Nur. O wo, O wofull, wofull, wofull day,Most lamentable day, most wofull day,That euer, euer, I did yet behold.O day, O day, O day, O hatefull day,Neuer was seene so blacke a day as this:O wofull day, O wofull day
Pa. Beguild, diuorced, wronged, spighted, slaine,Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd,By cruell, cruell thee, quite ouerthrowne:O loue, O life; not life, but loue in death
Fat. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martir'd, kil'd,Vncomfortable time, why cam'st thou nowTo murther, murther our solemnitie?O Child, O Child; my soule, and not my Child,Dead art thou, alacke my Child is dead,And with my Child, my ioyes are buried
Fri. Peace ho for shame, confusions: Care liues notIn these confusions, heauen and your selfeHad part in this faire Maid, now heauen hath all,And all the better is it for the Maid:Your part in her, you could not keepe from death,But heauen keepes his part in eternall life:The most you sought was her promotion,For 'twas your heauen, she shouldst be aduan'st,And weepe ye now, seeing she is aduan'stAboue the Cloudes, as high as Heauen it selfe?O in this loue, you loue your Child so ill,That you run mad, seeing that she is well:Shee's not well married, that liues married long,But shee's best married, that dies married yong.Drie vp your teares, and sticke your RosemarieOn this faire Coarse, and as the custome is,And in her best array beare her to Church:For though some Nature bids all vs lament,Yet Natures teares are Reasons merriment
Fa. All things that we ordained Festiuall,Turne from their office to blacke Funerall:Our instruments to melancholy Bells,Our wedding cheare, to a sad buriall Feast:Our solemne Hymnes, to sullen Dyrges change:Our Bridall flowers serue for a buried Coarse:And all things change them to the contrarie
Fri. Sir go you in; and Madam, go with him,And go sir Paris, euery one prepareTo follow this faire Coarse vnto her graue:The heauens do lowre vpon you, for some ill:Moue them no more, by crossing their high will.
Exeunt.
Mu. Faith we may put vp our Pipes and be gone
Nur. Honest goodfellowes: Ah put vp, put vp,For well you know, this is a pitifull case
Mu. I by my troth, the case may be amended.Enter Peter.
Pet. Musitions, oh Musitions,Hearts ease, hearts ease,O, and you will haue me liue, play hearts ease
Mu. Why hearts ease;Pet. O Musitions,Because my heart it selfe plaies, my heart is full
Mu. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now
Pet. You will not then?Mu. No
Pet. I will then giue it you soundly
Mu. What will you giue vs?Pet. No money on my faith, but the gleeke.I will giue you the Minstrell
Mu. Then will I giue you the Seruing creature
Peter. Then will I lay the seruing Creatures Daggeron your pate. I will carie no Crochets, Ile Re you, Ile Fayou, do you note me?Mu. And you Re vs, and Fa vs, you Note vs
2.M. Pray you put vp your Dagger, And put out your wit. Then haue at you with my wit
Peter. I will drie-beate you with an yron wit,And put vp my yron Dagger.Answere me like men:When griping griefes the heart doth wound, then Musickewith her siluer sound.Why siluer sound? why Musicke with her siluer sound?what say you Simon Catling?Mu. Mary sir, because siluer hath a sweet sound
Pet. Pratest, what say you Hugh Rebicke?2.M. I say siluer sound, because Musitions sound for siluerPet. Pratest to, what say you Iames Sound-Post?3.Mu. Faith I know not what to say
Pet. O I cry you mercy, you are the Singer.I will say for you; it is Musicke with her siluer sound,Because Musitions haue no gold for sounding:Then Musicke with her siluer sound, with speedy helpedoth lend redresse.Enter.
Mu. What a pestilent knaue is this same?M.2. Hang him Iacke, come weele in here, tarrie forthe Mourners, and stay dinner.Enter.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleepe,My dreames presage some ioyfull newes at hand:My bosomes L[ord]. sits lightly in his throne:And all this day an vnaccustom'd spirit,Lifts me aboue the ground with cheerefull thoughts.I dreamt my Lady came and found me dead,(Strange dreame that giues a dead man leaue to thinke,)And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,That I reuiu'd and was an Emperour.Ah me, how sweet is loue it selfe possest,When but loues shadowes are so rich in ioy.Enter Romeo's man.
Newes from Verona, how now Balthazer?Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Frier?How doth my Lady? Is my Father well?How doth my Lady Iuliet? that I aske againe,For nothing can be ill, is she be well
Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.Her body sleepes in Capels Monument,And her immortall part with Angels liue,I saw her laid low in her kindreds Vault,And presently tooke Poste to tell it you:O pardon me for bringing these ill newes,Since you did leaue it for my office Sir
Rom. Is it euen so?Then I denie you Starres.Thou knowest my lodging, get me inke and paper,And hire Post-Horses, I will hence to night
Man. I do beseech you sir, haue patience:Your lookes are pale and wild, and do importSome misaduenture
Rom. Tush, thou art deceiu'd,Leaue me, and do the thing I bid thee do.Hast thou no Letters to me from the Frier?Man. No my good Lord.
Exit Man.
Rom. No matter: Get thee gone,And hyre those Horses, Ile be with thee straight,Well Iuliet, I will lie with thee to night:Lets see for meanes, O mischiefe thou art swift,To enter in the thoughts of desperate men:I do remember an Appothecarie,And here abouts dwells, which late I notedIn tattred weeds, with ouerwhelming browes,Culling of Simples, meager were his lookes,Sharp miserie had worne him to the bones:And in his needie shop a Tortoyrs hung,An Allegater stuft, and other skinsOf ill shap'd fishes, and about his shelues,A beggerly account of emptie boxes ,Greene earthen pots, Bladders, and mustie seedes,Remnants of packthred, and old cakes of RosesWere thinly scattered, to make vp a shew.Noting this penury, to my selfe I said,An if a man did need a poyson now,Whose sale is present death in Mantua,Here liues a Caitiffe wretch would sell it him.O this same thought did but fore-run my need,And this same needie man must sell it me.As I remember, this should be the house,Being holy day, the beggers shop is shut.What ho? Appothecarie?Enter Appothecarie.
App. Who call's so low'd?Rom. Come hither man, I see that thou art poore,Hold, there is fortie Duckets, let me haueA dram of poyson, such soone speeding geare,As will disperse it selfe through all the veines,That the life-wearie-taker may fall dead,And that the Trunke may be discharg'd of breath,As violently, as hastie powder fier'dDoth hurry from the fatall Canons wombe
App. Such mortall drugs I haue, but Mantuas lawIs death to any he, that vtters them
Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchednesse,And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheekes,Need and opression starueth in thy eyes,Contempt and beggery hangs vpon thy backe:The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law:The world affords no law to make thee rich.Then be not poore, but breake it, and take this
App. My pouerty, but not my will consents
Rom. I pray thy pouerty, and not thy will
App. Put this in any liquid thing you willAnd drinke it off, and if you had the strengthOf twenty men, it would dispatch you straight
Rom. There's thy Gold,Worse poyson to mens soules,Doing more murther in this loathsome world,Then these poore compounds that thou maiest not sell.I sell thee poyson, thou hast sold me none,Farewell, buy food, and get thy selfe in flesh.Come Cordiall, and not poyson, go with meTo Iuliets graue, for there must I vse thee.
Exeunt.
Enter Frier Iohn to Frier Lawrence.
Iohn. Holy Franciscan Frier, Brother, ho?Enter Frier Lawrence.
Law. This same should be the voice of Frier Iohn.Welcome from Mantua, what sayes Romeo?Or if his mind be writ, giue me his Letter
Iohn. Going to find a bare-foote Brother out,One of our order to associate me,Here in this Citie visiting the sick,And finding him, the Searchers of the TowneSuspecting that we both were in a houseWhere the infectious pestilence did raigne,Seal'd vp the doores, and would not let vs forth,So that my speed to Mantua there was staid
Law. Who bare my Letter then to Romeo?Iohn. I could not send it, here it is againe,Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,So fearefull were they of infection
Law. Vnhappie Fortune: by my BrotherhoodThe Letter was not nice; but full of charge,Of deare import; and the neglecting itMay do much danger: Frier Iohn go hence,Get me an Iron Crow, and bring it straightVnto my Cell
Iohn. Brother Ile go and bring it thee.Enter.
Law. Now must I to the Monument alone,Within this three houres will faire Iuliet wake,Shee will beshrew me much that RomeoHath had no notice of these accidents:But I will write againe to Mantua,And keepe her at my Cell till Romeo come,Poore liuing Coarse, clos'd in a dead mans Tombe,Enter.
Enter Paris and his Page.
Par. Giue me thy Torch Boy, hence and stand aloft,Yet put it out, for I would not be seene:Vnder yond young Trees lay thee all along,Holding thy eare close to the hollow ground,So shall no foot vpon the Churchyard tread,Being loose, vnfirme with digging vp of Graues,But thou shalt heare it: whistle then to me,As signall that thou hearest some thing approach,Giue me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go
Page. I am almost afraid to stand aloneHere in the Churchyard, yet I will aduenture
Pa. Sweet Flower with flowers thy Bridall bed I strew:O woe, thy Canopie is dust and stones,Which with sweet water nightly I will dewe,Or wanting that, with teares destil'd by mones;The obsequies that I for thee will keepe,Nightly shall be, to strew thy graue, and weepe.
Whistle Boy.
The Boy giues warning, something doth approach,What cursed foot wanders this wayes to night,To crosse my obsequies, and true loues right?What with a Torch? Muffle me night a while.Enter Romeo, and Peter.
Rom. Giue me that Mattocke, & the wrenching Iron,Hold take this Letter, early in the morningSee thou deliuer it to my Lord and Father,Giue me the light; vpon thy life I charge thee,What ere thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloofe,And do not interrupt me in my course.Why I descend into this bed of death,Is partly to behold my Ladies face:But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger,A precious Ring, a Ring that I must vse,In deare employment, therefore hence be gone:But if thou iealous dost returne to prieIn what I further shall intend to do,By heauen I will teare thee ioynt by ioynt,And strew this hungry Churchyard with thy limbs:The time, and my intents are sauage wilde:More fierce and more inexorable farre,Them emptie Tygers, or the roaring Sea
Pet. I will be gone sir, and not trouble youRo. So shalt thou shew me friendship: take thou that,Liue and be prosperous, and farewell good fellow
Pet. For all this same, Ile hide me here about,His lookes I feare, and his intents I doubt
Rom. Thou detestable mawe, thou wombe of death,Gorg'd with the dearest morsell of the earth:Thus I enforce thy rotten Iawes to open,And in despight, Ile cram thee with more food
Par. This is that banisht haughtie Mountague,That murdred my Loues Cozin; with which griefe,It is supposed the faire Creature died,And here is come to do some villanous shameTo the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.Stop thy vnhallowed toyle, vile Mountague:Can vengeance be pursued further then death?Condemned villaine, I do apprehend thee.Obey and go with me, for thou must die,Rom. I must indeed, and therfore came I hither:Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man,Flie hence and leaue me, thinke vpon those gone,Let them affright thee. I beseech thee Youth,Put not an other sin vpon my head,By vrging me to furie. O be gone,By heauen I loue thee better then my selfe,For I come hither arm'd against my selfe:Stay not, be gone, liue, and hereafter say,A mad mans mercy bid thee run away
Par. I do defie thy commisseration,And apprehend thee for a Fellon here
Ro. Wilt thou prouoke me? Then haue at thee Boy
Pet. O Lord they fight, I will go call the Watch
Pa. O I am slaine, if thou be mercifull,Open the Tombe, lay me with Iuliet
Rom. In faith I will, let me peruse this face:Mercutius kinsman, Noble Countie Paris,What said my man, when my betossed souleDid not attend him as we rode? I thinkeHe told me Paris should haue married Iuliet.Said he not so? Or did I dreame it so?Or am I mad, hearing him talke of Iuliet,To thinke it was so? O giue me thy hand,One, writ with me in sowre misfortunes booke.Ile burie thee in a triumphant graue.A Graue; O no, a Lanthorne; slaughtred Youth:For here lies Iuliet, and her beautie makesThis Vault a feasting presence full of light.Death lie thou there, by a dead man inter'd,How oft when men are at the point of death,Haue they beene merrie? Which their Keepers callA lightning before death? Oh how may ICall this a lightning? O my Loue, my Wife,Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath,Hath had no power yet vpon thy Beautie:Thou are not conquer'd: Beauties ensigne yetIs Crymson in thy lips, and in thy cheekes,And Deaths pale flag is not aduanced there.Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloudy sheet?O what more fauour can I do to thee,Then with that hand that cut thy youth in twaine,To sunder his that was thy enemie?Forgiue me Cozen. Ah deare Iuliet:Why art thou yet so faire? I will beleeue,Shall I beleeue, that vnsubstantiall death is amorous?And that the leane abhorred Monster keepesThee here in darke to be his Paramour?For feare of that, I still will stay with thee,And neuer from this Pallace of dym nightDepart againe: come lie thou in my armes,Heere's to thy health, where ere thou tumblest in.O true Appothecarie!Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die.Depart againe; here, here will I remaine,With Wormes that are thy Chambermaides: O hereWill I set vp my euerlasting rest:And shake the yoke of inauspicious starresFrom this world-wearied flesh: Eyes looke your last:Armes take your last embrace: And lips, O youThe doores of breath, seale with a righteous kisseA datelesse bargaine to ingrossing death:Come bitter conduct, come vnsauory guide,Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run onThe dashing Rocks, thy Sea-sicke wearie Barke:Heere's to my Loue. O true Appothecary:Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die.Enter Frier with a Lanthorne, Crow, and Spade.
Fri. St. Francis be my speed, how oft to nightHaue my old feet stumbled at graues? Who's there?Man. Here's one, a Friend, & one that knowes you well
Fri. Blisse be vpon you. Tell me good my FriendWhat Torch is yond that vainely lends his lightTo grubs, and eyelesse Sculles? As I discerne,It burneth in the Capels Monument
Man. It doth so holy sir,And there's my Master, one that you loue
Fri. Who is it?Man. Romeo
Fri. How long hath he bin there?Man. Full halfe an houre
Fri. Go with me to the Vault
Man. I dare not Sir.My Master knowes not but I am gone hence,And fearefully did menace me with death,If I did stay to looke on his entents
Fri. Stay, then Ile go alone, feares comes vpon me.O much I feare some ill vnluckie thing
Man. As I did sleepe vnder this young tree here,I dreamt my maister and another fought,And that my Maister slew him
Fri. Romeo.Alacke, alacke, what blood is this which stainesThe stony entrance of this Sepulcher?What meane these Masterlesse, and goarie SwordsTo lie discolour'd by this place of peace?Romeo, oh pale: who else? what Paris too?And steept in blood? Ah what an vnkind houreIs guiltie of this lamentable chance?The Lady stirs
Iul. O comfortable Frier, where's my Lord?I do remember well where I should be:And there I am, where is my Romeo?Fri. I heare some noyse Lady, come from that nestOf death, contagion, and vnnaturall sleepe,A greater power then we can contradictHath thwarted our entents, come, come away,Thy husband in thy bosome there lies dead:And Paris too: come Ile dispose of thee,Among a Sisterhood of holy Nunnes:Stay not to question, for the watch is comming.Come, go good Iuliet, I dare no longer stay.Enter.
Iul. Go get thee hence, for I will not away,What's here, A cup clos'd in my true loues hand?Poyson I see hath bin his timelesse endO churle, drinke all? and left no friendly drop,To helpe me after, I will kisse thy lips,Happlie some poyson yet doth hang on them,To make me die with a restoratiue.Thy lips are warme.Enter Boy and Watch.
Watch. Lead Boy, which way?Iul. Yea noise?Then ile be briefe. O happy Dagger.'Tis in thy sheath, there rust and let me die.
Kils herselfe.
Boy. This is the place,There where the Torch doth burneWatch. The ground is bloody,Search about the Churchyard.Go some of you, who ere you find attach.Pittifull sight, here lies the Countie slaine,And Iuliet bleeding, warme and newly deadWho here hath laine these two dayes buried.Go tell the Prince, runne to the Capulets,Raise vp the Mountagues, some others search,We see the ground whereon these woes do lye,But the true ground of all these piteous woes,We cannot without circumstance descry.Enter Romeo's man.
Watch. Here's Romeo's man,We found him in the Churchyard
Con. Hold him in safety, till the Prince come hither.Enter Frier, and another Watchman.
3.Wat. Here is a Frier that trembles, sighes, and weepes We tooke this Mattocke and this Spade from him, As he was comming from this Church-yard side
Con. A great suspition, stay the Frier too.Enter the Prince.
Prin. What misaduenture is so earely vp,That calls our person from our mornings rest?Enter Capulet and his Wife.
Cap. What should it be that they so shrike abroad?Wife. O the people in the streete crie Romeo.Some Iuliet, and some Paris, and all runneWith open outcry toward our Monument
Pri. What feare is this which startles in your eares?Wat. Soueraigne, here lies the Countie Paris slaine,And Romeo dead, and Iuliet dead before,Warme and new kil'd
Prin. Search,Seeke, and know how, this foule murder comes
Wat. Here is a Frier, and Slaughter'd Romeos man,With Instruments vpon them fit to openThese dead mens Tombes
Cap. O heauen!O wife looke how our Daughter bleedes!This Dagger hath mistaine, for loe his houseIs empty on the backe of Mountague,And is misheathed in my Daughters bosome
Wife. O me, this sight of death, is as a BellThat warnes my old age to a Sepulcher.Enter Mountague.
Pri. Come Mountague, for thou art early vpTo see thy Sonne and Heire, now early downe
Moun. Alas my liege, my wife is dead to night,Griefe of my Sonnes exile hath stopt her breath:What further woe conspires against my age?Prin. Looke: and thou shalt see
Moun. O thou vntaught, what manners is in this,To presse before thy Father to a graue?Prin. Seale vp the mouth of outrage for a while,Till we can cleare these ambiguities,And know their spring, their head, their true descent,And then I will be generall of your woes,And lead you euen to death? meane time forbeare,And let mischance be slaue to patience,Bring forth the parties of suspition
Fri. I am the greatest, able to doe least,Yet most suspected as the time and placeDoth make against me of this direfull murther:And heere I stand both to impeach and purgeMy selfe condemned, and my selfe excus'd
Prin. Then say at once, what thou dost know in this?Fri. I will be briefe, for my short date of breathIs not so long as is a tedious tale.Romeo there dead, was husband to that Iuliet,And she there dead, that's Romeos faithfull wife:I married them; and their stolne marriage dayWas Tybalts Doomesday: whose vntimely deathBanish'd the new-made Bridegroome from this Citie:For whom (and not for Tybalt) Iuliet pinde.You, to remoue that siege of Greefe from her,Betroth'd, and would haue married her perforceTo Countie Paris. Then comes she to me,And (with wilde lookes) bid me deuise some meanesTo rid her from this second Marriage,Or in my Cell there would she kill her selfe.Then gaue I her (so Tutor'd by my Art)A sleeping Potion, which so tooke effectAs I intended, for it wrought on herThe forme of death. Meane time, I writ to Romeo,That he should hither come, as this dyre night,To helpe to take her from her borrowed graue,Being the time the Potions force should cease.But he which bore my Letter, Frier Iohn,Was stay'd by accident; and yesternightReturn'd my Letter backe. Then all alone,At the prefixed houre of her waking,Came I to take her from her Kindreds vault,Meaning to keepe her closely at my Cell,Till I conueniently could send to Romeo.But when I came (some Minute ere the timeOf her awaking) heere vntimely layThe Noble Paris, and true Romeo dead.Shee wakes, and I intreated her come foorth,And beare this worke of Heauen, with patience:But then, a noyse did scarre me from the Tombe,And she (too desperate) would not go with me,But (as it seemes) did violence on her selfe.All this I know, and to the Marriage her Nurse is priuy:And if ought in this miscarried by my fault,Let my old life be sacrific'd, some houre before the time,Vnto the rigour of seuerest Law
Prin. We still haue knowne thee for a Holy man.Where's Romeo's man? What can he say to this?Boy. I brought my Master newes of Iuliets death,And then in poste he came from MantuaTo this same place, to this same Monument.This Letter he early bid me giue his Father,And threatned me with death, going in the Vault,If I departed not, and left him there
Prin. Giue me the Letter, I will look on it.Where is the Counties Page that rais'd the Watch?Sirra, what made your Master in this place?Page. He came with flowres to strew his Ladies graue,And bid me stand aloofe, and so I did:Anon comes one with light to ope the Tombe,And by and by my Maister drew on him,And then I ran away to call the Watch
Prin. This Letter doth make good the Friers words,Their course of Loue, the tydings of her death:And heere he writes, that he did buy a poysonOf a poore Pothecarie, and therewithallCame to this Vault to dye, and lye with Iuliet.Where be these Enemies? Capulet, Mountague,See what a scourge is laide vpon your hate,That Heauen finds meanes to kill your ioyes with Loue;And I, for winking at your discords too,Haue lost a brace of Kinsmen: All are punish'd
Cap. O Brother Mountague, giue me thy hand,This is my Daughters ioynture, for no moreCan I demand
Moun. But I can giue thee more:For I will raise her Statue in pure Gold,That whiles Verona by that name is knowne,There shall no figure at that Rate be set,As that of True and Faithfull Iuliet
Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his Lady ly,Poore sacrifices of our enmity
Prin. A glooming peace this morning with it brings,The Sunne for sorrow will not shew his head;Go hence, to haue more talke of these sad things,Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished.For neuer was a Storie of more Wo,Then this of Iuliet, and her Romeo.
Exeunt. omnes