot
Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint .
A lover may bestride the gossamers
That idles in the wanton summer air ,
And yet not fall , so light is vanity .

Enter Juliet .

Good even to my ghostly confessor .

Romeo shall thank thee , daughter , for us both .

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

Ah , Juliet , if the measure of thy joy
Be heaped like mine , and that thy skill be more
To blazon it , then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbor air , and let rich music’s tongue
Unfold the imagined happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter .

Conceit , more rich in matter than in words ,
Brags of his substance , not of ornament .
They are but beggars that can count their worth ,
But my true love is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth .

Come , come with me , and we will make short work ,
For , by your leaves , you shall not stay alone
Till Holy Church incorporate two in one .

They exit .

Enter Mercutio , Benvolio , and their men .

I pray thee , good Mercutio , let’s retire .
The day is hot , the Capels are abroad ,
And if we meet we shall not ’scape a brawl ,
For now , these hot days , is the mad blood stirring .

Thou art like one of these fellows that , when
he enters the confines of a tavern , claps me his
sword upon the table and says “ God send me no
need of thee ” and , by the operation of the second
cup , draws him on the drawer when indeed there is
no need .

Am I like such a fellow ?

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 what to ?

Nay , an there were two such , we should
have none shortly , for one would kill the other .
Thou — why , thou wilt quarrel with a man that
hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than
thou hast . Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking
nuts , having no other reason but because thou
hast hazel eyes . What eye but such an eye would spy
out such a quarrel ? Thy head is as full of quarrels as
an egg is full of meat , and yet thy head hath been
beaten as addle as an egg for quarreling . Thou hast
quarreled with a man for coughing in the street
because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain
asleep in the sun . Didst thou not fall out with a tailor
for wearing his new doublet before Easter ? With
another , for tying his new shoes with old ribbon ?
And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarreling ?

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

The fee simple ? O simple !

Enter Tybalt , Petruchio , and others .

By my head , here comes the Capulets .

By my heel , I care not .

Follow me close , for I will speak to them . —
Gentlemen , good e’en . A word with one of you .

, to his companions

And but one word with one of us ? Couple it
with something . Make it a word and a blow .

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

Could you not take some occasion without
giving ?

Mercutio , thou consortest with Romeo .

Consort ? What , dost thou make us minstrels ?
An thou make minstrels of us , look to hear
nothing but discords . Here’s my fiddlestick ; here’s
that shall make you dance . Zounds , consort !

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

Men’s eyes were made to look , and let them gaze .
I will not budge for no man’s pleasure , I .

Enter Romeo .

Well , peace be with you , sir . Here comes my man .

But I’ll be hanged , sir , if he wear your livery .
Marry , go before to field , he’ll be your follower .
Your Worship in that sense may call him “ man . ”

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

Tybalt , the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting . Villain am I none .
Therefore farewell . I see thou knowest me not .

Boy , this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me . Therefore turn and draw .

I do protest I never injured thee
But love thee better than thou canst devise
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love .
And so , good Capulet , which name I tender
As dearly as mine own , be satisfied .

O calm , dishonorable , vile submission !
Alla stoccato carries it away .
Tybalt , you ratcatcher , will you walk ?

He draws .

What wouldst thou have with me ?

Good king of cats , nothing but one of your
nine lives , that I mean to make bold withal , and , as
you shall use me hereafter , dry-beat the rest of the
eight . Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher
by the ears ? Make haste , lest mine be about your
ears ere it be out .

I am for you .

He draws .

Gentle Mercutio , put thy rapier up .

Come , sir , your passado .

They fight .

Draw , Benvolio , beat down their weapons .
Gentlemen , for shame forbear this outrage !
Tybalt ! Mercutio ! The Prince expressly hath
Forbid this bandying in Verona streets .
Hold , Tybalt ! Good Mercutio !

Romeo draws .

Romeo attempts to beat down their rapiers . Tybalt stabs Mercutio .

Away , Tybalt !

Tybalt , Petruchio , and their followers exit .

I am hurt .
A plague o’ both 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 .

Page exits .

Courage , man , the hurt cannot be much .

No , ’tis not so deep as a well , nor so wide as
a church door , but ’tis enough . ’Twill serve . Ask for
me tomorrow , and you shall find me a grave man . I
am peppered , I warrant , for this world . A plague o’
both your houses ! Zounds , a dog , a rat , a mouse , a
cat , to scratch a man to death ! A braggart , a rogue , a
villain that fights by the book of arithmetic ! Why the
devil came you between us ? I was hurt under your
arm .

I thought all for the best .

Help me into some house , Benvolio ,
Or I shall faint . A plague o’ both your houses !
They have made worms’ meat of me .
I have it , and soundly , too . Your houses !

All but Romeo exit .

This gentleman , the Prince’s near ally ,
My very friend , hath got this mortal hurt
In my behalf . My reputation stained
With Tybalt’s slander — Tybalt , that an hour
Hath been my cousin ! O sweet Juliet ,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper softened valor’s steel .

Enter Benvolio .

O Romeo , Romeo , brave Mercutio is dead .
That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds ,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth .

This day’s black fate on more days doth depend .
This but begins the woe others must end .

Enter Tybalt .

Here comes the furious Tybalt back again .

Alive in triumph , and Mercutio slain !
Away to heaven , respective lenity ,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now . —
Now , Tybalt , take the “ villain ” back again
That late thou gavest me , for Mercutio’s soul
Is but a little way above our heads ,
Staying for thine to keep him company .
Either thou or I , or both , must go with him .

Thou wretched boy that didst consort him here
Shalt with him hence .

This shall determine that .

They fight . Tybalt falls .

Romeo , away , begone !
The citizens are up , and Tybalt slain .
Stand not amazed . The Prince will doom thee death
If thou art taken . Hence , be gone , away .

O , I am Fortune’s fool !

Why dost thou stay ?

Romeo exits .

Enter Citizens .

Which way ran he that killed Mercutio ?
Tybalt , that murderer , which way ran he ?

There lies that Tybalt .

Up , sir , go with me .
I charge thee in the Prince’s name , obey .

, to Tybalt

Enter Prince , old Montague , Capulet , their Wives and all .

Where are the vile beginners of this fray ?

O noble prince , I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl .
There lies the man , slain by young Romeo ,
That slew thy kinsman , brave Mercutio .

Tybalt , my cousin , O my brother’s child !
O prince ! O cousin ! Husband ! O , the blood is spilled
Of my dear kinsman ! Prince , as thou art true ,
For blood of ours , shed blood of Montague .
O cousin , cousin !

Benvolio , who began this bloody fray ?

Tybalt , here slain , whom Romeo’s hand did slay —
Romeo , that spoke him fair , bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was , and urged withal
Your high displeasure . All this utterèd
With gentle breath , calm look , knees humbly bowed
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt , deaf to peace , but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast ,
Who , all as hot , turns deadly point to point
And , with a martial scorn , with one hand beats
Cold death aside and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt , whose dexterity
Retorts it . Romeo he cries aloud
“ Hold , friends ! Friends , part ! ” and swifter than his tongue
His agile arm beats down their fatal points ,
And ’twixt them rushes ; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio , and then Tybalt fled .
But by and by comes back to Romeo ,
Who had but newly entertained revenge ,
And to ’t they go like lightning , for ere I
Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain ,
And , as he fell , did Romeo turn and fly .
This is the truth , or let Benvolio die .

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

Romeo slew him ; he slew Mercutio .
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe ?

Not Romeo , Prince ; he was Mercutio’s friend .
His fault concludes but what the law should end ,
The life of Tybalt .

And for that offense
Immediately we do exile him hence .
I have an interest in your hearts’ proceeding :
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding .
But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine .
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses .
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses .
Therefore use none . Let Romeo hence in haste ,
Else , when he is found , that hour is his last .
Bear hence this body and attend our will .
Mercy but murders , pardoning those that kill .

They exit , the Capulet men bearing off Tybalt’s body .

Enter Juliet alone .

Gallop apace , you fiery-footed steeds ,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging . Such a wagoner
As Phaëton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately .
Spread thy close curtain , love-performing night ,
That runaways’ eyes may wink , and Romeo
Leap to these arms , untalked of and unseen .
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties , or , if love be blind ,
It best agrees with night . Come , civil night ,
Thou sober-suited matron all in black ,
And learn me how to lose a winning match
Played for a pair of stainless maidenhoods .
Hood my unmanned blood , bating in my cheeks ,
With thy black mantle till strange love grow bold ,
Think true love acted simple modesty .
Come , night . Come , Romeo . Come , thou day in night ,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back .
Come , gentle night ; come , loving black-browed night ,
Give me my Romeo , and when I shall die ,
Take him and cut him out in little stars ,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun .
O , I have bought the mansion of a love
But not possessed it , and , though I am sold ,
Not yet enjoyed . So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them .
O , here comes my nurse ,
And she brings news , and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence . —
Now , nurse , what news ? What hast thou there ? The cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch ?

Enter Nurse with cords .

Ay , ay , the cords .

Dropping the rope ladder .

Ay me , what news ? Why dost thou wring thy hands ?

Ah weraday , he’s dead , he’s dead , he’s dead !
We are undone , lady , we are undone .
Alack the day , he’s gone , he’s killed , he’s dead .

Can heaven be so envious ?

Romeo can ,
Though heaven cannot . O Romeo , Romeo ,
Whoever would have thought it ? Romeo !

What devil art thou that dost torment me thus ?
This torture should be roared in dismal hell .
Hath Romeo slain himself ? Say thou but “ Ay , ”
And that bare vowel “ I ” shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice .
I am not I if there be such an “ I , ”
Or those eyes shut that makes thee answer “ Ay . ”
If he be slain , say “ Ay , ” or if not , “ No . ”
Brief sounds determine my weal or woe .

I saw the wound . I saw it with mine eyes
( God save the mark ! ) here on his manly breast —
A piteous corse , a bloody piteous corse ,
Pale , pale as ashes , all bedaubed in blood ,
All in gore blood . I swoonèd at the sight .

O break , my heart , poor bankrout , break at once !
To prison , eyes ; ne’er look on liberty .
Vile earth to earth resign ; end motion here ,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier .

O Tybalt , Tybalt , the best friend I had !
O courteous Tybalt , honest gentleman ,
That ever I should live to see thee dead !

What storm is this that blows so contrary ?
Is Romeo slaughtered and is Tybalt dead ?
My dearest cousin , and my dearer lord ?
Then , dreadful trumpet , sound the general doom ,
For who is living if those two are gone ?

Tybalt is gone and Romeo banishèd .
Romeo that killed him — he is banishèd .

O God , did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood ?

It did , it did , alas the day , it did .

O serpent heart hid with a flow’ring face !
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ?
Beautiful tyrant , fiend angelical !
Dove-feathered raven , wolvish-ravening lamb !
Despisèd substance of divinest show !
Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st ,
A damnèd saint , an honorable villain .
O nature , what hadst thou to do in hell
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound ? O , that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace !

There’s no trust ,
No faith , no honesty in men . All perjured ,
All forsworn , all naught , all dissemblers .
Ah , where’s my man ? Give me some aqua vitae .
These griefs , these woes , these sorrows make me old .
Shame come to Romeo !

Blistered be thy tongue
For such a wish ! He was not born to shame .
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit ,
For ’tis a throne where honor may be crowned
Sole monarch of the universal Earth .
O , what a beast was I to chide at him !

Will you speak well of him that killed your cousin ?

Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ?
Ah , poor my lord , what tongue shall smooth thy name
When I , thy three-hours wife , have mangled it ?
But wherefore , villain , didst thou kill my cousin ?
That villain cousin would have killed my husband .
Back , foolish tears , back to your native spring ;
Your tributary drops belong to woe ,
Which you , mistaking , offer up to joy .
My husband lives , that Tybalt would have slain ,
And Tybalt’s dead , that would have slain my husband .
All this is comfort . Wherefore weep I then ?
Some word there was , worser than Tybalt’s death ,
That murdered me . I would forget it fain ,
But , O , it presses to my memory
Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners’ minds :
“ Tybalt is dead and Romeo banishèd . ”
That “ banishèd , ” that one word “ banishèd , ”
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts . Tybalt’s death
Was woe enough if it had ended there ;
Or , if sour woe delights in fellowship
And needly will be ranked with other griefs ,
Why followed not , when she said “ Tybalt’s dead , ”
“ Thy father ” or “ thy mother , ” nay , or both ,
Which modern lamentation might have moved ?
But with a rearward following Tybalt’s death ,
“ Romeo is banishèd . ” To speak that word
Is father , mother , Tybalt , Romeo , Juliet ,
All slain , all dead . “ Romeo is banishèd . ”
There is no end , no limit , measure , bound ,
In that word’s death . No words can that woe sound .
Where is my father and my mother , nurse ?

Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse .
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither .

Wash they his wounds with tears ? Mine shall be spent ,
When theirs are dry , for Romeo’s banishment . —
Take up those cords .
Poor ropes , you are beguiled ,
Both you and I , for Romeo is exiled .
He made you for a highway to my bed ,
But I , a maid , die maiden-widowèd .
Come , cords — come , nurse . I’ll to my wedding bed ,
And death , not Romeo , take my maidenhead !

The Nurse picks up the rope ladder .

Hie to your chamber . I’ll find Romeo
To comfort you . I wot well where he is .
Hark you , your Romeo will be here at night .
I’ll to him . He is hid at Lawrence’ cell .

O , find him !
Give this ring to my true knight
And bid him come to take his last farewell .

Giving the Nurse a ring .

They exit .

Enter Friar Lawrence .

Romeo , come forth ; come forth , thou fearful man .
Affliction is enamored of thy parts ,
And thou art wedded to calamity .

Enter Romeo .

Father , what news ? What is the Prince’s doom ?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand
That I yet know not ?

Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company .
I bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom .

What less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom ?

A gentler judgment vanished 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 . ”

Here from Verona art thou banishèd .
Be patient , for the world is broad and wide .

There is no world without Verona walls
But purgatory , torture , hell itself .
Hence “ banishèd ” is “ banished from the world , ”
And world’s exile is death . Then “ banishèd ”
Is death mistermed . Calling death “ banishèd , ”
Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden ax
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me .

O deadly sin , O rude unthankfulness !
Thy fault our law calls death , but the kind prince ,
Taking thy part , hath rushed aside the law
And turned that black word “ death ” to “ banishment . ”
This is dear mercy , and thou seest it not .

’Tis torture and not mercy . Heaven is here
Where Juliet lives , and every cat and dog
And little mouse , every unworthy thing ,
Live here in heaven and may look on her ,
But Romeo may not . More validity ,
More honorable state , more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo . They may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand
And steal immortal blessing from her lips ,
Who even in pure and vestal modesty
Still blush , as thinking their own kisses sin ;
But Romeo may not ; he is banishèd .
Flies may do this , but I from this must fly .
They are free men , but I am banishèd .
And sayest thou yet that exile is not death ?
Hadst thou no poison mixed , no sharp-ground knife ,
No sudden mean of death , though ne’er so mean ,
But “ banishèd ” to kill me ? “ Banishèd ” ?
O friar , the damnèd use that word in hell .
Howling attends it . How hast thou the heart ,
Being a divine , a ghostly confessor ,
A sin absolver , and my friend professed ,
To mangle me with that word “ banishèd ” ?

Thou fond mad man , hear me a little speak .

O , thou wilt speak again of banishment .

I’ll give thee armor to keep off that word ,
Adversity’s sweet milk , philosophy ,
To comfort thee , though thou art banishèd .

Yet “ banishèd ” ? Hang up philosophy .
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet ,
Displant a town , reverse a prince’s doom ,
It helps not , it prevails not . Talk no more .

O , then I see that madmen have no ears .

How should they when that wise men have no eyes ?

Let me dispute with thee of thy estate .

Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel .
Wert thou as young as I , Juliet thy love ,
An hour but married , Tybalt murderèd ,
Doting like me , and like me banishèd ,
Then mightst thou speak , then mightst thou tear thy hair
And fall upon the ground as I do now ,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave .

Romeo throws himself down .

Knock within .

Arise . One knocks . Good Romeo , hide thyself .

Not I , unless the breath of heartsick groans ,
Mistlike , enfold me from the search of eyes .

Knock .

Hark , how they knock ! — Who’s there ? — Romeo , arise .
Thou wilt be taken . — Stay awhile . — Stand up .
Run to my study . — By and by . — God’s will ,
What simpleness is this ? — I come , I come .
Who knocks so hard ? Whence come you ? What’s your will ?

Knock .

Knock .

Let me come in , and you shall know my errand .
I come from Lady Juliet .

, within

Welcome , then .

, admitting the Nurse

Enter Nurse .

O holy friar , O , tell me , holy friar ,
Where’s my lady’s lord ? Where’s Romeo ?

There on the ground , with his own tears made drunk .

O , he is even in my mistress’ case ,
Just in her case . O woeful sympathy !
Piteous predicament ! Even so lies she ,
Blubb’ring and weeping , weeping and blubb’ring . —
Stand up , stand up . Stand an 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 , death’s the end of all .

Spakest thou of Juliet ? How is it with her ?
Doth not she think me an old murderer ,
Now I have stained the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own ?
Where is she ? And how doth she ? And what says
My concealed lady to our canceled love ?

, rising up

O , she says nothing , sir , but weeps and weeps ,
And now falls on her bed , and then starts up ,
And “ Tybalt ” calls , and then on Romeo cries ,
And then down falls again .

As if that name ,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun ,
Did murder her , as that name’s cursèd hand
Murdered her kinsman . — O , tell me , friar , tell me ,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge ? Tell me , that I may sack
The hateful mansion .

He draws his dagger .

Hold thy desperate hand !
Art thou a man ? Thy form cries out thou art .
Thy tears are womanish ; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast .
Unseemly woman in a seeming man ,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both !
Thou hast amazed me . By my holy order ,
I thought thy disposition better tempered .
Hast thou slain Tybalt ? Wilt thou slay thyself ,
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives ,
By doing damnèd hate upon thyself ?
Why railest thou on thy birth , the heaven , and earth ,
Since birth and heaven and earth all three do meet
In thee at once , which thou at once wouldst lose ?
Fie , fie , thou shamest thy shape , thy love , thy wit ,
Which , like a usurer , abound’st in all
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape , thy love , thy wit .
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax ,
Digressing from the valor of a man ;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury ,
Killing that love which thou hast vowed to cherish ;
Thy wit , that ornament to shape and love ,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both ,
Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask ,
Is set afire by thine own ignorance ,
And thou dismembered with thine own defense .
What , rouse thee , man ! Thy Juliet is alive ,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead :
There art thou happy . Tybalt would kill thee ,
But thou slewest Tybalt : there art thou happy .
The law that threatened death becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile : there art thou happy .
A pack of blessings light upon thy back ;
Happiness courts thee in her best array ;
But , like a misbehaved and sullen wench ,
Thou pouts upon thy fortune and thy love .
Take heed , take heed , for such die miserable .
Go , get thee to thy love , as was decreed .
Ascend her chamber . Hence and comfort her .
But look thou stay not till the watch be set ,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ,
Where thou shalt live till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage , reconcile your friends ,
Beg pardon of the Prince , and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went’st forth in lamentation . —
Go before , nurse . Commend me to thy lady ,
And bid her hasten all the house to bed ,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto .
Romeo is coming .

O Lord , I could have stayed here all the night
To hear good counsel . O , what learning is ! —
My lord , I’ll tell my lady you will come .

Do so , and bid my sweet prepare to chide .

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

Nurse gives Romeo a ring .

She exits .

How well my comfort vvz revived by this !

Go av , good night — and here stands all your state :
Either be gone before the watch be set
Or by the break of day disguised from hence .
Sojourn in Mantua . I’ll find out your man ,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here .
Give me thy hand . ’Tis late . Farewell . Good night .

But that a joy past joy calls out on me ,
It were a grief so brief to part with thee .
Farewell .

They exit .

Enter old Capulet , his Wife , and Paris .

Things have fallen out , sir , so unluckily
That we have had no time to move our daughter .
Look you , she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly ,
And so did I . Well , we were born to die .
’Tis very late . She’ll not come down tonight .
I promise you , but for your company ,
I would have been abed an hour ago .

These times of woe afford no times to woo . —
Madam , good night . Commend me to your daughter .

I will , and know her mind early tomorrow .
Tonight she’s mewed up to her heaviness .

Sir Paris , I will make a desperate tender
Of my child’s love . I think she will be ruled
In all respects by me . Nay , more , I doubt it not . —
Wife , go you to her ere you go to bed .
Acquaint her here of my son Paris’ love ,
And bid her — mark you me ? — on Wednesday next —
But soft , what day is this ?

Monday , my lord .

Monday , ha ha ! Well , Wednesday is too soon .
O’ Thursday let it be . — O’ Thursday , tell her ,
She shall be married to this noble earl . —
Will you be ready ? Do you like this haste ?
We’ll keep no great ado : a friend or two .
For hark you , Tybalt being slain so late ,
It may be thought we held him carelessly ,
Being our kinsman , if we revel much .
Therefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends ,
And there an end . But what say you to Thursday ?

My lord , I would that Thursday were tomorrow .

Well , get you gone . O’ Thursday be it , then .
To Lady Capulet . Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed .
Prepare her , wife , against this wedding day . —
Farewell , my lord . — Light to my chamber , ho ! —
Afore me , it is so very late that we
May call it early by and by . — Good night .

To Lady Capulet .

They exit .

Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft .

Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day .
It was the nightingale , and not the lark ,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear .
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree .
Believe me , love , it was the nightingale .

It was the lark , the herald of the morn ,
No nightingale . Look , love , what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east .
Night’s candles are burnt out , and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops .
I must be gone and live , or stay and die .

Yond light is not daylight , I know it , I .
It is some meteor that the sun exhaled
To be to thee this night a torchbearer
And light thee on thy way to Mantua .
Therefore 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 wilt have it so .
I’ll say yon gray is not the morning’s eye ;
’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow .
Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads .
I have more care to stay than will to go .
Come death and welcome . Juliet wills it so .
How is ’t , my soul ? Let’s talk . It is not day .

It is , it is . Hie hence , begone , away !
It is the lark that sings so out of tune ,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps .
Some say the lark makes sweet division .
This doth not so , for she divideth us .
Some say the lark and loathèd toad changed eyes .
O , now I would they had changed voices too ,
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray ,
Hunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day .
O , now begone . More light and light it grows .

More light and light , more dark and dark our woes .

Enter Nurse .

Madam .

Nurse ?

Your lady mother is coming to your chamber .
The day is broke ; be wary ; look about .

She exits .

Then , window , let day in , and let life out .

Farewell , farewell . One kiss and I’ll descend .

They kiss , and Romeo descends .

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 .

Farewell .
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings , love , to thee .

O , think’st thou we shall ever meet again ?

I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our times to come .

O God , I have an ill-divining soul !
Methinks I see thee , now thou art so low ,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb .
Either my eyesight fails or thou lookest pale .

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

He exits .

O Fortune , Fortune , all men call thee fickle .
If thou art fickle , what dost thou with him
That is renowned for faith ? Be fickle , Fortune ,
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long ,
But send him back .

Enter Lady Capulet .

Ho , daughter , are you up ?

Who is ’t that calls ? It is my lady mother .
Is she not down so late or up so early ?
What unaccustomed cause procures her hither ?

Juliet descends .

Why , how now , Juliet ?

Madam , I am not well .

Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death ?
What , wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears ?
An if thou couldst , thou couldst not make him live .
Therefore have done . Some grief shows much of love ,
But much of grief shows still some want of wit .

Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss .

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

Feeling so the loss ,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend .

Well , girl , thou weep’st not so much for his death
As that the villain lives which slaughtered him .

What villain , madam ?

That same villain , Romeo .

Villain and he be many miles asunder . —
God pardon him . I do with all my heart ,
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart .

, aside

That is because the traitor murderer lives .

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

We will have vengeance for it , fear thou not .
Then weep no more . I’ll send to one in Mantua ,
Where that same banished runagate doth live ,
Shall give him such an unaccustomed dram
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company .
And then , I hope , thou wilt be satisfied .

Indeed , I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo till I behold him — dead —
Is my poor heart , so for a kinsman vexed .
Madam , if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison , I would temper it ,
That Romeo should , upon receipt thereof ,
Soon sleep in quiet . O , how my heart abhors
To hear him named and cannot come to him
To wreak the love I bore my cousin
Upon his body that hath slaughtered him .

Find thou the means , and I’ll find such a man .
But now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings , girl .

And joy comes well in such a needy time .
What are they , beseech your Ladyship ?

Well , well , thou hast a careful father , child ,
One who , to put thee from thy heaviness ,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy
That thou expects not , nor I looked not for .

Madam , in happy time ! What day is that ?

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

Now , by Saint Peter’s Church , and Peter too ,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride !
I wonder at this haste , that I must wed
Ere he that should be husband comes to woo .
I pray you , tell my lord and father , madam ,
I will not marry yet , and when I do I swear
It shall be Romeo , whom you know I hate ,
Rather than Paris . These are news indeed !

Here comes your father . Tell him so yourself ,
And see how he will take it at your hands .

Enter Capulet and Nurse .

When the sun sets , the earth doth drizzle dew ,
But for the sunset of my brother’s son
It rains downright .
How now , a conduit , girl ? What , still in tears ?
Evermore show’ring ? In one little body
Thou counterfeits a bark , a sea , a wind .
For still thy eyes , which I may call the sea ,
Do ebb and flow with tears ; the bark thy body is ,
Sailing in this salt flood ; the winds thy sighs ,
Who , raging with thy tears and they with them ,
Without a sudden calm , will overset
Thy tempest-tossèd body . — How now , wife ?
Have you delivered to her our decree ?

Ay , sir , but she will none , she gives you thanks .
I would the fool were married to her grave .

Soft , take me with you , take me with you , wife .
How , will she none ? Doth she not give us thanks ?
Is she not proud ? Doth she not count her blessed ,
Unworthy as she is , that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bride ?

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

How , how , how , how ? Chopped logic ? What is this ?
“ Proud , ” and “ I thank you , ” and “ I thank you not , ”
And yet “ not proud ” ? Mistress minion you ,
Thank me no thankings , nor proud me no prouds ,
But fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next
To go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church ,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither .
Out , you green-sickness carrion ! Out , you baggage !
You tallow face !

Fie , fie , what , are you mad ?

Good father , I beseech you on my knees ,
Hear me with patience but to speak a word .

, kneeling

Hang thee , young baggage , disobedient wretch !
I tell thee what : get thee to church o’ Thursday ,
Or never after look me in the face .
Speak not ; reply not ; do not answer me .
My fingers itch . — Wife , we scarce thought us blessed
That God had lent us but this only child ,
But now I see this one is one too much ,
And that we have a curse in having her .
Out on her , hilding .

God in heaven bless her !
You are to blame , my lord , to rate her so .

And why , my Lady Wisdom ? Hold your tongue .
Good Prudence , smatter with your gossips , go .

I speak no treason .

O , God ’i’ g’ eden !

May not one speak ?

Peace , you mumbling fool !
Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl ,
For here we need it not .

You are too hot .

God’s bread , it makes me mad .
Day , night , hour , tide , time , work , play ,
Alone , in company , still my care hath been
To have her matched . And having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage ,
Of fair demesnes , youthful , and nobly ligned ,
Stuffed , as they say , with honorable parts ,
Proportioned as one’s thought would wish a man —
And then to have a wretched puling fool ,
A whining mammet , in her fortune’s tender ,
To answer “ I’ll not wed . I cannot love .
I am too young . I pray you , pardon me . ”
But , an you will not wed , I’ll pardon you !
Graze where you will , you shall not house with me .
Look to ’t ; think on ’t . I do not use to jest .
Thursday is near . Lay hand on heart ; advise .
An you be mine , I’ll give you to my friend .
An you be not , hang , beg , starve , die in the streets ,
For , by my soul , I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee ,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good .
Trust to ’t ; bethink you . I’ll not be forsworn .

He exits .

Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
That sees into the bottom of my grief ? —
O sweet my mother , cast me not away .
Delay this marriage for a month , a week ,
Or , if you do not , make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies .

Talk not to me , for I’ll not speak a word .
Do as thou wilt , for I have done with thee .

She exits .

O God ! O nurse , how shall this be prevented ?
My husband is on Earth , my faith in heaven .
How shall that faith return again to Earth
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving Earth ? Comfort me ; counsel me . —
Alack , alack , that heaven should practice stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself . —
What sayst thou ? Hast thou not a word of joy ?
Some comfort , nurse .

, rising

Faith , here it is .
Romeo is banished , and all the world to nothing
That he dares ne’er come back to challenge you ,
Or , if he do , it needs must be by stealth .
Then , since the case so stands as now it doth ,
I think it best you married with the County .
O , he’s a lovely gentleman !
Romeo’s a dishclout to him . An eagle , madam ,
Hath not so green , so quick , so fair an eye
As Paris hath . Beshrew my very heart ,
I think you are happy in this second match ,
For it excels your first , or , if it did not ,
Your first is dead , or ’twere as good he were
As living here and you no use of him .

Speak’st thou from thy heart ?

And from my soul too , else beshrew them both .

Amen .

What ?

Well , thou hast comforted me marvelous much .
Go in and tell my lady I am gone ,
Having displeased my father , to Lawrence’ cell
To make confession and to be absolved .

Marry , I will ; and this is wisely done .

She exits .

Ancient damnation , O most wicked fiend !
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath praised him with above compare
So many thousand times ? Go , counselor .
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain .
I’ll to the Friar to know his remedy .
If all else fail , myself have power to die .

She exits .

Enter Friar Lawrence and County Paris .

On Thursday , sir ? The time is very short .

My father Capulet will have it so ,
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste .

You say you do not know the lady’s mind ?
Uneven is the course . I like it not .

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death ,
And therefore have I little talk of love ,
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears .
Now , sir , her father counts it dangerous
That she do give her sorrow so much sway ,
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage
To stop the inundation of her tears ,
Which , too much minded by herself alone ,
May be put from her by society .
Now do you know the reason of this haste .

I would I knew not why it should be slowed . —
Look , sir , here comes the lady toward my cell .

, aside

Enter Juliet .

Happily met , my lady and my wife .

That may be , sir , when I may be a wife .

That “ may be ” must be , love , on Thursday next .

What must be shall be .

That’s a certain text .

Come you to make confession to this father ?

To answer that , I should confess to you .

Do not deny to him that you love me .

I will confess to you that I love him .

So will you , I am sure , that you love me .

If I do so , it will be of more price
Being spoke behind your back than to your face .

Poor soul , thy face is much abused with tears .

The tears have got small victory by that ,
For it was bad enough before their spite .

Thou wrong’st it more than tears with that report .

That is no slander , sir , which is a truth ,
And what I spake , I spake it to my face .

Thy face is mine , and thou hast slandered it .

It may be so , for it is not mine own . —
Are you at leisure , holy father , now ,
Or shall I come to you at evening Mass ?

My leisure serves me , pensive daughter , now . —
My lord , we must entreat the time alone .

God shield I should disturb devotion ! —
Juliet , on Thursday early will I rouse you .
Till then , adieu , and keep this holy kiss .

He exits .

O , shut the door , and when thou hast done so ,
Come weep with me , past hope , past care , past help .

O Juliet , I already know thy grief .
It strains me past the compass of my wits .
I hear thou must , and nothing may prorogue it ,
On Thursday next be married to this County .

Tell me not , friar , that thou hearest of this ,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it .
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help ,
Do thou but call my resolution wise ,
And with this knife I’ll help it presently .
God joined my heart and Romeo’s , thou our hands ;
And ere this hand , by thee to Romeo’s sealed ,
Shall be the label to another deed ,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another , this shall slay them both .
Therefore out of thy long-experienced time
Give me some present counsel , or , behold ,
’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire , arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honor bring .
Be not so long to speak . I long to die
If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy .

She shows him her knife .

Hold , daughter , I do spy a kind of hope ,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent .
If , rather than to marry County Paris ,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself ,
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame ,
That cop’st with death himself to ’scape from it ;
And if thou darest , I’ll give thee remedy .

O , bid me leap , rather than marry Paris ,
From off the battlements of any tower ,
Or walk in thievish ways , or bid me lurk
Where serpents are . Chain me with roaring bears ,
Or hide me nightly in a charnel house ,
O’ercovered quite with dead men’s rattling bones ,
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls .
Or bid me go into a new-made grave
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud
( Things that to hear them told have made me tremble ) ,
And I will do it without fear or doubt ,
To live an unstained wife to my sweet love .

Hold , then . Go home ; be merry ; give consent
To marry Paris . Wednesday is tomorrow .
Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone ;
Let not the Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber .
Take thou this vial , being then in bed ,
And this distilling liquor drink thou off ;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humor ; for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress , but surcease .
No warmth , no breath shall testify thou livest .
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes , thy eyes’ windows fall
Like death when he shuts up the day of life .
Each part , deprived of supple government ,
Shall , stiff and stark and cold , appear like death ,
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep .
Now , when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed , there art thou dead .
Then , as the manner of our country is ,
In thy best robes uncovered on the bier
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie .
In the meantime , against thou shalt awake ,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift ,
And hither shall he come , and he and I
Will watch thy waking , and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua .
And this shall free thee from this present shame ,
If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear
Abate thy valor in the acting it .

Holding out a vial .

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

Hold , get you gone . Be strong and prosperous
In this resolve . I’ll send a friar with speed
To Mantua with my letters to thy lord .

, giving Juliet the vial

Love give me strength , and strength shall help afford .
Farewell , dear father .

They exit in different directions .

Enter Father Capulet , Mother , Nurse , and Servingmen , two or three .

So many guests invite as here are writ .
Sirrah , go hire me twenty cunning cooks .

One or two of the Servingmen exit with Capulet’s list .

You shall have none ill , sir , for I’ll try if
they can lick their fingers .

How canst thou try them so ?

Marry , sir , ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick
his own fingers . Therefore he that cannot lick his
fingers goes not with me .

We shall be much unfurnished for this time . —
What , is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence ?
Go , begone .

Servingman exits .

Ay , forsooth .

Well , he may chance to do some good on her .
A peevish self-willed harlotry it is .

Enter Juliet .

See where she comes from shrift with merry look .

How now , my headstrong , where have you been gadding ?

Where I have learned me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests , and am enjoined
By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here
To beg your pardon . Pardon , I beseech you .
Henceforward I am ever ruled by you .

Kneeling .

Send for the County . Go tell him of this .
I’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning .

I met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell
And gave him what becomèd love I might ,
Not stepping o’er the bounds of modesty .

Why , I am glad on ’t . This is well . Stand up .
This is as ’t should be . — Let me see the County .
Ay , marry , go , I say , and fetch him hither . —
Now , afore God , this reverend holy friar ,
All our whole city is much bound to him .

Juliet rises .

Nurse , will you go with me into my closet
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me tomorrow ?

No , not till Thursday . There is time enough .

Go , nurse . Go with her . We’ll to church tomorrow .

Juliet and the Nurse exit .

We shall be short in our provision .
’Tis now near night .

Tush , I will stir about ,
And all things shall be well , I warrant thee , wife .
Go thou to Juliet . Help to deck up her .
I’ll not to bed tonight . Let me alone .
I’ll play the housewife for this once . — What ho ! —
They are all forth . Well , I will walk myself
To County Paris , to prepare up him
Against tomorrow . My heart is wondrous light
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaimed .

They exit .

Enter Juliet and Nurse .

Ay , those attires are best . But , gentle nurse ,
I pray thee leave me to myself tonight ,
For I have need of many orisons
To move the heavens to smile upon my state ,
Which , well thou knowest , is cross and full of sin .

Enter Lady Capulet .

What , are you busy , ho ? Need you my help ?

No , madam , we have culled such necessaries
As are behooveful for our state tomorrow .
So please you , let me now be left alone ,
And let the Nurse this night sit up with you ,
For I am sure you have your hands full all
In this so sudden business .

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

Lady Capulet and the Nurse exit .

Farewell . — God knows when we shall meet again .
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That 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 work at all ?
Shall I be married then tomorrow morning ?
No , no , this shall forbid it . Lie thou there .
What if it be a poison which the Friar
Subtly hath ministered to have me dead ,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonored
Because he married me before to Romeo ?
I fear it is . And yet methinks it should not ,
For he hath still been tried a holy man .
How if , when I am laid into the tomb ,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me ? There’s a fearful point .
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault ,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in ,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes ?
Or , if I live , is it not very like
The horrible conceit of death and night ,
Together with the terror of the place —
As in a vault , an ancient receptacle
Where for this many hundred years the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed ;
Where bloody Tybalt , yet but green in earth ,
Lies fest’ring in his shroud ; where , as they say ,
At some hours in the night spirits resort —
Alack , alack , is it not like that I ,
So early waking , what with loathsome smells ,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth ,
That living mortals , hearing them , run mad —
O , if I wake , shall I not be distraught ,
Environèd with all these hideous fears ,
And madly play with my forefathers’ joints ,
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ,
And , in this rage , with some great kinsman’s bone ,
As with a club , dash out my desp’rate brains ?
O look , methinks I see my cousin’s ghost
Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body
Upon a rapier’s point ! Stay , Tybalt , stay !
Romeo , Romeo , Romeo ! Here’s drink . I drink to thee .

She takes out the vial .

She takes out her knife and puts it down beside her .

She drinks and falls upon her bed within the curtains .

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse .

Hold , take these keys , and fetch more spices , nurse .

They call for dates and quinces in the pastry .

Enter old Capulet .

Come , stir , stir , stir ! The second cock hath crowed .
The curfew bell hath rung . ’Tis three o’clock . —
Look to the baked meats , good Angelica .
Spare not for cost .

Go , you cot-quean , go ,
Get you to bed . Faith , you’ll be sick tomorrow
For this night’s watching .

No , not a whit . What , I have watched ere now
All night for lesser cause , and ne’er been sick .

Ay , you have been a mouse-hunt in your time ,
But I will watch you from such watching now .

Lady Capulet and Nurse exit .

A jealous hood , a jealous hood !
Now fellow ,
What is there ?

Enter three or four Servingmen with spits and logs and baskets .

Things for the cook , sir , but I know not what .

Make haste , make haste .
Sirrah , fetch drier logs .
Call Peter . He will show thee where they are .

First Servingman exits .

I have a head , sir , that will find out logs
And never trouble Peter for the matter .

Mass , and well said . A merry whoreson , ha !
Thou shalt be loggerhead .
Good faith , ’tis day .
The County will be here with music straight ,
For so he said he would . I hear him near . —
Nurse ! — Wife ! What ho ! — What , nurse , I say !
Go waken Juliet . Go and trim her up .
I’ll go and chat with Paris . Hie , make haste ,
Make haste . The bridegroom he is come already .
Make haste , I say .

Second Servingman exits .

Play music .

Play music .

Enter Nurse .

He exits .

Mistress ! What , mistress ! Juliet ! — Fast , I warrant her , she —
Why , lamb , why , lady ! Fie , you slugabed !
Why , love , I say ! Madam ! Sweetheart ! Why , bride ! —
What , not a word ? — You take your pennyworths now .
Sleep for a week , for the next night , I warrant ,
The County Paris hath set up his rest
That you shall rest but little . — God forgive me ,
Marry , and amen ! How sound is she asleep !
I needs must wake her . — Madam , madam , madam !
Ay , let the County take you in your bed ,
He’ll fright you up , i’ faith . — Will it not be ?
What , dressed , and in your clothes , and down again ?
I must needs wake you . Lady , lady , lady ! —
Alas , alas ! Help , help ! My lady’s dead . —
O , weraday , that ever I was born ! —
Some aqua vitae , ho ! — My lord ! My lady !

, approaching the bed

She opens the bed’s curtains .

Enter Lady Capulet .

What noise is here ?

O lamentable day !

What is the matter ?

Look , look ! — O heavy day !

O me ! O me ! My child , my only life ,
Revive , look up , or I will die with thee .
Help , help ! Call help .

Enter Capulet .

For shame , bring Juliet forth . Her lord is come .

She’s dead , deceased . She’s dead , alack the day !

Alack the day , she’s dead , she’s dead , she’s dead .

Ha , let me see her ! Out , alas , she’s cold .
Her blood is settled , and her joints are stiff .
Life and these lips have long been separated .
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field .

O lamentable day !

O woeful time !

Death , that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail ,
Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak .

Enter Friar Lawrence and the County Paris , with Musicians .

Come , is the bride ready to go to church ?

Ready to go , but never to return . —
O son , the night before thy wedding day
Hath Death lain with thy wife . There she lies ,
Flower as she was , deflowerèd by him .
Death is my son-in-law ; Death is my heir .
My daughter he hath wedded . I will die
And leave him all . Life , living , all is Death’s .

Have I thought long to see this morning’s face ,
And doth it give me such a sight as this ?

Accursed , unhappy , wretched , hateful day !
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage !
But one , poor one , one poor and loving child ,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in ,
And cruel death hath catched it from my sight !

O woe , O woeful , woeful , woeful day !
Most lamentable day , most woeful day
That ever , ever I did yet behold !
O day , O day , O day , O hateful day !
Never was seen so black a day as this !
O woeful day , O woeful day !

Beguiled , divorcèd , wrongèd , spited , slain !
Most detestable death , by thee beguiled ,
By cruel , cruel thee quite overthrown !
O love ! O life ! Not life , but love in death !

Despised , distressèd , hated , martyred , killed !
Uncomfortable time , why cam’st thou now
To murder , murder our solemnity ?
O child ! O child ! My soul and not my child !
Dead art thou ! Alack , my child is dead ,
And with my child my joys are burièd .

Peace , ho , for shame ! Confusion’s cure lives not
In these confusions . Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid . Now 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 .
The most you sought was her promotion ,
For ’twas your heaven she should be advanced ;
And weep you now , seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds , as high as heaven itself ?
O , in this love you love your child so ill
That you run mad , seeing that she is well .
She’s not well 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 ,
And in her best array , bear her to church ,
For though fond nature bids us all lament ,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment .

All things that we ordainèd festival
Turn from their office to black funeral :
Our instruments to melancholy bells ,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast ,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse ,
And all things change them to the contrary .

Sir , go you in , and , madam , go with him ,
And go , Sir Paris . Everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave .
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill .
Move them no more by crossing their high will .

All but the Nurse and the Musicians exit .

Faith , we may put up our pipes and be gone .

Honest good fellows , ah , put up , put up ,
For , well you know , this is a pitiful case .

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

Nurse exits .

Enter Peter .

Musicians , O musicians , Heart’s ease ,
Heart’s ease . O , an you will have me live , play
Heart’s ease .

Why Heart’s ease ?

O musicians , because my heart itself plays “ My
heart is full . ” O , play me some merry dump to
comfort me .

Not a dump , we . ’Tis no time to play
now .

You will not then ?

No .

I will then give it you soundly .

What will you give us ?

No money , on my faith , but the gleek . I will give
you the minstrel .

Then will I give you the
serving-creature .

Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on
your pate . I will carry no crochets . 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 wit .

When griping griefs the heart doth wound
And doleful dumps the mind oppress ,
Then music with her silver sound —
Then have at you with my wit . I will dry-beat
you with an iron wit , and put up my iron dagger .
Answer me like men .
Why “ silver sound ” ? Why “ music with her silver
sound ” ? What say you , Simon Catling ?

Sings .

Marry , sir , because silver hath a
sweet sound .

Prates . — What say you , Hugh Rebeck ?

I say “ silver sound ” because musicians
sound for silver .

Prates too . — What say you , James Soundpost ?

Faith , I know not what to say .

Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress .
O , I cry you mercy . You are the singer . I will say
for you . It is “ music with her silver sound ” because
musicians have no gold for sounding :

Sings .

He exits .

What a pestilent knave is this same !

Hang him , Jack . Come , we’ll in
here , tarry for the mourners , and stay dinner .

They exit .

Enter Romeo .

If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep ,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand .
My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne ,
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts .
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead
( Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think ! )
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips
That I revived and was an emperor .
Ah me , how sweet is love itself possessed
When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy !
News from Verona ! — How now , Balthasar ?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar ?
How doth my lady ? Is my father well ?
How doth my Juliet ? That I ask again ,
For nothing can be ill if she be well .

Enter Romeo’s man Balthasar , in riding boots .

Then she is well and nothing can be ill .
Her body sleeps in Capels’ monument ,
And her immortal part with angels lives .
I saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault
And presently took post to tell it you .
O , pardon me for bringing these ill news ,
Since you did leave it for my office , sir .

Is it e’en so ? — Then I deny you , stars ! —
Thou knowest my lodging . Get me ink and paper ,
And hire post-horses . I will hence tonight .

I do beseech you , sir , have patience .
Your looks are pale and wild and do import
Some misadventure .

Tush , thou art deceived .
Leave me , and do the thing I bid thee do .
Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar ?

No , my good lord .

No matter . Get thee gone ,
And hire those horses . I’ll be with thee straight .
Well , Juliet , I will lie with thee tonight .
Let’s see for means . O mischief , thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men .
I do remember an apothecary
( And hereabouts he dwells ) which late I noted
In tattered weeds , with overwhelming brows ,
Culling of simples . Meager were his looks .
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones .
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung ,
An alligator stuffed , 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 scattered to make up a show .
Noting this penury , to myself I said
“ An if a man did need a poison now ,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua ,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him . ”
O , this same thought did but forerun my need ,
And this same needy man must sell it me .
As I remember , this should be the house .
Being holiday , the beggar’s shop is shut . —
What ho , Apothecary !

Balthasar exits .

Enter Apothecary .

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 will disperse itself through all the veins ,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead ,
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
As violently as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb .

He offers money .

Such mortal drugs I have , but Mantua’s law
Is death to any he that utters them .

Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness ,
And fearest to die ? Famine is in thy cheeks ,
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes ,
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back .
The world is not thy friend , nor the world’s law .
The world affords no law to make thee rich .
Then be not poor , but break it , and take this .

My poverty , but not my will , consents .

I pay thy poverty and not thy will .

Put this in any liquid thing you will
And drink it off , and if you had the strength
Of twenty men , it would dispatch you straight .

, giving him the poison

There is thy gold , worse poison to men’s souls ,
Doing more murder in this loathsome world
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell .
I sell thee poison ; thou hast sold me none .
Farewell , buy food , and get thyself in flesh .
Come , cordial and not poison , go with me
To Juliet’s grave , for there must I use thee .

, handing him the money

Apothecary exits .

He exits .

Enter Friar John .

Holy Franciscan friar , brother , ho !

Enter Friar Lawrence .

This same should be the voice of Friar John . —
Welcome from Mantua . What says Romeo ?
Or , if his mind be writ , give me his letter .

Going to find a barefoot brother out ,
One of our order , to associate me ,
Here in this city visiting the sick ,
And finding him , the searchers of the town ,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign ,
Sealed up the doors and would not let us forth ,
So that my speed to Mantua there was stayed .

Who bare my letter , then , to Romeo ?

I could not send it — here it is again —
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee ,
So fearful were they of infection .

Returning the letter .

Unhappy fortune ! By my brotherhood ,
The letter was 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 crow and bring it straight
Unto my cell .

Brother , I’ll go and bring it thee .

He exits .

Now must I to the monument alone .
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake .
She will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents .
But I will write again to Mantua ,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come .
Poor living corse , closed in a dead man’s tomb !

He exits .

Enter Paris and his Page .

Give me thy torch , boy . Hence and stand aloof .
Yet put it out , for I would not be seen .
Under yond yew trees lay thee all along ,
Holding thy ear close to the hollow ground .
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread
( Being loose , unfirm , with digging up of graves )
But thou shalt hear it . Whistle then to me
As signal that thou hearest something approach .
Give me those flowers . Do as I bid thee . Go .

I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard . Yet I will adventure .

, aside

He moves away from Paris .

Sweet flower , with flowers thy bridal bed I strew
( O woe , thy canopy is dust and stones ! )
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew ,
Or , wanting that , with tears distilled by moans .
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep .
The boy gives warning something doth approach .
What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight ,
To cross my obsequies and true love’s rite ?
What , with a torch ? Muffle me , night , awhile .

, scattering flowers

Page whistles .

He steps aside .

Enter Romeo and Balthasar .

Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron .
Hold , take this letter . Early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father .
Give me the light . Upon thy life I charge thee ,
Whate’er thou hearest 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 , begone .
But , if thou , jealous , dost return to pry
In what I farther shall intend to do ,
By heaven , I will tear thee joint by joint
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs .
The time and my intents are savage-wild ,
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea .

I will be gone , sir , and not trouble you .

So shalt thou show me friendship . Take thou that .
Live and be prosperous , and farewell , good fellow .

Giving money .

For all this same , I’ll hide me hereabout .
His looks I fear , and his intents I doubt .

, aside

He steps aside .

Thou detestable maw , thou womb of death ,
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth ,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open ,
And in despite I’ll cram thee with more food .

, beginning to force open the tomb

This is that banished haughty Montague
That murdered my love’s cousin , with which grief
It is supposèd the fair creature died ,
And here is come to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies . I will apprehend him .
Stop thy unhallowed toil , vile Montague .
Can vengeance be pursued further than death ?
Condemnèd villain , I do apprehend thee .
Obey and go with me , for thou must die .

Stepping forward .

I must indeed , and therefore came I hither .
Good gentle youth , tempt not a desp’rate 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 , begone !
By heaven , I love thee better than myself ,
For I come hither armed against myself .
Stay not , begone , live , and hereafter say
A madman’s mercy bid thee run away .

I do defy thy commination
And apprehend thee for a felon here .

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

They draw and fight .

O Lord , they fight ! I will go call the watch .

He exits .

O , I am slain ! If thou be merciful ,
Open the tomb ; lay me with Juliet .

He dies .

In faith , I will . — Let me peruse this face .
Mercutio’s kinsman , noble County Paris !
What said my man when my betossèd soul
Did not attend him as we rode ? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet .
Said he not so ? Or did I dream it so ?
Or am I mad , hearing him talk of Juliet ,
To think it was so ? — O , give me thy hand ,
One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book !
I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave . —
A grave ? O , no . A lantern , slaughtered youth ,
For here lies Juliet , and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light . —
Death , lie thou there , by a dead man interred .
How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry , which their keepers call
A light’ning before death ! O , how may I
Call this a light’ning ? — O my love , my wife ,
Death , that hath sucked the honey of thy breath ,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty .
Thou art not conquered . Beauty’s ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks ,
And death’s pale flag is not advancèd there . —
Tybalt , liest thou there in thy bloody sheet ?
O , what more favor can I do to thee
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine enemy ?
Forgive me , cousin . — Ah , dear Juliet ,
Why art thou yet so fair ? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous ,
And that the lean abhorrèd monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour ?
For fear of that I still will stay with thee
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again . Here , here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids . O , here
Will I set up my everlasting rest
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh ! Eyes , look your last .
Arms , take your last embrace . And , lips , O , you
The doors of breath , seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death .
Come , bitter conduct , come , unsavory guide !
Thou desperate pilot , now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark !
Here’s to my love . Drinking . O true apothecary ,
Thy drugs are quick . Thus with a kiss I die .

He opens the tomb .

Laying Paris in the tomb .

Kissing Juliet .

Drinking .

He dies .

Enter Friar Lawrence with lantern , crow , and spade .

Saint Francis be my speed ! How oft tonight
Have my old feet stumbled at graves ! — Who’s there ?

Here’s one , a friend , and one that knows you well .

Bliss be upon you . Tell me , good my friend ,
What torch is yond that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls ? As I discern ,
It burneth in the Capels’ monument .

It doth so , holy sir , and there’s my master ,
One that you love .

Who is it ?

Romeo .

How long hath he been there ?

Full half an hour .

Go with me to the vault .

I dare not , sir .
My master knows not but I am gone hence ,
And fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on his intents .

Stay , then . I’ll go alone . Fear comes upon me .
O , much I fear some ill unthrifty thing .

As I did sleep under this yew tree here ,
I dreamt my master and another fought ,
And that my master slew him .

Romeo ! —
Alack , alack , what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulcher ?
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolored by this place of peace ?
Romeo ! O , pale ! Who else ? What , Paris too ?
And steeped in blood ? Ah , what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance !
The lady stirs .

, moving toward the tomb

O comfortable friar , where is my lord ?
I do remember well where I should be ,
And there I am . Where is my Romeo ?

I hear some noise . — Lady , come from that nest
Of death , contagion , and unnatural sleep .
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents . Come , come away .
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ,
And Paris , too . Come , I’ll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns .
Stay not to question , for the watch is coming .
Come , go , good Juliet . I dare no longer stay .

Go , get thee hence , for I will not away .
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
To help me after ! I will kiss thy lips .
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them ,
To make me die with a restorative .
Thy lips are warm !

He exits .

She kisses him .

Enter Paris’s Page and Watch .

Lead , boy . Which way ?

Yea , noise ? Then I’ll be brief . O , happy dagger ,
This is thy sheath . There rust , and let me die .

She takes Romeo’s dagger , stabs herself , and dies .

This is the place , there where the torch doth burn .

The ground is bloody . — Search about the churchyard .
Go , some of you ; whoe’er you find , attach .
Pitiful sight ! Here lies the County slain ,
And Juliet bleeding , warm , and newly dead ,
Who here hath lain this two days burièd . —
Go , tell the Prince . Run to the Capulets .
Raise up the Montagues . Some others search .
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ,
But the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance descry .

Some watchmen exit .

Others exit .

Enter Watchmen with Romeo’s man Balthasar .

Enter Watchmen

with Romeo’s man Balthasar .

Here’s Romeo’s man . We found him in the churchyard .

Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither .

Enter Friar Lawrence and another Watchman .

Here is a friar that trembles , sighs , and weeps .
We took this mattock and this spade from him
As he was coming from this churchyard’s side .

A great suspicion . Stay the Friar too .

Enter the Prince with Attendants .

What misadventure is so early up
That calls our person from our morning rest ?

Enter Capulet and Lady Capulet .

What should it be that is so shrieked abroad ?

O , the people in the street cry “ Romeo , ”
Some “ Juliet , ” and some “ Paris , ” and all run
With open outcry toward our monument .

What fear is this which startles in our ears ?

Sovereign , here lies the County Paris slain ,
And Romeo dead , and Juliet , dead before ,
Warm and new killed .

Search , seek , and know how this foul murder comes .

Here is a friar , and slaughtered Romeo’s man ,
With instruments upon them fit to open
These dead men’s tombs .

O heavens ! O wife , look how our daughter bleeds !
This dagger hath mista’en , for , lo , his house
Is empty on the back of Montague ,
And it mis-sheathèd in my daughter’s bosom .

O me , this sight of death is as a bell
That warns my old age to a sepulcher .

Enter Montague .

Come , Montague , for thou art early up
To see thy son and heir now early down .

Alas , my liege , my wife is dead tonight .
Grief of my son’s exile hath stopped her breath .
What further woe conspires against mine age ?

Look , and thou shalt see .

O thou untaught ! What manners is in this ,
To press before thy father to a grave ?

, seeing Romeo dead

Seal up the mouth of outrage for awhile ,
Till we can clear these ambiguities
And know their spring , their head , their true descent ,
And then will I be general of your woes
And lead you even to death . Meantime forbear ,
And let mischance be slave to patience . —
Bring forth the parties of suspicion .

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 condemnèd and myself excused .

Then say at once what thou dost know in this .

I will be brief , for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale .
Romeo , there dead , was husband to that Juliet ,
And she , there dead , that Romeo’s faithful wife .
I married them , and their stol’n marriage day
Was Tybalt’s doomsday , whose untimely death
Banished the new-made bridegroom from this city ,
For whom , and not for Tybalt , Juliet pined .
You , to remove that siege of grief from her ,
Betrothed and would have married her perforce
To County Paris . Then comes she to me ,
And with wild looks bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage ,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself .
Then gave I her ( so tutored by my art )
A sleeping potion , which so took effect
As I intended , for it wrought on her
The form of death . Meantime I writ to Romeo
That he should hither come as this dire night
To help to take her from her borrowed grave ,
Being the time the potion’s force should cease .
But he which bore my letter , Friar John ,
Was stayed by accident , and yesternight
Returned my letter back . Then all alone
At the prefixèd hour of her waking
Came I to take her from her kindred’s vault ,
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo .
But when I came , some minute ere the time
Of her awakening , here untimely lay
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead .
She wakes , and I entreated her come forth
And bear this work of heaven with patience .
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ,
And she , too desperate , would not go with me
But , as it seems , did violence on herself .
All this I know , and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy . And if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault , let my old life
Be sacrificed some hour before his time
Unto the rigor of severest law .

We still have known thee for a holy man . —
Where’s Romeo’s man ? What can he say to this ?

I brought my master news of Juliet’s death ,
And then in post he came from Mantua
To this same place , to this same monument .
This letter he early bid me give his father
And threatened me with death , going in the vault ,
If I departed not and left him there .

Give me the letter . I will look on it . —
Where is the County’s page , that raised the watch ? —
Sirrah , what made your master in this place ?

He takes Romeo’s letter .

He came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave
And bid me stand aloof , and so I did .
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb ,
And by and by my master drew on him ,
And then I ran away to call the watch .

This letter doth make good the Friar’s words ,
Their course of love , the tidings of her death ;
And here he writes that he did buy a poison
Of a poor ’pothecary , and therewithal
Came to this vault to die and lie with Juliet .
Where be these enemies ? — Capulet , Montague ,
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate ,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love ,
And I , for winking at your discords too ,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen . All are punished .

O brother Montague , give me thy hand .
This is my daughter’s jointure , for no more
Can I demand .

But I can give thee more ,
For I will ray her statue in pure gold ,
That whiles Verona by that name is known ,
There shall no figure at such rate be set
As that of true and faithful Juliet .

As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie ,
Poor sacrifices of our enmity .

A glooming peace this morning with it brings .
The sun for sorrow will not show his head .
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things .
Some shall be pardoned , and some punishèd .
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo .

All exit .

Author: William Shakespeare
Publication: The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), February, 2017, Rom
Editors: Barbara A. Mowat, Paul Werstine, Barbara A. Mowat, Paul Werstine
Encoded in TEI Simple by: Martin Mueller, Michael Poston
Linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner by: Philip R. Burns, Martin Mueller
Edited for XML and encoded by: Michael Poston, Rebecca Niles
Source: https://www.folgerdigitaltexts.org/download/teisimple/Rom.xml