Rom. And is it not well seru'd into a Sweet-Goose?Mer. Oh here's a wit of Cheuerell, that stretches froman ynch narrow, to an ell broad
Rom. I stretch it out for that word, broad, which addedto the Goose, proues thee farre and wide, abroad Goose
Mer. Why is not this better now, then groning for Loue, now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo: now art thou what thou art, by Art as well as by Nature, for this driueling Loue is like a great Naturall, that runs lolling vp and downe to hid his bable in a hole
Ben. Stop there, stop there
Mer. Thou desir'st me to stop in my tale against the haire
Ben. Thou would'st else haue made thy tale large
Mer. O thou art deceiu'd, I would haue made it short, or I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer. Enter Nurse and her man.
Rom. Here's a goodly geare.A sayle, a sayle
Mer. Two, two: a Shirt and a Smocke
Nur. Peter?Peter. Anon
Nur. My Fan Peter?Mer. Good Peter to hide her face?For her Fans the fairer face?Nur. God ye good morrow Gentlemen
Mer. God ye gooden faire Gentlewoman
Nur. Is it gooden?Mer. 'Tis no lesse I tell you: for the bawdy hand of theDyall is now vpon the pricke of Noone
Nur. Out vpon you: what a man are you?Rom. One Gentlewoman,That God hath made, himselfe to mar
Nur. By my troth it is said, for himselfe to, mar quatha: Gentlemen, can any of you tel me where I may find the young Romeo? Romeo. I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you haue found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse
Nur. You say well
Mer. Yea is the worst well,Very well tooke: Ifaith, wisely, wisely
Nur. If you be he sir,I desire some confidence with you?Ben. She will endite him to some Supper
Mer. A baud, a baud, a baud. So ho
Rom. What hast thou found? Mer. No Hare sir, vnlesse a Hare sir in a Lenten pie, that is something stale and hoare ere it be spent. An old Hare hoare, and an old Hare hoare is very good meat in Lent. But a Hare that is hoare is too much for a score, when it hoares ere it be spent, Romeo will you come to your Fathers? Weele to dinner thither
Rom. I will follow you
Mer. Farewell auncient Lady:Farewell Lady, Lady, Lady.
Exit. Mercutio, Benuolio.
Nur. I pray you sir, what sawcie Merchant was this that was so full of his roperie? Rom. A Gentleman Nurse, that loues to heare himselfe talke, and will speake more in a minute, then he will stand to in a Moneth
Nur. And a speake any thing against me, Ile take him downe, z a were lustier then he is, and twentie such Iacks: and if I cannot, Ile finde those that shall: scuruie knaue, I am none of his flurt-gils, I am none of his skaines mates, and thou must stand by too and suffer euery knaue to vse me at his pleasure
Pet. I saw no man vse you at his pleasure: if I had, my weapon should quickly haue beene out, I warrant you, I dare draw assoone as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrell, and the law on my side
Nur. Now afore God, I am so vext, that euery part about me quiuers, skuruy knaue: pray you sir a word: and as I told you, my young Lady bid me enquire you out, what she bid me say, I will keepe to my selfe: but first let me tell ye, if ye should leade her in a fooles paradise, as they say, it were a very grosse kind of behauiour, as they say: for the Gentlewoman is yong: & therefore, if you should deale double with her, truely it were an ill thing to be offered to any Gentlewoman, and very weake dealing
Nur. Nurse commend me to thy Lady and Mistresse, Iprotest vnto thee
Nur. Good heart, and yfaith I will tell her as much:Lord, Lord she will be a ioyfull woman
Rom. What wilt thou tell her Nurse? thou doest notmarke me?Nur. I will tell her sir, that you do protest, which as Itake it, is a Gentleman-like offer
Rom. Bid her deuise some meanes to come to shrift thisafternoone,And there she shall at Frier Lawrence CellBe shriu'd and married: here is for thy paines
Nur. No truly sir not a penny
Rom. Go too, I say you shall
Nur. This afternoone sir? well she shall be there
Ro. And stay thou good Nurse behind the Abbey wall,Within this houre my man shall be with thee,And bring thee Cords made like a tackled staire,Which to the high top gallant of my ioy,Must be my conuoy in the secret night.Farewell, be trustie and Ile quite thy paines:Farewell, commend me to thy Mistresse
Nur. Now God in heauen blesse thee: harke you sir,Rom. What saist thou my deare Nurse?Nurse. Is your man secret, did you nere heare say twomay keepe counsell putting one away
Ro. Warrant thee my man is true as steele
Nur. Well sir, my Mistresse is the sweetest Lady, Lord, Lord, when 'twas a little prating thing. O there is a Noble man in Towne one Paris, that would faine lay knife aboard: but she good soule had as leeue see a Toade, a very Toade as see him: I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but Ile warrant you, when I say so, shee lookes as pale as any clout in the versall world. Doth not Rosemarie and Romeo begin both with a letter? Rom. I Nurse, what of that? Both with an R Nur. A mocker that's the dogs 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 heare it
Rom. Commend me to thy Lady
Nur. I a thousand times. Peter?Pet. Anon
Nur. Before and apace.
Exit Nurse and Peter.
Enter Iuliet.
Iul. The clocke strook nine, when I did send the Nurse,In halfe an houre she promised to returne,Perchance she cannot meete him: that's not so:Oh she is lame, Loues Herauld should be thoughts,Which ten times faster glides then the Sunnes beames,Driuing backe shadowes ouer lowring hils.Therefore do nimble Pinion'd Doues draw Loue,And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings:Now is the Sun vpon the highmost hillOf this daies iourney, and from nine till twelue,Is three long houres, yet she is not come.Had she affections and warme youthfull blood,She would be as swift in motion as a ball,My words would bandy her to my sweete Loue,And his to me, but old folkes,Many faine as they were dead,Vnwieldie, slow, heauy, and pale as lead.Enter Nurse.
O God she comes, O hony Nurse what newes?Hast thou met with him? send thy man away
Nur. Peter stay at the gate
Iul. Now good sweet Nurse:O Lord, why lookest thou sad?Though newes, be sad, yet tell them merrily.If good thou sham'st the musicke of sweet newes,By playing it to me, with so sower a face
Nur. I am a weary, giue me leaue awhile,Fie how my bones ake, what a iaunt haue I had?Iul. I would thou had'st my bones, and I thy newes:Nay come I pray thee speake, good good Nurse speake
Nur. Iesu what hast? can you not stay a while? Do you not see that I am out of breath? Iul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breth To say to me, that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay, Is longer then the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy newes good or bad? answere to that, Say either, and Ile stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, ist good or bad? Nur. Well, you haue made a simple choice, you know not how to chuse a man: Romeo, no not he though his face be better then any mans, yet his legs excels all mens, and for a hand, and a foote, and a body, though they be not to be talkt on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of curtesie, but Ile warrant him as gentle a Lambe: go thy waies wench, serue God. What haue you din'd at home? Iul. No no: but all this did I know before What saies he of our marriage? what of that? Nur. Lord how my head akes, what a head haue I? It beates as it would fall in twenty peeces. My backe a tother side: o my backe, my backe: Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with iaunting vp and downe
Iul. Ifaith: I am sorrie that thou art so well.Sweet sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what saies my Loue?Nur. Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman,And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,And I warrant a vertuous: where is your Mother?Iul. Where is my Mother?Why she is within, where should she be?How odly thou repli'st:Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman:Where is your Mother?Nur. O Gods Lady deare,Are you so hot? marrie come vp I trow,Is this the Poultis for my aking bones?Henceforward do your messages your selfe
Iul. Heere's such a coile, come what saies Romeo?Nur. Haue you got leaue to go to shift to day?Iul. I haue
Nur. Then high you hence to Frier Lawrence Cell,There staies a Husband to make you a wife:Now comes the wanton bloud vp in your cheekes,Thei'le be in Scarlet straight at any newes:Hie you to Church, I must an other way,To fetch a Ladder by the which your LoueMust climde a birds nest Soone when it is darke:I am the drudge, and toile in your delight:But you shall beare the burthen soone at night.Go Ile to dinner, hie you to the Cell
Iul. Hie to high Fortune, honest Nurse, farewell.
Exeunt.
Enter Frier and Romeo.
Fri. So smile the heauens vpon this holy act,That after houres, with sorrow chide vs not
Rom. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can,It cannot counteruaile the exchange of ioyThat one short minute giues me in her sight:Do thou but close our hands with holy words.Then Loue-deuouring death do what he dare,It is inough. I may call her mine
Fri. These violent delights haue violent endes,And in their triumph: die like fire and powder;Which as they kisse consume. The sweetest honeyIs loathsome in his owne deliciousnesse,And in the taste confoundes the appetite.Therefore Loue moderately, long Loue doth so,Too swift arriues as tardie as too slow.Enter Iuliet.
Here comes the Lady. Oh so light a footWill nere weare out the euerlasting flint,A Louer may bestride the Gossamours,That ydles in the wanton Summer ayre,And yet not fall, so light is vanitie
Iul. Good euen to my ghostly Confessor
Fri. Romeo shall thanke thee Daughter for vs both
Iul. As much to him, else in his thanks too much
Fri. Ah Iuliet, if the measure of thy ioyBe heapt like mine, and that thy skill be moreTo blason it, then sweeten with thy breathThis neighbour ayre, and let rich musickes tongue,Vnfold the imagin'd happinesse that bothReceiue in either, by this deere encounter
Iul. Conceit more rich in matter then in words,Brags of his substance, not of Ornament:They are but beggers that can count their worth,But my true Loue is growne to such excesse,I cannot sum vp some of halfe my wealth
Fri. Come, come with me, & we will make short worke,For by your leaues, you shall not stay alone,Till holy Church incorporate two in one.Enter Mercutio, Benuolio, and men.
Ben. I pray thee good Mercutio lets retire,The day is hot, the Capulets abroad:And if we meet, we shal not scape a brawle, for now thesehot dayes, is the mad blood stirring
Mer. Thou art like one of these fellowes, that when he enters the confines of a Tauerne, claps me his Sword vpon the Table, and sayes, God send me no need of thee: and by the operation of the second cup, drawes him on the Drawer, when indeed there is no need
Ben. Am I like such a Fellow?Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Iacke in thy mood,as any in Italie: and assoone moued to be moodie, and assoonemoodie to be mou'd
Ben. And what too? Mer. Nay, and there were two such, we should haue none shortly, for one would kill the other: thou, why thou wilt quarrell with a man that hath a haire more, or a haire lesse in his beard, then thou hast: thou wilt quarrell with a man for cracking Nuts, hauing no other reason, but because thou hast hasell eyes: what eye, but such an eye, would spie out such a quarrell? thy head is full of quarrels, as an egge is full of meat, and yet thy head hath bin beaten as addle as an egge for quarreling: thou hast quarrel'd with a man for coffing in the street, because he hath wakened thy Dog that hath laine asleepe in the Sun. Did'st thou not fall out with a Tailor for wearing his new Doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shooes with old Riband, and yet thou wilt Tutor me from quarrelling? Ben. And I were so apt to quarell as thou art, any man should buy the Fee-simple of my life, for an houre and a quarter
Mer. The Fee-simple? O simple.Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.
Ben. By my head here comes the Capulets
Mer. By my heele I care not
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speake to them.Gentlemen, Good den, a word with one of you
Mer. And but one word with one of vs? couple it withsomething, make it a word and a blow
Tib. You shall find me apt inough to that sir, and youwill giue me occasion
Mercu. Could you not take some occasion withoutgiuing?Tib. Mercutio thou consort'st with Romeo
Mer. Consort? what dost thou make vs Minstrels? & thou make Minstrels of vs, looke to heare nothing but discords: heere's my fiddlesticke, heere's that shall make you daunce. Come consort
Ben. We talke here in the publike haunt of men,Either withdraw vnto some priuate place,Or reason coldly of your greeuances:Or else depart, here all eies gaze on vs
Mer. Mens eyes were made to looke, and let them gaze.I will not budge for no mans pleasure I.Enter Romeo.
Tib. Well peace be with you sir, here comes my man
Mer. But Ile be hang'd sir if he weare your Liuery.Marry go before to field, heele be your follower,Your worship in that sense, may call him man
Tib. Romeo, the loue I beare thee, can affoordNo better terme then this: Thou art a Villaine
Rom. Tibalt, the reason that I haue to loue thee,Doth much excuse the appertaining rageTo such a greeting: Villaine am I none;Therefore farewell, I see thou know'st me not
Tib. Boy, this shall not excuse the iniuriesThat thou hast done me, therefore turne and draw
Rom. I do protest I neuer iniur'd thee,But lou'd thee better then thou can'st deuise:Till thou shalt know the reason of my loue,And so good Capulet, which name I tenderAs dearely as my owne, be satisfied
Mer. O calme, dishonourable, vile submission: Alla stucatho carries it away. Tybalt, you Rat-catcher, will you walke? Tib. What wouldst thou haue with me? Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine liues, that I meane to make bold withall, and as you shall vse me hereafter dry beate the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your Sword out of his Pilcher by the eares? Make hast, least mine be about your eares ere it be out
Tib. I am for you
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier vp
Mer. Come sir, your Passado
Rom. Draw Benuolio, beat downe their weapons:Gentlemen, for shame forbeare this outrage,Tibalt, Mercutio, the Prince expresly hathForbidden bandying in Verona streetes.Hold Tybalt, good Mercutio.
Exit Tybalt.
Mer. I am hurt.A plague a both the Houses, I am sped:Is he gone and hath nothing?Ben. What art thou hurt?Mer. I, I, a scratch, a scratch, marry 'tis inough,Where is my Page? go Villaine fetch a Surgeon
Rom. Courage man, the hurt cannot be much
Mer. No: 'tis not so deepe as a well, nor so wide as a Church doore, but 'tis inough, 'twill serue: aske for me to morrow, and you shall find me a graue man. I am pepper'd I warrant, for this world: a plague a both your houses. What, a Dog, a Rat, a Mouse, a Cat to scratch a man to death: a Braggart, a Rogue, a Villaine, that fights by the booke of Arithmeticke, why the deu'le came you betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme
Rom. I thought all for the best
Mer. Helpe me into some house Benuolio,Or I shall faint: a plague a both your houses.They haue made wormesmeat of me,I haue it, and soundly to your Houses.Enter.
Rom. This Gentleman the Princes neere Alie,My very Friend hath got his mortall hurtIn my behalfe, my reputation stain'dWith Tibalts slaunder, Tybalt that an houreHath beene my Cozin: O Sweet Iuliet,Thy Beauty hath made me Effeminate,And in my temper softned Valours steele.Enter Benuolio.
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, braue Mercutio's is dead,That Gallant spirit hath aspir'd the Cloudes,Which too vntimely here did scorne the earth
Rom. This daies blacke Fate, on mo daies depend,This but begins, the wo others must end.Enter Tybalt.
Ben. Here comes the Furious Tybalt backe againe
Rom. He gon in triumph, and Mercutio slaine?Away to heauen respectiue Lenitie,And fire and Fury, be my conduct now.Now Tybalt take the Villaine backe againeThat late thou gau'st me, for Mercutios souleIs but a little way aboue our heads,Staying for thine to keepe him companie:Either thou or I, or both, must goe with him
Tib. Thou wretched Boy that didst consort him here,Shalt with him hence
Rom. This shall determine that.
They fight. Tybalt falles.
Ben. Romeo, away be gone:The Citizens are vp, and Tybalt slaine,Stand not amaz'd, the Prince will Doome thee deathIf thou art taken: hence, be gone, away
Rom. O! I am Fortunes foole
Ben. Why dost thou stay?
Exit Romeo.
Enter Citizens.
Citi. Which way ran he that kild Mercutio?Tibalt that Murtherer, which way ran he?Ben. There lies that Tybalt
Citi. Vp sir go with me:I charge thee in the Princes names obey.Enter Prince, old Montague, Capulet, their Wiues and all.
Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this Fray?Ben. O Noble Prince, I can discouer allThe vnluckie Mannage of this fatall brall:There lies the man slaine by young Romeo,That slew thy kinsman braue Mercutio
Cap. Wi. Tybalt, my Cozin? O my Brothers Child,O Prince, O Cozin, Husband, O the blood is spildOf my deare kinsman. Prince as thou art true,For bloud of ours, shed bloud of Mountague.O Cozin, Cozin
Prin. Benuolio, who began this Fray?Ben. Tybalt here slaine, whom Romeo's hand did slay,Romeo that spoke him faire, bid him bethinkeHow nice the Quarrell was, and vrg'd withallYour high displeasure: all this vttered,With gentle breath, calme looke, knees humbly bow'dCould not take truce with the vnruly spleeneOf Tybalts deafe to peace, but that he TiltsWith Peircing steele at bold Mercutio's breast,Who all as hot, turnes deadly point to point,And with a Martiall scorne, with one hand beatesCold death aside, and with the other sendsIt back to Tybalt, whose dexterityRetorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,Hold Friends, Friends part, and swifter then his tongue,His aged arme, beats downe their fatall points,And twixt them rushes, vnderneath whose arme,An enuious thrust from Tybalt, hit the lifeOf stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.But by and by comes backe to Romeo,Who had but newly entertained Reuenge,And too't they goe like lightning, for ere ICould draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slaine:And as he fell, did Romeo turne and flie:This is the truth, or let Benuolio die
Cap. Wi. He is a kinsman to the Mountague,Affection makes him false, he speakes not true:Some twenty of them fought in this blacke strife,And all those twenty could but kill one life.I beg for Iustice, which thou Prince must giue:Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not liue
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio,Who now the price of his deare blood doth owe
Cap. Not Romeo Prince, he was Mercutios Friend,His fault concludes, but what the law should end,The life of Tybalt
Prin. And for that offence,Immediately we doe exile him hence:I haue an interest in your hearts proceeding:My bloud for your rude brawles doth lie a bleeding.But Ile Amerce you with so strong a fine,That you shall all repent the losse of mine.It will be deafe to pleading and excuses,Nor teares, nor prayers shall purchase our abuses.Therefore vse none, let Romeo hence in hast,Else when he is found, that houre is his last.Beare hence his body, and attend our will:Mercy not Murders, pardoning those that kill.
Exeunt.
Enter Iuliet alone.
Iul. Gallop apace, you fiery footed steedes,Towards Phoebus lodging, such a WagonerAs Phaeton would whip you to the west,And bring in Cloudie night immediately.Spred thy close Curtaine Loue-performing night,That run-awayes eyes may wincke, and RomeoLeape to these armes, vntalkt of and vnseene,Louers can see to doe their Amorous rights,And by their owne Beauties: or if Loue be blind,It best agrees with night: come ciuill night,Thou sober suted Matron all in blacke,And learne me how to loose a winning match,Plaid for a paire of stainlesse Maidenhoods,Hood my vnman'd blood bayting in my Cheekes,With thy Blacke mantle, till strange Loue grow bold,Thinke true Loue acted simple modestie:Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night,For thou wilt lie vpon the wings of nightWhiter then new Snow vpon a Rauens backe:Come gentle night, come louing blackebrow'd night.Giue me my Romeo, and when I shall die,Take him and cut him out in little starres,And he will make the Face of heauen so fine,That all the world will be in Loue with night,And pay no worship to the Garish Sun.O I haue bought the Mansion of a Loue,But not possest it, and though I am sold,Not yet enioy'd, so tedious is this day,As is the night before some Festiuall,To an impatient child that hath new robesAnd may not weare them, O here comes my Nurse:Enter Nurse with cords.
And she brings newes and euery tongue that speaksBut Romeos name, speakes heauenly eloquence:Now Nurse, what newes? what hast thou there?The Cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?Nur. I, I, the Cords
Iuli. Ay me, what newes?Why dost thou wring thy hands
Nur. A weladay, hee's dead, hee's dead,We are vndone Lady, we are vndone.Alacke the day, hee's gone, hee's kil'd, he's dead
Iul. Can heauen be so enuious?Nur. Romeo can,Though heauen cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.Who euer would haue thought it Romeo
Iuli. What diuell art thou,That dost torment me thus?This torture should be roar'd in dismall hell,Hath Romeo slaine himselfe? say thou but I,And that bare vowell I shall poyson moreThen the death-darting eye of Cockatrice,I am not I, if there be such an I.Or those eyes shot, that makes thee answere I:If he be slaine say I, or if not, no.Briefe, sounds, determine of my weale or wo
Nur. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,God saue the marke, here on his manly brest,A pitteous Coarse, a bloody piteous Coarse:Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood,All in gore blood I sounded at the sight
Iul. O breake my heart,Poore Banckrout breake at once,To prison eyes, nere looke on libertie.Vile earth to earth resigne, end motion here,And thou and Romeo presse on heauie beere
Nur. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best Friend I had:O curteous Tybalt honest Gentleman,That euer I should liue to see thee dead
Iul. What storme is this that blowes so contrarie?Is Romeo slaughtred? and is Tybalt dead?My dearest Cozen, and my dearer Lord:Then dreadfull Trumpet sound the generall doome,For who is liuing, if those two are gone?Nur. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,Romeo that kil'd him, he is banished
Iul. O God!Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalts bloodIt did, it did, alas the day, it did
Nur. O Serpent heart hid with a flowring face
Iul. Did euer Dragon keepe so faire a Caue?Beautifull Tyrant, fiend Angelicall:Rauenous Doue-feather'd Rauen,Woluish-rauening Lambe,Dispised substance of Diuinest show:Iust opposite to what thou iustly seem'st,A dimne Saint, an Honourable Villaine:O Nature! what had'st thou to doe in hell,When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiendIn mortall paradise of such sweet flesh?Was euer booke containing such vile matterSo fairely bound? O that deceit should dwellIn such a gorgeous Pallace
Nur. There's no trust, no faith, no honestie in men,All periur'd, all forsworne, all naught, all dissemblers,Ah where's my man? giue me some Aqua-vitae?These griefes, these woes, these sorrowes make me old:Shame come to Romeo
Iul. Blister'd be thy tongueFor such a wish, he was not borne to shame:Vpon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;For 'tis a throane where Honour may be Crown'dSole Monarch of the vniuersall earth:O what a beast was I to chide him?Nur. Will you speake well of him,That kil'd your Cozen?Iul. Shall I speake ill of him that is my husband?Ah poore my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,When I thy three houres wife haue mangled it.But wherefore Villaine did'st thou kill my Cozin?That Villaine Cozin would haue kil'd my husband:Backe foolish teares, backe to your natiue spring,Your tributarie drops belong to woe,Which you mistaking offer vp to ioy:My husband liues that Tibalt would haue slaine,And Tibalt dead that would haue slaine my husband:All this is comfort, wherefore weepe I then?Some words there was worser then Tybalts deathThat murdered me, I would forget it feine,But oh, it presses to my memory,Like damned guilty deedes to sinners minds,Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished:That banished, that one word banished,Hath slaine ten thousand Tibalts: Tibalts deathWas woe inough if it had ended there:Or if sower woe delights in fellowship,And needly will be rankt with other griefes,Why followed not when she said Tibalts dead,Thy Father or thy Mother, nay or both,Which moderne lamentation might haue mou'd.But which a rere-ward following Tybalts deathRomeo is banished to speake that word,Is Father, Mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Iuliet,All slaine, all dead: Romeo is banished,There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,In that words death, no words can that woe sound.Where is my Father and my Mother Nurse?Nur. Weeping and wailing ouer Tybalts Coarse,Will you go to them? I will bring you thither
Iu. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shal be spentWhen theirs are drie for Romeo's banishment.Take vp those Cordes, poore ropes you are beguil'd,Both you and I for Romeo is exild:He made you for a high-way to my bed,But I a Maid, die Maiden widowed.Come Cord, come Nurse, Ile to my wedding bed,And death not Romeo, take my Maiden head
Nur. Hie to your Chamber, Ile find RomeoTo comfort you, I wot well where he is:Harke ye your Romeo will be heere at night,Ile to him, he is hid at Lawrence Cell
Iul. O find him, giue this Ring to my true Knight,And bid him come, to take his last farewell.
Exit
Enter Frier and Romeo.
Fri. Romeo come forth,Come forth thou fearfull man,Affliction is enamor'd of thy partsAnd thou art wedded to calamitie,Rom. Father what newes?What is the Princes Doome?What sorrow craues acquaintance at my hand,That I yet know not?Fri. Too familiarIs my deare Sonne with such sowre CompanyI bring thee tydings of the Princes Doome
Rom. What lesse then Doomesday,Is the Princes Doome?Fri. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips,Not bodies death, but bodies banishment
Rom. Ha, banishment? be mercifull, say death:For exile hath more terror in his looke,Much more then death: do not say banishment
Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:Be patient, for the world is broad and wide
Rom. There is no world without Verona walles,But Purgatorie, Torture, hell it selfe:Hence banished, is banisht from the world,And worlds exile is death. Then banished,Is death, mistearm'd, calling death banished,Thou cut'st my head off with a golden Axe,And smilest vpon the stroke that murders me
Fri. O deadly sin, O rude vnthankefulnesse!Thy falt our Law calles death, but the kind PrinceTaking thy part, hath rusht aside the Law,And turn'd that blacke word death, to banishment.This is deare mercy, and thou seest it not
Rom. 'Tis Torture and not mercy, heauen is hereWhere Iuliet liues, and euery Cat and Dog,And little Mouse, euery vnworthy thingLiue here in Heauen and may looke on her,But Romeo may not. More Validitie,More Honourable state, more Courtship liuesIn carrion Flies, then Romeo: they may seazeOn the white wonder of deare Iuliets hand,And steale immortall blessing from her lips,Who euen in pure and vestall modestieStill blush, as thinking their owne kisses sin.This may Flies doe, when I from this must flie,And saist thou yet, that exile is not death?But Romeo may not, hee is banished.Had'st thou no poyson mixt, no sharpe ground knife,No sudden meane of death, though nere so meane,But banished to kill me? Banished?O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell:Howlings attends it, how hast then the hartBeing a Diuine, a Ghostly Confessor,A Sin-Absoluer, and my Friend profest:To mangle me with that word, banished?Fri. Then fond Mad man, heare me speake
Rom. O thou wilt speake againe of banishment
Fri. Ile giue thee Armour to keepe off that word,Aduersities sweete milke, Philosophie,To comfort thee, though thou art banished
Rom. Yet banished? hang vp Philosophie:Vnlesse Philosophie can make a Iuliet,Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes Doome,It helpes not, it preuailes not, talke no more
Fri. O then I see, that Mad men haue no eares
Rom. How should they,When wisemen haue no eyes?Fri. Let me dispaire with thee of thy estate,Rom. Thou can'st not speake of that y dost not feele,Wert thou as young as Iuliet my Loue:An houre but married, Tybalt murdered,Doting like me, and like me banished,Then mightest thou speake,Then mightest thou teare thy hayre,And fall vpon the ground as I doe now,Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.Enter Nurse, and knockes.
Frier. Arise one knockes,Good Romeo hide thy selfe
Rom. Not I,Vnlesse the breath of Hartsicke groanesMist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
Knocke
Fri. Harke how they knocke:(Who's there) Romeo arise,Thou wilt be taken, stay a while, stand vp:
Knocke.
Run to my study: by and by, Gods willWhat simplenesse is this: I come, I come.
Knocke.
Who knocks so hard?Whence come you? what's your will?Enter Nurse.
Nur. Let me come in,And you shall know my errand:I come from Lady Iuliet
Fri. Welcome then
Nur. O holy Frier, O tell me holy Frier,Where's my Ladies Lord? where's Romeo?Fri. There on the ground,With his owne teares made drunke
Nur. O he is euen in my Mistresse case,Iust in her case. O wofull simpathy:Pittious predicament, euen so lies she,Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring,Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man,For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand:Why should you fall into so deepe an O
Rom. Nurse
Nur. Ah sir, ah sir, deaths the end of all
Rom. Speak'st thou of Iuliet? how is it with her?Doth not she thinke me an old Murtherer,Now I haue stain'd the Childhood of our ioy,With blood remoued, but little from her owne?Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayesMy conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Loue?Nur. Oh she sayes nothing sir, but weeps and weeps,And now fals on her bed, and then starts vp,And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,And then downe falls againe
Ro. As if that name shot from the dead leuell of a Gun,Did murder her, as that names cursed handMurdred her kinsman. Oh tell me Frier, tell me,In what vile part of this AnatomieDoth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sackeThe hatefull Mansion
Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art:Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts denoteThe vnreasonable Furie of a beast.Vnseemely woman, in a seeming man,And ill beseeming beast in seeming both,Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order,I thought thy disposition better temper'd.Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe?And slay thy Lady, that in thy life lies,By doing damned hate vpon thy selfe?Why rayl'st thou on thy birth? the heauen and earth?Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three do meeteIn thee at once, which thou at once would'st loose.Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy loue, thy wit,Which like a Vsurer abound'st in all:And vsest none in that true vse indeed,Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit:Thy Noble shape, is but a forme of waxe,Digressing from the Valour of a man,Thy deare Loue sworne but hollow periurie,Killing that Loue which thou hast vow'd to cherish.Thy wit, that Ornament, to shape and Loue,Mishapen in the conduct of them both:Like powder in a skillesse Souldiers flaske,Is set a fire by thine owne ignorance,And thou dismembred with thine owne defence.What, rowse thee man, thy Iuliet is aliue,For whose deare sake thou wast but lately dead.There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,But thou slew'st Tybalt, there art thou happie.The law that threatned death became thy Friend.And turn'd it to exile, there art thou happy.A packe or blessing light vpon thy backe,Happinesse Courts thee in her best array,But like a mishaped and sullen wench,Thou puttest vp thy Fortune and thy Loue:Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.Goe get thee to thy Loue as was decreed,Ascend her Chamber, hence and comfort her:But looke thou stay not till the watch be set,For then thou canst not passe to Mantua,Where thou shalt liue till we can finde a timeTo blaze your marriage, reconcile your Friends,Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee backe,With twenty hundred thousand times more ioyThen thou went'st forth in lamentation.Goe before Nurse, commend me to thy Lady,And bid her hasten all the house to bed,Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto.Romeo is comming
Nur. O Lord, I could haue staid here all night,To heare good counsell: oh what learning is!My Lord Ile tell my Lady you will come
Rom. Do so, and bid my Sweete prepare to chide
Nur. Heere sir, a Ring she bid me giue you sir:Hie you, make hast, for it growes very late
Rom. How well my comfort is reuiu'd by this
Fri. Go hence,Goodnight, and here stands all your state:Either be gone before the watch be set,Or by the breake of day disguis'd from hence,Soiourne in Mantua, Ile find out your man,And he shall signifie from time to time,Euery good hap to you, that chaunces heere:Giue me thy hand, 'tis late, farewell, goodnight
Rom. But that a ioy past ioy, calls out on me,It were a griefe, so briefe to part with thee:Farewell.
Exeunt.
Enter old Capulet, his Wife and Paris.
Cap. Things haue falne out sir so vnluckily,That we haue had no time to moue our Daughter:Looke you, she Lou'd her kinsman Tybalt dearely,And so did I. Well, we were borne to die.'Tis very late, she'l not come downe to night:I promise you, but for your company,I would haue bin a bed an houre ago
Par. These times of wo, affoord no times to wooe:Madam goodnight, commend me to your Daughter
Lady. I will, and know her mind early to morrow,To night, she is mewed vp to her heauinesse
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tenderOf my Childes loue: I thinke she will be rul'dIn 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 Sonne Paris Loue,And bid her, marke you me, on Wendsday next,But soft, what day is this?Par. Monday my Lord
Cap. Monday, ha ha: well Wendsday is too soone,A Thursday let it be: a Thursday tell her,She shall be married to this Noble Earle:Will you be ready? do you like this hast?Weele keepe no great adoe, a Friend or two,For harke you, Tybalt being slaine so late,It may be thought we held him carelesly,Being our kinsman, if we reuell much:Therefore weele haue some halfe a dozen Friends,And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?Paris. My Lord,I would that Thursday were to morrow
Cap. Well, get you gone, a Thursday, be it then:Go you to Iuliet ere you go to bed,Prepare her wife, against this wedding day.Farewell my Lord, light to my Chamber hoa,Afore me, it is so late, that we may call it early by and by,Goodnight.
Exeunt.
Enter Romeo and Iuliet aloft.
Iul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet neere day:It was the Nightingale, and not the Larke,That pier'st the fearefull hollow of thine eare,Nightly she sings on yond Pomgranet tree,Beleeue me Loue, it was the Nightingale
Rom. It was the Larke the Herauld of the Morne:No Nightingale: looke Loue what enuious streakesDo lace the seuering Cloudes in yonder East:Nights Candles are burnt out, and Iocond dayStands tipto on the mistie Mountaines tops,I must be gone and liue, or stay and die
Iul. Yond light is not daylight, I know it I:It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales,To be to thee this night a Torch-bearer,And light thee on thy way to Mantua.Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not be gone,Rom. Let me be tane, let me be put to death,I am content, so thou wilt haue it so.Ile say yon gray is not the mornings eye,'Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow.Nor that is not Larke whose noates do beateThe vaulty heauen so high aboue our heads,I haue more care to stay, then will to go:Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it so.How ist my soule, lets talke, it is not day
Iuli. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away:It is the Larke that sings so out of tune,Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes.Some say the Larke makes sweete Diuision;This doth not so: for she diuideth vs.Some say, the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes,O now I would they had chang'd voyces too:Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray,Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-vp to the day,O now be gone, more light and it light growes
Rom. More light & light, more darke & darke our woes.Enter Madam and Nurse.
Nur. Madam
Iul. Nurse
Nur. Your Lady Mother is comming to your chamber,The day is broke, be wary, looke about
Iul. Then window let day in, and let life out
Rom. Farewell, farewell, one kisse and Ile descend
Iul. Art thou gone so? Loue, Lord, ay Husband, Friend,I must heare from thee euery day in the houre,For in a minute there are many dayes,O by this count I shall be much in yeares,Ere I againe behold my Romeo
Rom. Farewell:I will omit no oportunitie,That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee
Iul. O thinkest thou we shall euer meet againe?Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serueFor sweet discourses in our time to come
Iuliet. O God! I haue an ill Diuining soule,Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe,As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe,Either my eye-sight failes, or thou look'st pale
Rom. And trust me Loue, in my eye so do you:Drie sorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue.Enter.
Iul. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle,If thou art fickle, what dost thou with himThat is renown'd for faith? be fickle Fortune:For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long,But send him backe.Enter Mother.
Lad. Ho Daughter, are you vp?Iul. Who ist that calls? Is it my Lady Mother.Is she not downe so late, or vp so early?What vnaccustom'd cause procures her hither?Lad. Why how now Iuliet?Iul. Madam I am not well
Lad. Euermore weeping for your Cozins death?What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares?And if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him liue:Therefore haue done, some griefe shewes much of Loue,But much of griefe, shewes still some want of wit
Iul. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling losse
Lad. So shall you feele the losse, but not the FriendWhich you weepe for
Iul. Feeling so the losse,I cannot chuse but euer weepe the Friend
La. Well Girle, thou weep'st not so much for his death,As that the Villaine liues which slaughter'd him
Iul. What Villaine, Madam?Lad. That same Villaine Romeo
Iul. Villaine and he, be many miles assunder:God pardon, I doe with all my heart:And yet no man like he, doth grieue my heart
Lad. That is because the Traitor liues
Iul. I Madam from the reach of these my hands:Would none but I might venge my Cozins death
Lad. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not.Then weepe no more, Ile send to one in Mantua,Where that same banisht Run-agate doth liue,Shall giue him such an vnaccustom'd dram,That he shall soone keepe Tybalt company:And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied
Iul. Indeed I neuer shall be satisfiedWith Romeo, till I behold him. DeadIs my poore heart so for a kinsman vext:Madam, if you could find out but a manTo beare a poyson, I would temper it;That Romeo should vpon receit thereof,Soone sleepe in quiet. O how my heart abhorsTo heare him nam'd, and cannot come to him,To wreake the Loue I bore my Cozin,Vpon his body that hath slaughter'd him
Mo. Find thou the meanes, and Ile find such a man.But now Ile tell thee ioyfull tidings Gyrle
Iul. And ioy comes well, in such a needy time,What are they, beseech your Ladyship?Mo. Well, well, thou hast a carefull Father Child?One who to put thee from thy heauinesse,Hath sorted out a sudden day of ioy,That thou expects not, nor I lookt not for
Iul. Madam in happy time, what day is this?Mo. Marry my Child, early next Thursday morne,The gallant, young, and Noble Gentleman,The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church,Shall happily make thee a ioyfull Bride
Iul. Now by Saint Peters Church, and Peter too,He shall not make me there a ioyfull Bride.I wonder at this hast, that I must wedEre he that should be Husband comes to woe:I pray you tell my Lord and Father Madam,I will not marrie yet, and when I doe, I sweareIt shall be Romeo, whom you know I hateRather then Paris. These are newes indeed
Mo. Here comes your Father, tell him so your selfe,And see how he will take it at your hands.Enter Capulet and Nurse.
Cap. When the Sun sets, the earth doth drizzle deawBut for the Sunset of my Brothers Sonne,It raines downright.How now? A Conduit Gyrle, what still in teares?Euermore showring in one little body?Thou counterfaits a Barke, a Sea, a Wind:For still thy eyes, which I may call the Sea,Do ebbe and flow with teares, the Barke thy body isSayling in this salt floud, the windes thy sighes,Who raging with the teares and they with them,Without a sudden calme will ouer setThy tempest tossed body. How now wife?Haue you deliuered to her our decree?Lady. I sir;But she will none, she giues you thankes,I would the foole were married to her graue
Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you wife,How, will she none? doth she not giue vs thanks?Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest,Vnworthy as she is, that we haue wroughtSo worthy a Gentleman, to be her BridegroomeIul. Not proud you haue,But thankfull that you haue:Proud can I neuer be of what I haue,But thankfull euen for hate, that is meant Loue
Cap. How now?How now? Chopt Logicke? what is this?Proud, and I thanke you: and I thanke you not.Thanke me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,But fettle your fine ioints 'gainst Thursday next,To go with Paris to Saint Peters Church:Or I will drag thee, on a Hurdle thither.Out you greene sicknesse carrion, out you baggage,You tallow face
Lady. Fie, fie, what are you mad?Iul. Good Father, I beseech you on my kneesHeare me with patience, but to speake a word
Fa. Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch,I tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thursday,Or neuer after looke me in the face.Speake not, reply not, do not answere me.My fingers itch, wife: we scarce thought vs blest,That God had lent vs but this onely Child,But now I see this one is one too much,And that we haue a curse in hauing her:Out on her Hilding
Nur. God in heauen blesse her,You are too blame my Lord to rate her so
Fa. And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tongue,Good Prudence, smatter with your gossip, go
Nur. I speak no treason,Father, O Godigoden,May not one speake?Fa. Peace you mumbling foole,Vtter your grauitie ore a Gossips bowlesFor here we need it not
La. You are too hot
Fa. Gods bread, it makes me mad:Day, night, houre, ride, time, worke, play,Alone in companie, still my care hath binTo haue her matcht, and hauing now prouidedA Gentleman of Noble Parentage,Of faire Demeanes, Youthfull, and Nobly Allied,Stuft as they say with Honourable parts,Proportion'd as ones thought would wish a man,And then to haue a wretched puling foole,A whining mammet, in her Fortunes tender,To answer, Ile not wed, I cannot Loue:I am too young, I pray you pardon me.But, and you will not wed, Ile pardon you.Graze where you will, you shall not house with me:Looke too't, thinke on't, I do not vse to iest.Thursday is neere, lay hand on heart, aduise,And you be mine, Ile giue you to my Friend:And you be not, hang, beg, starue, die in the streets,For by my soule, Ile nere acknowledge thee,Nor what is mine shall neuer do thee good:Trust too't, bethinke you, Ile not be forsworneEnter.
Iuli. Is there no pittie sitting in the Cloudes,That sees into the bottome of my griefe?O sweet my Mother cast me not away,Delay this marriage, for a month, a weeke,Or if you do not, make the Bridall bedIn that dim Monument where Tybalt lies
Mo. Talke not to me, for Ile not speake a word,Do as thou wilt, for I haue done with thee.Enter.
Iul. O God!O Nurse, how shall this be preuented?My Husband is on earth, my faith in heauen,How shall that faith returne againe to earth,Vnlesse that Husband send it me from heauen,By leauing earth? Comfort me, counsaile me:Alacke, alacke, that heauen should practise stratagemsVpon so soft a subiect as my selfe.What saist thou? hast thou not a word of ioy?Some comfort Nurse
Nur. Faith here it is,Romeo is banished, and all the world to nothing,That he dares nere come backe to challenge you:Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.Then since the case so stands as now it doth,I thinke it best you married with the Countie,O hee's a Louely Gentleman:Romeos a dish-clout to him: an Eagle MadamHath not so greene, so quicke, so faire an eyeAs Paris hath, beshrow my very heart,I thinke 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 liuing here and you no vse of him
Iul. Speakest thou from thy heart?Nur. And from my soule too,Or else beshrew them both
Iul. Amen
Nur. What?Iul. Well, thou hast comforted me marue'lous much,Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone,Hauing displeas'd my Father, to Lawrence Cell,To make confession, and to be absolu'd
Nur. Marrie I will, and this is wisely done
Iul. Auncient damnation, O most wicked fiend!It is more sin to wish me thus forsworne,Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongueWhich she hath prais'd him with aboue compare,So many thousand times? Go Counsellor,Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twaine:Ile to the Frier to know his remedie,If all else faile, my selfe haue power to die.
Exeunt.
Enter Frier and Countie Paris.
Fri. On Thursday sir? the time is very short
Par. My Father Capulet will haue it so,And I am nothing slow to slack his hast
Fri. You say you do not know the Ladies mind?Vneuen is the course, I like it not
Pa. Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death,And therfore haue I little talke of Loue,For Venus smiles not in a house of teares.Now sir, her Father counts it dangerousThat she doth giue her sorrow so much sway:And in his wisedome, hasts our marriage,To stop the inundation of her teares,Which too much minded by her selfe alone,May be put from her by societie.Now doe you know the reason of this hast?Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.Looke sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell.Enter Iuliet.
Par. Happily met, my Lady and my wife
Iul. That may be sir, when I may be a wife
Par. That may be, must be Loue, on Thursday next
Iul. What must be shall be
Fri. That's a certaine text
Par. Come you to make confession to this Father?Iul. To answere that, I should confesse to you
Par. Do not denie to him, that you Loue me
Iul. I will confesse to you that I Loue him
Par. So will ye, I am sure that you Loue me
Iul. If I do so, it will be of more price,Being spoke behind your backe, then to your face
Par. Poore soule, thy face is much abus'd with teares
Iul. The teares haue got small victorie by that:For it was bad inough before their spight
Pa. Thou wrong'st it more then teares with that report
Iul. That is no slaunder sir, which is a truth,And what I spake, I spake it to thy face
Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slaundred it
Iul. It may be so, for it is not mine owne.Are you at leisure, Holy Father now,Or shall I come to you at euening Masse?Fri. My leisure serues me pensiue daughter now.My Lord you must intreat the time alone
Par. Godsheild: I should disturbe Deuotion,Iuliet, on Thursday early will I rowse yee,Till then adue, and keepe this holy kisse.
Exit Paris.
Iul. O shut the doore, and when thou hast done so,Come weepe with me, past hope, past care, past helpe
Fri. O Iuliet, I alreadie know thy griefe,It streames me past the compasse of my wits:I heare thou must and nothing may prorogue it,On Thursday next be married to this Countie
Iul. Tell me not Frier that thou hearest of this,Vnlesse thou tell me how I may preuent it:If in thy wisedome, thou canst giue no helpe,Do thou but call my resolution wise,And with this knife, Ile helpe it presently.God ioyn'd my heart, and Romeos, thou our hands,And ere this hand by thee to Romeo seal'd:Shall be the Labell to another Deede,Or my true heart with trecherous reuolt,Turne to another, this shall slay them both:Therefore out of thy long experien'st time,Giue me some present counsell, or beholdTwixt my extreames and me, this bloody knifeShall play the vmpeere, arbitrating that,Which the commission of thy yeares 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, speake not of remedy
Fri. Hold Daughter, I doe spie a kind of hope,Which craues as desperate an execution,As that is desperate which we would preuent.If rather then to marrie Countie ParisThou hast the strength of will to slay thy selfe,Then is it likely thou wilt vndertakeA thing like death to chide away this shame,That coap'st with death himselfe, to scape fro it:And if thou dar'st, Ile giue thee remedie
Iul. Oh bid me leape, rather then marrie Paris,From of the Battlements of any Tower,Or walke in theeuish waies, or bid me lurkeWhere Serpents are: chaine me with roaring BearesOr hide me nightly in a Charnell house,Orecouered quite with dead mens ratling bones,With reckie shankes and yellow chappels sculls:Or bid me go into a new made graue,And hide me with a dead man in his graue,Things that to heare them told, haue made me tremble,And I will doe it without feare or doubt,To liue an vnstained wife to my sweet Loue
Fri. Hold then: goe home, be merrie, giue consent,To marrie Paris: wensday is to morrow,To morrow night looke that thou lie alone,Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy Chamber:Take thou this Violl being then in bed,And this distilling liquor drinke thou off,When presently through all thy veines shall run,A cold and drowsie humour: for no pulseShall keepe his natiue progresse, but surcease:No warmth, no breath shall testifie thou liuest,The Roses in thy lips and cheekes shall fadeTo many ashes, the eyes windowes fallLike death when he shut vp the day of life:Each part depriu'd of supple gouernment,Shall stiffe and starke, and cold appeare like death,And in this borrowed likenesse of shrunke deathThou shalt continue two and forty houres,And then awake, as from a pleasant sleepe.Now when the Bridegroome in the morning comes,To rowse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:Then as the manner of our country is,In thy best Robes vncouer'd on the Beere,Be borne to buriall in thy kindreds graue:Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie,In the meane time against thou shalt awake,Shall Romeo by my Letters know our drift,And hither shall he come, and that very nightShall Romeo beare thee hence to Mantua.And this shall free thee from this present shame,If no inconstant toy nor womanish feare,Abate thy valour in the acting it
Iul. Giue me, giue me, O tell me not of care
Fri. Hold get you gone, be strong and prosperous:In this resolue, Ile send a Frier with speedTo Mantua with my Letters to thy Lord
Iu. Loue giue me strength,And the strength shall helpe afford:Farewell deare father.
Exit
Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Seruing men, two or three.
Cap. So many guests inuite as here are writ,Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning Cookes
Ser. You shall haue none ill sir, for Ile trie if they canlicke their fingers
Cap. How canst thou trie them so?Ser. Marrie sir, 'tis an ill Cooke that cannot licke hisowne fingers: therefore he that cannot licke his fingersgoes not with me
Cap. Go be gone, we shall be much vnfurnisht for thistime: what is my Daughter gone to Frier Lawrence?Nur. I forsooth
Cap. Well he may chance to do some good on her,A peeuish selfe-wild harlotry it is.Enter Iuliet.
Nur. See where she comes from shriftWith merrie looke
Cap. How now my headstrong,Where haue you bin gadding?Iul. Where I haue learnt me to repent the sinOf disobedient opposition:To you and your behests, and am enioyn'dBy holy Lawrence, to fall prostrate here,To beg your pardon: pardon I beseech you,Henceforward I am euer rul'd by you
Cap. Send for the Countie, goe tell him of this,Ile haue this knot knit vp to morrow morning
Iul. I met the youthfull Lord at Lawrence Cell,And gaue him what becomed Loue I might,Not stepping ore the bounds of modestie
Cap. Why I am glad on't, this is well, stand vp,This is as't should be, let me see the County:I marrie go I say, and fetch him hither.Now afore God, this reueren'd holy Frier,All our whole Cittie is much bound to him
Iul. Nurse will you goe with me into my Closet,To helpe me sort such needfull ornaments,As you thinke fit to furnish me to morrow?Mo. No not till Thursday, there's time inough
Fa. Go Nurse, go with her,Weele to Church to morrow.
Exeunt. Iuliet and Nurse.
Mo. We shall be short in our prouision,'Tis now neere night
Fa. Tush, I will stirre about,And all things shall be well, I warrant thee wife:Go thou to Iuliet, helpe to decke vp her,Ile not to bed to night, let me alone:Ile play the huswife for this once. What ho?They are all forth, well I will walke my selfeTo Countie Paris, to prepare him vpAgainst to morrow, my heart is wondrous light,Since this same way-ward Gyrle is so reclaim'd.
Exeunt. Father and Mother.
Enter Iuliet and Nurse.
Iul. I those attires are best, but gentle NurseI pray thee leaue me to my selfe to night:For I haue need of many Orysons,To moue the heauens to smile vpon my state,Which well thou know'st, is crosse and full of sin.Enter Mother.
Mo. What are you busie ho? need you my help?Iul. No Madam, we haue cul'd such necessariesAs are behoouefull for our state to morrow:So please you, let me now be left alone;And let the Nurse this night sit vp with you,For I am sure, you haue your hands full all,In this so sudden businesse
Mo. Goodnight.Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.
Exeunt.
Iul. Farewell:God knowes when we shall meete againe.I haue a faint cold feare thrills through my veines,That almost freezes vp the heate of fire:Ile call them backe againe to comfort me.Nurse, what should she do here?My dismall Sceane, I needs must act alone:Come Viall, what if this mixture do not worke at all?Shall I be married then to morrow morning?No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there,What if it be a poyson which the FrierSubtilly hath ministred to haue me dead,Least in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,Because he married me before to Romeo?I feare it is, and yet me thinkes it should not,For he hath still beene tried a holy man.How, if when I am laid into the Tombe,I wake before the time that RomeoCome to redeeme me? There's a fearefull point:Shall I not then be stifled in the Vault?To whose foule mouth no healthsome ayre breaths in,And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes.Or if I liue, is it not very like,The horrible conceit of death and night,Together with the terror of the place,As in a Vaulte, an ancient receptacle,Where for these many hundred yeeres the bonesOf all my buried Auncestors are packt,Where bloody Tybalt, yet but greene in earth,Lies festring in his shrow'd, where as they say,At some houres in the night, Spirits resort:Alacke, alacke, is it not like that ISo early waking, what with loathsome smels,And shrikes like Mandrakes torne out of the earth,That liuing mortalls hearing them, run mad.O if I wake, shall I not be distraught,Inuironed with all these hidious feares,And madly play with my forefathers ioynts?And plucke the mangled Tybalt from his shrow'd?And in this rage, with some great kinsmans bone,As (with a club) dash out my desperate braines.O looke, me thinks I see my Cozins Ghost,Seeking out Romeo that did spit his bodyVpon my Rapiers point: stay Tybalt, stay;Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, here's drinke: I drinke to thee.Enter Lady of the house, and Nurse.
Lady. Hold,Take these keies, and fetch more spices Nurse
Nur. They call for Dates and Quinces in the Pastrie.Enter old Capulet.