Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespear

ACT I
PROLOGUE

Two households, both alike in dignity,
    In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
    From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
    Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
    From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
    A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
    Whole misadventured piteous overthrows
    Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
    The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
    And the continuance of their parents' rage,
    Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,
    Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
    The which if you with patient ears attend,
    What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

SCENE I. Verona. A public place.

Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers

SAMPSON

Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

GREGORY

No, for then we should be colliers.

SAMPSON

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

GREGORY

Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.

SAMPSON

I strike quickly, being moved.

GREGORY

But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

SAMPSON

A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

GREGORY

To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
    therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

SAMPSON

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

GREGORY

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

SAMPSON

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.

GREGORY

The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

SAMPSON

'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I
    have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the
    maids, and cut off their heads.

GREGORY

The heads of the maids?

SAMPSON

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

GREGORY

They must take it in sense that feel it.

SAMPSON

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

GREGORY

'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou
    hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes
    two of the house of the Montagues.

SAMPSON

My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

GREGORY

How! turn thy back and run?

SAMPSON

Fear me not.

GREGORY

No, marry; I fear thee!

SAMPSON

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

GREGORY

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

SAMPSON

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

Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR

ABRAHAM

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON

I do bite my thumb, sir.

ABRAHAM

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON

[Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say
    ay?

GREGORY

No.

SAMPSON

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

GREGORY

Do you quarrel, sir?

ABRAHAM

Quarrel sir! no, sir.

SAMPSON

If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.

ABRAHAM

No better.

SAMPSON

Well, sir.

GREGORY

Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

SAMPSON

Yes, better, sir.

ABRAHAM

You lie.

SAMPSON

Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

They fight

Enter BENVOLIO

BENVOLIO

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

Beats down their swords

Enter TYBALT

TYBALT

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

BENVOLIO

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

TYBALT

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, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs

First Citizen

Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
    Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET

CAPULET

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

LADY CAPULET

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

CAPULET

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

Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE

MONTAGUE

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

LADY MONTAGUE

Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

Enter PRINCE, with Attendants

PRINCE

Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
    Profaners of this neighbour-stained 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 mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
    And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
    Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
    By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
    Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
    And made Verona's ancient citizens
    Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
    To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
    Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
    If ever you disturb our streets again,
    Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
    For this time, all the rest depart away:
    You Capulet; shall go along with me:
    And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
    To know our further pleasure in this case,
    To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
    Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO

MONTAGUE

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

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 hiss'd 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.

LADY MONTAGUE

O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?
    Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

BENVOLIO

Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
    Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
    A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
    Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
    That westward rooteth from the city's 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,
    That most are busied when they're most alone,
    Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
    And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

MONTAGUE

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

BENVOLIO

My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

MONTAGUE

I neither know it nor can learn of him.

BENVOLIO

Have you importuned him by any means?

MONTAGUE

Both by myself and many other friends:
    But he, his own affections' counsellor,
    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 sun.
    Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
    We would as willingly give cure as know.

Enter ROMEO

BENVOLIO

See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
    I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

MONTAGUE

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

Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE

BENVOLIO

Good-morrow, cousin.

ROMEO

Is the day so young?

BENVOLIO

But new struck nine.

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

In love?

ROMEO

Out--

BENVOLIO

Of love?

ROMEO

Out of her favour, where I am in love.

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

No, coz, I rather weep.

ROMEO

Good heart, at what?

BENVOLIO

At thy good heart's oppression.

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
    This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

BENVOLIO

Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.

ROMEO

What, shall I groan and tell thee?

BENVOLIO

Groan! why, no.
    But sadly tell me who.

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
    With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;
    And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
    From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
    She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
    Nor bide the 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.

BENVOLIO

Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

ROMEO

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.

BENVOLIO

Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.

ROMEO

O, teach me how I should forget to think.

BENVOLIO

By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
    Examine other beauties.

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

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

Exeunt

SCENE II. A street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant

CAPULET

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.

PARIS

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

CAPULET

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.

PARIS

Younger than she are happy mothers made.

CAPULET

And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
    The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
    She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
    But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
    My will to her consent is but a part;
    An she agree, within her scope of choice
    Lies my consent and fair according voice.
    This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
    Whereto I have invited many a guest,
    Such as I love; and you, among the store,
    One more, most 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-apparell'd April on the heel
    Of limping winter treads, even such delight
    Among fresh female 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 reckoning none,
    Come, go with me.

To Servant, giving a paper
    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.

Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS

Servant

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

BENVOLIO

Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,
    One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
    Turn giddy, and be holp 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.

ROMEO

Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.

BENVOLIO

For what, I pray thee?

ROMEO

For your broken shin.

BENVOLIO

Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

ROMEO

Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;
    Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
    Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.

Servant

God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?

ROMEO

Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Servant

Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I
    pray, can you read any thing you see?

ROMEO

Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

Servant

Ye say honestly: rest you merry!

ROMEO

Stay, fellow; I can read.

Reads
    'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
    County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady
    widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely
    nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine
    uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece
    Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin
    Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair
    assembly: whither should they come?

Servant

Up.

ROMEO

Whither?

Servant

To supper; to our house.

ROMEO

Whose house?

Servant

My master's.

ROMEO

Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.

Servant

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!

Exit

BENVOLIO

At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
    Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,
    With all the admired 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.

ROMEO

When the devout religion of mine eye
    Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
    And these, who often drown'd 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.

BENVOLIO

Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
    Herself poised with herself in either eye:
    But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
    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 shows best.

ROMEO

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

Exeunt

SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house.

Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse

LADY CAPULET

Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse

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

JULIET

How now! who calls?

Nurse

Your mother.

JULIET

Madam, I am here.
    What is your will?

LADY CAPULET

This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile,
    We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;
    I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
    Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse

Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

LADY CAPULET

She's not fourteen.

Nurse

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--
    And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--
    She is not fourteen. How long is it now
    To Lammas-tide?

LADY CAPULET

A fortnight and odd days.

Nurse

Even or odd, of all days in the year,
    Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.
    Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--
    Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;
    She was too good for me: but, as I said,
    On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
    That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
    'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
    And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,--
    Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
    For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
    Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;
    My lord and you were then at Mantua:--
    Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,
    When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
    Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
    To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!
    Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,
    To bid me trudge:
    And since that time it is eleven years;
    For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
    She could have run and waddled all about;
    For even the day before, she broke her brow:
    And then my husband--God be with his soul!
    A' was a merry man--took up the child:
    'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?
    Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;
    Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
    The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'
    To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
    I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
    I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;
    And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'

LADY CAPULET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

LADY CAPULET

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

JULIET

It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse

An honour! were not I thine only nurse,
    I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

LADY CAPULET

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

Nurse

A man, young lady! lady, such a man
    As all the world--why, he's a man of wax.

LADY CAPULET

Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse

Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

LADY CAPULET

What say you? can you love the gentleman?
    This night you shall behold him at our feast;
    Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
    And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
    Examine every married lineament,
    And see how one another lends content
    And what 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.

Nurse

No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men.

LADY CAPULET

Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

JULIET

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

Enter a Servant

Servant

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

LADY CAPULET

We follow thee.

Exit Servant
    Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse

Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

Exeunt

SCENE IV. A street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

ROMEO

Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes
    With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead
    So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

MERCUTIO

You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,
    And soar with them above a common bound.

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:
    If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
    Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
    Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!

ROMEO

Nay, that's not so.

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

And we mean well in going to this mask;
    But 'tis no wit to go.

MERCUTIO

Why, may one ask?

ROMEO

I dream'd a dream to-night.

MERCUTIO

And so did I.

ROMEO

Well, what was yours?

MERCUTIO

That dreamers often lie.

ROMEO

In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

MERCUTIO

O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
    She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
    In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
    On the fore-finger of an alderman,
    Drawn with a team of little atomies
    Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
    Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,
    The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
    The traces of the smallest spider's web,
    The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
    Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
    Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
    Not so big as a round little worm
    Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
    Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
    Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
    Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
    And in this state she gallops night by night
    Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
    O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
    O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
    O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
    Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
    Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
    Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
    And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
    And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail
    Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,
    Then dreams, he of another benefice:
    Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
    And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
    Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
    Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon
    Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
    And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
    And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
    That plats the manes of horses in the night,
    And bakes the 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--

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;
    Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

ROMEO

I fear, too early: for my mind misgives
    Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
    Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
    With this night's revels and expire the term
    Of a despised life 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.

BENVOLIO

Strike, drum.

Exeunt

SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins

First Servant

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

Second Servant

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

First Servant

Away with the joint-stools, remove the
    court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save
    me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let
    the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
    Antony, and Potpan!

Second Servant

Ay, boy, ready.

First Servant

You are looked for and called for, asked for and
    sought for, in the great chamber.

Second Servant

We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be
    brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers

CAPULET

Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes
    Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.
    Ah ha, 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 ye 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.

Music plays, and they dance
    More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,
    And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
    Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-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?

Second Capulet

By'r lady, thirty years.

CAPULET

What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:
    'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,
    Come pentecost as quickly as it will,
    Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

Second Capulet

'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir;
    His son is thirty.

CAPULET

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

ROMEO

[To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth
    enrich the hand
    Of yonder knight?

Servant

I know not, sir.

ROMEO

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
    It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
    Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope'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 blessed my rude hand.
    Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
    For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

TYBALT

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

CAPULET

Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

TYBALT

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

CAPULET

Young Romeo is it?

TYBALT

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET

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-govern'd youth:
    I would not for the wealth of all the 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,
    And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

TYBALT

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

CAPULET

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!

TYBALT

Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

CAPULET

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!

TYBALT

Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
    Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
    I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall
    Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.

Exit

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

ROMEO

Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

ROMEO

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

JULIET

You kiss by the book.

Nurse

Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

ROMEO

What is her mother?

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

ROMEO

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

CAPULET

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

Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse

JULIET

Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?

Nurse

The son and heir of old Tiberio.

JULIET

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

Nurse

Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.

JULIET

What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse

I know not.

JULIET

Go ask his name: if he be married.
    My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse

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

JULIET

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

Nurse

What's this? what's this?

JULIET

A rhyme I learn'd even now
    Of one I danced withal.

One calls within 'Juliet.'

Nurse

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

Exeunt

ACT II
PROLOGUE

Enter Chorus

Chorus

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
    And young affection gapes to be his heir;
    That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,
    With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
    Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,
    Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,
    But to his foe supposed he must complain,
    And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:
    Being held a foe, he may not have access
    To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
    And she as much in love, her means much less
    To meet her new-beloved any where:
    But passion lends them power, time means, to meet
    Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

Exit

SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEO

ROMEO

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

He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO

BENVOLIO

Romeo! my cousin Romeo!

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:
    Call, good Mercutio.

MERCUTIO

Nay, I'll conjure too.
    Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!
    Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:
    Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
    Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'
    Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
    One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
    Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
    When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!
    He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
    The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
    I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
    By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
    By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh
    And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
    That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

BENVOLIO

And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

MERCUTIO

This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
    To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
    Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
    Till she had laid it and conjured it down;
    That were some spite: my invocation
    Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name
    I conjure only but to raise up him.

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

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

Exeunt

SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEO

ROMEO

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

JULIET appears above at a window
    But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
    It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
    Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
    Who is already sick and pale with grief,
    That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
    Be not her maid, since she is envious;
    Her vestal livery is but sick and green
    And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
    It is my lady, O, it is my love!
    O, that she knew she were!
    She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
    Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
    I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
    Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
    Having some business, do entreat her eyes
    To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
    What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
    The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
    As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
    Would through the airy region stream so bright
    That birds would sing and think it were not night.
    See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
    O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
    That I might touch that cheek!

JULIET

Ay me!

ROMEO

She speaks:
    O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
    As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
    As is a winged messenger of heaven
    Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
    Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
    When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
    And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

ROMEO

Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

JULIET

How 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.

ROMEO

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
    For stony limits cannot hold love out,
    And what love can do that dares love attempt;
    Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

JULIET

If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

ROMEO

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

JULIET

I would not for the world they saw thee here.

ROMEO

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

JULIET

By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

ROMEO

By love, who 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 wash'd with the farthest sea,
    I would adventure for such merchandise.

JULIET

Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
    Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
    For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
    Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
    What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
    Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
    And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
    Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
    Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
    If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
    Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
    I'll frown and be perverse an 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 cunning to be strange.
    I should have been more strange, I must confess,
    But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
    My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
    And not impute this yielding to light love,
    Which the dark night hath so discovered.

ROMEO

Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
    That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--

JULIET

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

ROMEO

What shall I swear by?

JULIET

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

ROMEO

If my heart's dear love--

JULIET

Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
    I have no joy of this contract to-night:
    It is too rash, too 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!

ROMEO

O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

JULIET

What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

ROMEO

The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

JULIET

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

ROMEO

Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

JULIET

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

Nurse calls within
    I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
    Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
    Stay but a little, I will come again.

Exit, above

ROMEO

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

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIET

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

Nurse

[Within] Madam!

JULIET

I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
    I do beseech thee--

Nurse

[Within] Madam!

JULIET

By and by, I come:--
    To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
    To-morrow will I send.

ROMEO

So thrive my soul--

JULIET

A thousand times good night!

Exit, above

ROMEO

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.

Retiring

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

Romeo!

ROMEO

My dear?

JULIET

At what o'clock to-morrow
    Shall I send to thee?

ROMEO

At the hour of nine.

JULIET

I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
    I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEO

Let me stand here till thou remember it.

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
    And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
    Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
    Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
    And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
    So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROMEO

I would I were thy bird.

JULIET

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

Exit above

ROMEO

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

Exit

SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket

FRIAR LAURENCE

The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
    Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
    And flecked 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 up-fill this osier cage of ours
    With baleful weeds and precious-juiced 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 herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
    For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
    But to the earth some special good doth give,
    Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use
    Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
    Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
    And vice sometimes by action dignified.
    Within the infant rind of this small flower
    Poison hath residence and medicine power:
    For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
    Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
    Two such opposed 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

ROMEO

Good morrow, father.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Benedicite!
    What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
    Young son, it argues a distemper'd 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 unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
    Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
    Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
    Thou art up-roused by some distemperature;
    Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
    Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

ROMEO

That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

FRIAR LAURENCE

God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?

ROMEO

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then?

ROMEO

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, blessed man, for, lo,
    My intercession likewise steads my foe.

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

ROMEO

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 woo'd and made exchange of vow,
    I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
    That thou consent to marry us to-day.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
    Is Rosaline, whom 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 wash'd 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 ring yet in my ancient ears;
    Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
    Of an old tear that is not wash'd 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.

ROMEO

Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

FRIAR LAURENCE

For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

ROMEO

And bad'st me bury love.

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

ROMEO

I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now
    Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
    The other did not so.

FRIAR LAURENCE

O, she knew well
    Thy love did read by rote and 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' rancour to pure love.

ROMEO

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.

Exeunt

SCENE IV. A street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

A challenge, on my life.

BENVOLIO

Romeo will answer it.

MERCUTIO

Any man that can write may answer a letter.

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a
    white wench's black eye; shot 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?

BENVOLIO

Why, what is Tybalt?

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

The what?

MERCUTIO

The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
    fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! '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
    perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form,
    that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their
    bones, their bones!

Enter ROMEO

BENVOLIO

Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

MERCUTIO

Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,
    how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers
    that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a
    kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to
    be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
    Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey
    eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior
    Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
    to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
    fairly last night.

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

Meaning, to court'sy.

MERCUTIO

Thou hast most kindly hit it.

ROMEO

A most courteous exposition.

MERCUTIO

Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

ROMEO

Pink for flower.

MERCUTIO

Right.

ROMEO

Why, then is my pump well flowered.

MERCUTIO

Well said: 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 sole singular.

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have
    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?

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

ROMEO

Nay, good goose, bite not.

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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 drivelling love is like a great natural,
    that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

BENVOLIO

Stop there, stop there.

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

MERCUTIO

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.

ROMEO

Here's goodly gear!

Enter Nurse and PETER

MERCUTIO

A sail, a sail!

BENVOLIO

Two, two; a shirt and a smock.

Nurse

Peter!

PETER

Anon!

Nurse

My fan, Peter.

MERCUTIO

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

Nurse

God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

MERCUTIO

God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.

Nurse

Is it good den?

MERCUTIO

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

Nurse

Out upon you! what a man are you!

ROMEO

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

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

Nurse

You say well.

MERCUTIO

Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith;
    wisely, wisely.

Nurse

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

BENVOLIO

She will indite him to some supper.

MERCUTIO

A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho!

ROMEO

What hast thou found?

MERCUTIO

No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie,
    that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

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

ROMEO

I will follow you.

MERCUTIO

Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,

Singing
    'lady, lady, lady.'

Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

Nurse

An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him
    down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such
    Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.
    Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am
    none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by
    too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

PETER

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

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

Nurse

I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as
    I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

ROMEO

Bid her devise
    Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
    And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell
    Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.

Nurse

No truly sir; not a penny.

ROMEO

Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

Nurse

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

ROMEO

What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

Nurse

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

ROMEO

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

NURSE

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

ROMEO

Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.

Nurse

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

ROMEO

Commend me to thy lady.

Nurse

Ay, a thousand times.

Exit Romeo
    Peter!

PETER

Anon!

Nurse

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

Exeunt

SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.

Enter JULIET

JULIET

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

Enter Nurse and PETER
    O honey nurse, what news?
    Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

Nurse

Peter, stay at the gate.

Exit PETER

JULIET

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

Nurse

I am a-weary, give me leave awhile:
    Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

Where is my mother! why, she is within;
    Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!
    'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
    Where is your mother?'

Nurse

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

JULIET

Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo?

Nurse

Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?

JULIET

I have.

Nurse

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

JULIET

Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.

Exeunt

SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

ROMEO

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

These violent delights have violent ends
    And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
    Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey
    Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
    And in the taste confounds the appetite:
    Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
    Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Enter JULIET
    Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot
    Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
    A lover may bestride the gossamer
    That idles in the wanton summer air,
    And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

JULIET

Good even to my ghostly confessor.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

Exeunt

ACT III
SCENE I. A public place.

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

Am I like such a fellow?

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

And what to?

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

The fee-simple! O simple!

BENVOLIO

By my head, here come the Capulets.

MERCUTIO

By my heel, I care not.

Enter TYBALT and others

TYBALT

Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
    Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.

MERCUTIO

And but one word with one of us? couple it with
    something; make it a word and a blow.

TYBALT

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

MERCUTIO

Could you not take some occasion without giving?

TYBALT

Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

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

MERCUTIO

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

Enter ROMEO

TYBALT

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

MERCUTIO

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

TYBALT

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

ROMEO

Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
    Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
    To such a greeting: villain am I none;
    Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.

TYBALT

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

ROMEO

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

MERCUTIO

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

Draws
    Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

TYBALT

What wouldst thou have with me?

MERCUTIO

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

TYBALT

I am for you.

Drawing

ROMEO

Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

MERCUTIO

Come, sir, your passado.

They fight

ROMEO

Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
    Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
    Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
    Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:
    Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers

MERCUTIO

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

BENVOLIO

What, art thou hurt?

MERCUTIO

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

Exit Page

ROMEO

Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

MERCUTIO

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

ROMEO

I thought all for the best.

MERCUTIO

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

Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO

ROMEO

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

Re-enter BENVOLIO

BENVOLIO

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

ROMEO

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

BENVOLIO

Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

ROMEO

Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
    Away to heaven, respective lenity,
    And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!

Re-enter TYBALT
    Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
    That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul
    Is but a little way above our heads,
    Staying for thine to keep him company:
    Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

TYBALT

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

ROMEO

This shall determine that.

They fight; TYBALT falls

BENVOLIO

Romeo, away, be gone!
    The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
    Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death,
    If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!

ROMEO

O, I am fortune's fool!

BENVOLIO

Why dost thou stay?

Exit ROMEO

Enter Citizens, & c

First Citizen

Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
    Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

BENVOLIO

There lies that Tybalt.

First Citizen

Up, sir, go with me;
    I charge thee in the princes name, obey.

Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others

PRINCE

Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

BENVOLIO

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

LADY CAPULET

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

PRINCE

Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

BENVOLIO

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

LADY CAPULET

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

PRINCE

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

MONTAGUE

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

PRINCE

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

Exeunt

SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.

Enter JULIET

JULIET

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

Enter Nurse, with cords
    Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords
    That Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurse

Ay, ay, the cords.

Throws them down

JULIET

Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse

Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
    We are undone, lady, we are undone!
    Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

JULIET

Can heaven be so envious?

Nurse

Romeo can,
    Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!
    Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!

JULIET

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

Nurse

I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,--
    God save the mark!--here on his manly breast:
    A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
    Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
    All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

What storm is this that blows so contrary?
    Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?
    My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?
    Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
    For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse

Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
    Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

JULIET

O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse

It did, it did; alas the day, it did!

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

Blister'd be thy tongue
    For such a wish! he was not born to shame:
    Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;
    For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
    Sole monarch of the universal earth.
    O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Nurse

Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

JULIET

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

Nurse

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

JULIET

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

Nurse

Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
    To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
    Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:
    I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.

JULIET

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

Exeunt

SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE

FRIAR LAURENCE

Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:
    Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
    And thou art wedded to calamity.

Enter ROMEO

ROMEO

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

ROMEO

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
    Not body's death, but body's banishment.

ROMEO

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

Hence from Verona art thou banished:
    Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

ROMEO

There is no world without Verona walls,
    But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
    Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
    And world's exile is death: then banished,
    Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,
    Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
    And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.

FRIAR LAURENCE

O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
    Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
    Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
    And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
    This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

ROMEO

'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 honourable state, more courtship lives
    In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my 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 banished:
    Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
    They are free men, but I am banished.
    And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?
    Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
    No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
    But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'?
    O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
    Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
    Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
    A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
    To mangle me with that word 'banished'?

FRIAR LAURENCE

Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.

ROMEO

O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.

FRIAR LAURENCE

I'll give thee armour to keep off that word:
    Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
    To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

ROMEO

Yet 'banished'? 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.

FRIAR LAURENCE

O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

ROMEO

How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

FRIAR LAURENCE

Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

ROMEO

Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:
    Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
    An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
    Doting like me and like me banished,
    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.

Knocking within

FRIAR LAURENCE

Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.

ROMEO

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

Knocking

FRIAR LAURENCE

Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;
    Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;

Knocking
    Run to my study. By and by! God's will,
    What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

Knocking
    Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

Nurse

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

Welcome, then.

Enter Nurse

Nurse

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

Nurse

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

ROMEO

Nurse!

Nurse

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

ROMEO

Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
    Doth she not think me an old murderer,
    Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
    With blood removed but little from her own?
    Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
    My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse

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.

ROMEO

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

Drawing his sword

FRIAR LAURENCE

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!
    Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
    Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
    I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
    Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
    And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,
    By doing damned hate upon thyself?
    Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
    Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
    In thee at once; 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 valour of a man;
    Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
    Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
    Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
    Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
    Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,
    Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
    And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
    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 slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:
    The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend
    And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
    A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;
    Happiness courts thee in her best array;
    But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,
    Thou pout'st 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.

Nurse

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

ROMEO

Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

Nurse

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

Exit

ROMEO

How well my comfort is revived by this!

FRIAR LAURENCE

Go hence; 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.

ROMEO

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

Exeunt

SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house.

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS

CAPULET

Things have fall'n 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 to-night:
    I promise you, but for your company,
    I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

PARIS

These times of woe afford no time to woo.
    Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

LADY CAPULET

I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
    To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

CAPULET

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?

PARIS

Monday, my lord,

CAPULET

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?

PARIS

My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.

CAPULET

Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.
    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 very late,
    That we may call it early by and by.
    Good night.

Exeunt

SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window

JULIET

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 yon pomegranate-tree:
    Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

ROMEO

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

JULIET

Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
    It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
    To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
    And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
    Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.

ROMEO

Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
    I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
    I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
    'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
    Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
    The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
    I have more care to stay than will to go:
    Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
    How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

Enter Nurse, to the chamber

Nurse

Madam!

JULIET

Nurse?

Nurse

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

Exit

JULIET

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

ROMEO

Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

He goeth down

JULIET

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!

ROMEO

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

JULIET

O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

ROMEO

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

JULIET

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

ROMEO

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

Exit

JULIET

O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
    If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
    That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
    For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
    But send him back.

LADY CAPULET

[Within] Ho, daughter! are you up?

JULIET

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

Enter LADY CAPULET

LADY CAPULET

Why, how now, Juliet!

JULIET

Madam, I am not well.

LADY CAPULET

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.

JULIET

Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

LADY CAPULET

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

JULIET

Feeling so the loss,
    Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

LADY CAPULET

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

JULIET

What villain madam?

LADY CAPULET

That same villain, Romeo.

JULIET

[Aside] 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.

LADY CAPULET

That is, because the traitor murderer lives.

JULIET

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

LADY CAPULET

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

JULIET

Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
    With Romeo, till I behold him--dead--
    Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd.
    Madam, if you could find out but a man
    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 slaughter'd him!

LADY CAPULET

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

JULIET

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

LADY CAPULET

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 expect'st not nor I look'd not for.

JULIET

Madam, in happy time, what day is that?

LADY CAPULET

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.

JULIET

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!

LADY CAPULET

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

Enter CAPULET and Nurse

CAPULET

When the sun sets, the air 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 showering? In one little body
    Thou counterfeit'st 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-tossed body. How now, wife!
    Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

LADY CAPULET

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

CAPULET

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 blest,
    Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
    So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

JULIET

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.

CAPULET

How now, how now, chop-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!

LADY CAPULET

Fie, fie! what, are you mad?

JULIET

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

CAPULET

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 blest
    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!

Nurse

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

CAPULET

And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
    Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse

I speak no treason.

CAPULET

O, God ye god-den.

Nurse

May not one speak?

CAPULET

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

LADY CAPULET

You are too hot.

CAPULET

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 match'd: and having now provided
    A gentleman of noble parentage,
    Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
    Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
    Proportion'd 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, as 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;
    And 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.

Exit

JULIET

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.

LADY CAPULET

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

Exit

JULIET

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 practise stratagems
    Upon so soft a subject as myself!
    What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
    Some comfort, nurse.

Nurse

Faith, here it is.
    Romeo is banish'd; 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.

JULIET

Speakest thou from thy heart?

Nurse

And from my soul too;
    Or else beshrew them both.

JULIET

Amen!

Nurse

What?

JULIET

Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
    Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,
    Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,
    To make confession and to be absolved.

Nurse

Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

Exit

JULIET

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, counsellor;
    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.

Exit

ACT IV
SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS

FRIAR LAURENCE

On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.

PARIS

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

You say you do not know the lady's mind:
    Uneven is the course, I like it not.

PARIS

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
    And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
    For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
    Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
    That she doth 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.

FRIAR LAURENCE

[Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
    Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

Enter JULIET

PARIS

Happily met, my lady and my wife!

JULIET

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

PARIS

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

JULIET

What must be shall be.

FRIAR LAURENCE

That's a certain text.

PARIS

Come you to make confession to this father?

JULIET

To answer that, I should confess to you.

PARIS

Do not deny to him that you love me.

JULIET

I will confess to you that I love him.

PARIS

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

JULIET

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

PARIS

Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.

JULIET

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

PARIS

Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

JULIET

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

PARIS

Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.

JULIET

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?

FRIAR LAURENCE

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

PARIS

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

Exit

JULIET

O shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
    Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

FRIAR LAURENCE

Ah, 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.

JULIET

Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st 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 join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
    And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
    Shall be the label to another deed,
    Or my true heart 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 honour bring.
    Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
    If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

FRIAR LAURENCE

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 copest with death himself to scape from it:
    And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.

JULIET

O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
    From off the battlements of yonder tower;
    Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
    Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
    Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
    O'er-cover'd 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 unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
    To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow:
    To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;
    Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
    Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
    And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
    When presently through all thy veins shall run
    A cold and drowsy humour, 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 borrow'd 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 uncover'd on the bier
    Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
    Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
    In the mean time, 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 valour in the acting it.

JULIET

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

FRIAR LAURENCE

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.

JULIET

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

Exeunt

SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house.

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen

CAPULET

So many guests invite as here are writ.

Exit First Servant
    Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

Second Servant

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

CAPULET

How canst thou try them so?

Second Servant

Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his
    own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his
    fingers goes not with me.

CAPULET

Go, be gone.

Exit Second Servant
    We shall be much unfurnished for this time.
    What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?

Nurse

Ay, forsooth.

CAPULET

Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
    A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Nurse

See where she comes from shrift with merry look.

Enter JULIET

CAPULET

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

JULIET

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

CAPULET

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

JULIET

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

CAPULET

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,
    Our whole city is much bound to him.

JULIET

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

LADY CAPULET

No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.

CAPULET

Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow.

Exeunt JULIET and Nurse

LADY CAPULET

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

CAPULET

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 to-night; 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 him up
    Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,
    Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

Exeunt

SCENE III. Juliet's chamber.

Enter JULIET and Nurse

JULIET

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

Enter LADY CAPULET

LADY CAPULET

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

JULIET

No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
    As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:
    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.

LADY CAPULET

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

Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse

JULIET

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 to-morrow morning?
    No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.

Laying down her dagger
    What if it be a poison, which the friar
    Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
    Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
    Because he married me before to Romeo?
    I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,
    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 these many hundred years, the bones
    Of all my buried ancestors are packed:
    Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
    Lies festering 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,
    Environed with all these hideous fears?
    And madly play with my forefather's 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 desperate brains?
    O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
    Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
    Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay!
    Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

She falls upon her bed, within the curtains

SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house.

Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse

LADY CAPULET

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

Nurse

They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

Enter CAPULET

CAPULET

Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd,
    The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:
    Look to the baked meats, good Angelica:
    Spare not for the cost.

Nurse

Go, you cot-quean, go,
    Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow
    For this night's watching.

CAPULET

No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now
    All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.

LADY CAPULET

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

Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse

CAPULET

A jealous hood, a jealous hood!

Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets
    Now, fellow,
    What's there?

First Servant

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

CAPULET

Make haste, make haste.

Exit First Servant
    Sirrah, fetch drier logs:
    Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

Second Servant

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

Exit

CAPULET

Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
    Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day:
    The county will be here with music straight,
    For so he said he would: I hear him near.

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

Re-enter Nurse
    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.

Exeunt

SCENE V. Juliet's chamber.

Enter Nurse

Nurse

Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she:
    Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
    Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! 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 must needs 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?

Undraws the curtains
    What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again!
    I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady!
    Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead!
    O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!
    Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!

Enter LADY CAPULET

LADY CAPULET

What noise is here?

Nurse

O lamentable day!

LADY CAPULET

What is the matter?

Nurse

Look, look! O heavy day!

LADY CAPULET

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

Enter CAPULET

CAPULET

For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.

Nurse

She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!

LADY CAPULET

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

CAPULET

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.

Nurse

O lamentable day!

LADY CAPULET

O woful time!

CAPULET

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

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians

FRIAR LAURENCE

Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

CAPULET

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, deflowered 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.

PARIS

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

LADY CAPULET

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

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