Rom.

Draw, Benvolio—beat down their weapons. —Gentlemen—for shame forbear this outrage— Hold Tibalt, good Mercutio—

Mer.
I am hurt—
A plague on both your houses! I am sped.
Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Ben.
What, art thou hurt?

Mer.

Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch, marry, 'tis enough. Go, fetch a surgeon.

Rom.

Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much.

Mer.

No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough; 'twill serve: I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world—a plague of both your houses! What? 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.

Rom.
I thought all for the best.

Mer.
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; plague o'both your houses! [Exeunt Mer. and Ben.

Rom.
This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt,
In my behalf: my reputation's stain'd
With Tibalt's slander. O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper softened valour's steel. Enter Benvolio.

Ben.
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead,
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which, too untimely, here did scorn the earth. Enter Tibalt.

Ben.
Here comes the furious Tibalt back again.

Rom.
Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain?
Away to Heav'n, respective lenity,
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct, now!
Now, Tibalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me: for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
And thou or I must keep him company.

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

Rom.
This shall determine that. [They fight, Tibalt falls.

Ben.
Romeo, away, begone:
The citizens are up, and Tibalt slain—
Stand not amaz'd; the prince will doom thee death,
If thou art taken: hence, begone, away.

Rom.
O! I am fortune's fool. [Exit Romeo.

Enter Prince, Montague, Capulet, Citizens, &c.

Prince.
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

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

Cap.
Unhappy sight! Alas, the blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman—Now, as thou art a prince,
For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.

Prin.
Benvolio, who began this fray?

Ben.
Tibalt, here slain.* ^note
Romeo bespake him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal,
Your high displeasure. All this uttered
With gentle breath, calm looks, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not make truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tibalt, 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 Tibalt, 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 Tibalt hit the life,
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tibalt 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 Tibalt slain;
And as he fell, did Romeo turn to fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio suffer.

Cap.
He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false; he speaks not true.
I beg for justice; justice, gracious prince;
Romeo slew Tibalt, Romeo must not live.

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

Mont.
Romeo but took the forfeit life of Tibalt.

Prin.
And we, for that offence, do banish him.
I have an int'rest in your heady brawls,
My blood doth flow from brave Mercutio's wounds.
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent my loss in him.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuse,
Nor tears nor prayers, shall purchase our repeal:
Therefore use none: let Romeo be gone,
Else when he is found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt. Scene SCENE, an Apartment in Capulet's House. Enter Juliet, alone.

Jul.
Gallop apace, you fiery footed steeds,
To Phœbus' mansion; such a waggoner† ^note
As Phaeton, would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That run-aways eyes may wink; and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalkt of, and unseen.
Come night, come Romeo! come thou day in night!
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night,
Whiter than snow upon the raven's back.
Give me my Romeo, Night, and when he dies,
Take him, and cut him out in little stars,* ^note

And he will make the face of Heav'n so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.—
Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; so tedious is this day,
As is the night, before some festival,
To an impatient child that hath new robes,* ^note
And may not wear them. Oh, here comes my nurse! Enter Nurse.
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heav'nly eloquence.
Now nurse, what news?
Why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse.
Ah, welladay, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone—

Jul.
Can Heav'n be so envious?

Nurse.
Romeo can.
Though Heav'n cannot. Oh, Romeo! Romeo!

Jul.
What devil art thou that does torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but ay,
And that bare little word shall poison more,
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.

Nurse.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
Here on his manly breast.—A piteous coarse,
A bloody piteous coarse, pale, pale as ashes,
I swooned at the sight.

Jul.
Oh 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!† ^note

Nurse.
Oh, Tibalt, Tibalt, the best friend I had;
That ever I should live to see thee dead?

Jul.
What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd? and is Tibalt dead?

Nurse.
Tibalt is dead, and Romeo banished.

Jul.
Banish'd! is Romeo banish'd!

Nurse.
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul.
Oh Heav'n! Did Romeo's hand shed Tibalt's blood?

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

Jul.
Oh nature! what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend,
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Oh, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.* ^note

Nurse.
There is no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd:
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul.
Blister'd be thy tongue,
For such a wish: he was not born to shame,
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit:
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd,
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
Oh, what a wretch was I to chide him so?

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

Jul.
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?
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 Tibalt would have slain,
And Tibalt's dead, that would have kill'd my husband.
All this is comfort. Wherefore weep I, then?
Some word there was far worse than Tibalt's death,
That murder'd me. I would forget it fain,
But oh, it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds.

Tibalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
That banished, that one word, banished,
Hath slain ten thousand Tibalts. In that word,
Is father, mother, Tibalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead!—Romeo is banished!
Where are my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse.
Weeping and wailing over Tibalt's coarse.
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Jul.
Wash they his wounds with tears! my eyes shall flow,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.

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 Lawrence' cell.

Jul.
Oh, find him, give this ring to my true lord,
And bid him come to take his last farewel. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, the Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.* ^note

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

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

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

Rom.
What less than death can be the prince's doom?

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

Rom.
Ha! banishment? be merciful, say death;

For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: Do not say banishment;
'Tis death mis-term'd calling death banishment;
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden ax,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

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

Rom.
'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here,† ^note


Where Juliet lives. There's more felicity
In carrion-flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
But Romeo may not, he is banished!
Oh father, hast thou no strong poison mixt,
No sharp ground knife, no present means of death,
But banishment, to torture me withal?

Fri.
Fond mad-man, hear me speak,
I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy:
To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished.

Rom.
Yet banished? hang up philosophy:
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more—

Fri.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Rom.
Thou can'st not speak of what thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tibalt murdered:
Doting, like me, and like me banished;
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.* ^note [Throwing himself on the ground.

Fri.
Arise, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. [Knock within.

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

Fri.
Hark, how they knock—Romeo, arise,
Who's there?
Thou wilt be taken—stay awhile—stand up; [Knocks.
Run to my study—By and by—God's will;
What wilfulness is this!—I come, I come. [Knocks.
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.

Fri.
Welcome, then. Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Oh, holy friar, oh tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo?

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

Nurse.
O he is even in my mistress's case,
Just in her case: Oh Juliet, Juliet!

Rom.
Speak'st thou of Juliet! how is it with her?
Since I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood,
Where is she? how does she? what says she?

Nurse.
Oh, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tibalt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then falls down again.

Rom.
As if that name
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her. Oh 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.

Fri.
Hold thy desperate hand:* ^note
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art;
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts note
Th' unreasonable fury of a beast.
Thou hast amazed me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better-temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tibalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady, too, that lives in thee?
What, rouze thee man! thy Juliet is alive;
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 thy 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 rest,
Romeo is coming.

Nurse.
Oh lord, I could have staid here, all night,
To hear good counsel; oh, what learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom.
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.

Rom.
How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

Fri.
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, farewel, good night.

Rom.
But that a joy, past joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief so soon to part with thee. [Exeunt.

Scene SCENE, Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.

Cap.
Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tibalt, dearly,
And so did I—Well, we were born to die—
'Tis very late, she'll not come down, to night.

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

Cap.
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my child's love: I think she will be rul'd
In all respects by me, nay more, I doubt it not.
But, soft; what day? Well, Wednesday is too soon,
On Thursday let it be: you shall be marry'd.
We'll keep no great ado—a friend or two—
For, hark you, Tibalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday?

Par.
My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.

Cap.
Well, get you gone—on Thursday be it, then.
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed: [To lady Cap.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lord—Light to my chamber, hoa!
Good-night. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, the Garden. Enter Romeo and Juliet.

Jul.
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom.
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 tip-toe on the misty mountain tops;
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul.
Yon light is not day-light, I know it well;
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go so soon.

Rom.
Let me be ta'en; let me be put to death,
I am content, if thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow,
I'll say, 'tis not the lark whose notes do beat,
The vaulty heav'ns so high above our heads:
Come, death, and welcome: Juliet wills it so.
What says my love? Let's talk, it is not day.

Jul.
It is, it is, hie hence away, be gone;
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Oh now be gone, more light and light it grows.

Rom.
More light and light?—more dark and dark our woes.
Farewel, my love; one kiss, and I'll be gone. Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Madam.

Jul.
Nurse.

Nurse.
Your lady mother's coming to your chamber:
The day is broke, be wary, look about.* ^note

Jul.
Art thou gone so? love! lord! ah, husband, friend!
I must hear from thee ev'ry day, in th' hour,
For in love's hours there are many days.
O by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

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

Jul.
O think'st thou we shall ever meet, again?

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

Jul.
O heav'n! I have an ill-divining soul;
Methinks I see thee, now thou'rt parting from me,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb!
Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Rom.
And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu!
My life, my love, my soul. Adieu! [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet.

Jul.
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 again. Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
Hoa, daughter, are you up?

Jul.
Who is't that calls? Is it my lady mother?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

La. Cap.
Why how now, Juliet?

Jul.
Madam, I'm not well.

La. Cap.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?

Jul.
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

La. Cap.
I come to bring thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul.
And joy comes well in such a needful time.
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

La. Cap.
Marry, my child early next Thursday morn,
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The country Paris, at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride.

Jul.
I wonder at this haste that I must wed,
Ere he that must be husband comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I cannot marry yet.

La. Cap.
Here comes your father, tell him so, yourself,
And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse.

Cap.
How now? a conduit, girl? what still in tears;
Evermore showering? Why how now, wife?
Have you delivered to her our decree?

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

Cap.
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 gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Jul.
Proud can I never be of what I hate,
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap.
Thank me no thankings,
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to St. Peter's church:
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

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

Cap.
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.
Wife, we scarce thought us blest,
That Heav'n had sent 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.* ^note

Nurse.
Heav'n bless her:
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.

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

Nurse.
I speak no treason.

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

La. Cap.
You are too hot.

Cap.
Good wife it makes me mad; day, night, late, early,
At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking or sleeping; still my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demeans; youthful and nobly allied,
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man:
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet,† ^note in her fortune's tender
To answer, I'll not wed, I cannot love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.—
But if you will not wed, look to't, think on't,
I do not use to jest—Thursday is near.
If you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i'th' streets;
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee. [Exit.

Jul.
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 Tibalt lies.

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

Jul.
O heav'n! O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
Alack, alack, that heav'n should practise stratagems,
Upon so soft a subject as myself.

Nurse.
Rise, faith here it is:
Romeo is banish'd; 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, I think it best
You married with the count.

Jul.
Speakest thou from thy heart?

Nurse.
And from my soul, too,
Or else beshrew them both.

Jul.
Amen, amen.

Nurse.
What?

Jul.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much:
Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nurse.
Marry, I will, and this is wisely done. [Exit.

Jul.
Oh most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue;
Which she hath prais'd 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.* ^note [Exit. End of the Third Act. ACT IV. Scene SCENE, the Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

Fri.
On Thursday, sir! the time is very short.

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

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

Par.
Immoderately she weeps for Tibalt'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 should give her sorrow so much sway:
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears.
Now do you know the reason of this haste.

Fri.
I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
Look, sir, here comes the lady tow'rds my cell. Enter Juliet.

Par.
Welcome, my love, my lady, and my wife.

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

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

Jul.
What must be, shall be.

Par.
Come you to make confession to this father?

Jul.
To answer that were to confess to you:
Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?*

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

Par.
Heav'n shield, I should disturb devotion:
Juliet, Farewel. [Exit Paris.

Jul.
Go, shut the door; and when thou hast done so,
Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help.

Fri.
O Juliet! I already know thy grief.

Jul.
Tell me not, friar, that thou know'st my grief,
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 steel I'll help it presently.
Heav'n 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,
Give to another, this shall slay them both:

Therefore out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel, or behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me, this bloody dagger
Shall play the umpire.—

Fri.
Hold, daughter; I do espy 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 or will to slay thyself,
Then it is likely thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to free thee from this marriage;
And if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.

Jul.
O bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower:* ^note
Or chain me to some steepy mountain's top,
Where roaring bears and savage lions roam!
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 sculls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud,
Things that to hear them nam'd, have made me tremble,
And I will do it, without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

Fri.
Hold then, go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris; look thou lye alone.
(Let not thy nurse lye with thee in thy chamber.)
And when thou art alone, take thou this phial,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His nat'ral progress, but surcease to beat.
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st;
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;

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 rouze 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 unconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul.
Give me, O give me, tell me not of fear. [Taking the phial.

Fri.
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.

Jul.
Love, give me strength, and strength shall help afford.
Farewel, dear father &lblank; [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

Cap.
What, is my daughter gone to friar Lawrence?

Nurse.
Ay, forsooth.

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

Nurse.
See, where she comes from shrift, with merry look!

Cap.
How now, my head-strong? Where have you been gadding?

Jul.
Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests;† ^note and am enjoin'd
By holy Lawrence, to fall prostrate here,
And beg your pardon; pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

Cap.
Send for the County, go tell him of this,
I'll have this knot knit up, to-morrow morning.

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

Cap.
Why, I am glad on't, this is well, Stand up;
Now, afore Heav'n, this reverend holy friar,—
All our whole city is much bound to him.

Jul.
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?

La. Cap.
No, not 'till Thursday, there is time enough.

Cap.
Go, nurse, go with her; we'll to church, tomorrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.

La. Cap.
We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.

Cap.
Tush, all things shall be well.
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck her up;
I'll not to bed, but walk myself to Paris,
T' appoint him 'gainst to-morrow. My heart's light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt Capulet and Lady Capulet. Scene SCENE, Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet and Nurse.

Jul.
Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee leave me to myself, to-night;
For I have need of many orisons,‡ ^note
To move the Heav'ns to smile upon my state,
Which well thou know'st is cross and full of sin.

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What, are you busy? Do you need my help?

Jul.
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 set up with you;
For I am sure you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

La. Cap.
Then good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt.

Jul.
Farewel—Heav'n knows, when we shall meet again!* ^note
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!—Yet what should they do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone. [Takes out the phial.
Come, phial—What if this mixture do not work, at all?
Shall I of force be married to the count?
No, no, this shall forbid it; lie thou there— [Pointing to a dagger.
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath ministerd, 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
Comes 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 be 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 pack'd;
Where bloody Tibalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night, spirits resort—
Or, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
(Invironed with all these hideous fears)
And madly play with my forefathers' joints,
And pluck the mangled Tibalt from his shroud?
And in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desp'rate brains?
O look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo—Stay, Tibalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. [Drinks. [She throws herself on the Bed.
O, potent draught! thou hast* ^note
Chill'd me to my heart! my head turns round,
My senses fail me—O, Romeo, Romeo— [The Scene shuts on her. Scene SCENE, a Hall. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

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

Nurse.
They call for dates and quinces, in the pastry. Enter Capulet and Lady, meeting.

Cap.
Come, stir, stir, stir, the second cock hath crow'd,
The curfew bell† ^note hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.

Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica,
Spare not for cost.

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

Cap.
No, not a whit. What! I have watch'd, e're now,
All night, for a less cause, and ne'er been sick. [Play Music.
The county will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would,—I hear him near,
Nurse,—wife,—What, hoa? What, nurse, I say? Enter Nurse.
Go waken Juliet, go, and trim her up.
I'll go, and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste:
Make haste, I say. [Exit Capulet. Scene SCENE draws, and discovers Juliet on a Bed.

Nurse.
Mistress, what mistress Juliet—Fast, I warrant her,
Why, lamb—why l,ady—Fy, you flug-a-bed—
Why, love, I say—Madam, sweet-heart—why, bride—
What, not a word! you take your penny-worths now.
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
That you shall rest but little—Heav'n 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?
What! drest, 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?
Hoa! my lord, my lady! Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What noise is here?

Nurse.
O, lamentable day!

La. Cap.
What is the matter?

Nurse.
Look—oh, heavy day!

La. Cap.
Oh me, my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! call help. Enter Capulet.

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

Nurse.
She's dead; she's dead. Alack the day!

Cap.
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 the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man! Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris, with Musicians.

Fri.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Cap.
Ready to go, but never to return.
O son, the night before the wedding day,
Death has embrac'd thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, nipp'd in the bud by him!
Oh Juliet, oh, my child, my child!

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

Cap.
Most miserable hour, that time e'er saw,
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to enjoy, and solace in,
And cruel death hath catcht it from my sight.

Fri.
Your daughter lives in peace and happiness;
Heav'n and yourself had part in this fair maid,
Now, Heav'n hath all—Dry up your fruitless tears.
Come, stick your rosemary on this fair corps,
And as the custom of our country is,
Convey her where her ancestors lie tomb'd.

Cap.
All things that we ordain'd to festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:

Our instruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast:
Our solemn hymns, to sullen dirges change;
And bridal flowers serve for a burial coarse.

Fri.
Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him;
And go, sir Paris, every one prepare
To follow this fair coarse unto her grave.
The Heav'ns do low'r upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.* ^note [Exeunt. End of the Fourth Act. ACT V. Scene SCENE, the inside of a Church. Enter the funeral procession of Juliet, in which the following Dirge is sung.† ^note
CHORUS.
Rise, rise!
    Heart-breaking sighs,
The woe-fraught bosom swell;
  For sighs alone,
  And dismal moan,
Should echo Juliet's knell.

AIR.
She's gone—the sweetest flower of May,
  That blooming blest our sight
Those eyes, which shone like breaking day,
  Are set in endless night! CHORUS.
Rise, rise! &c. AIR.
She's gone, she's gone, nor leaves behind
So fair a form, so pure a mind.
How could'st thou, Death, at once destroy,
The Lover's hope, the Parent's joy? CHORUS.
Rise, rise! &c. AIR.
Thou spotless soul, look down below,
  Our unfeign'd sorrow see:
Oh give us strength to bear our woe,
  To bear the loss of thee? CHORUS.
Rise, rise! &c. Scene SCENE, Mantua.

Enter Romeo.
If I may trust the flattery of sleep,* ^note
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.

My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne,
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground, with chearful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,
And breath'd such life, with kisses on my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possest,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy? Enter Balthasar.
News from Verona—How now, Balthasar!
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? that I ask again,
For nothing can be ill, if she be well?

Bal.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part, with angels lives.
I saw her carried to her kindred's vault,
And presently took post, to tell it you.
O pardon me, for bringing these ill news.

Rom.
Is it even so? Then I defy you, stars—

Bal.
My lord!

Rom.
Thou know'st my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will hence, to-night.

Bal.
Pardon me, sir, I dare not leave you thus.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

Rom.
Go, thou art deceiv'd!
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

Bal.
No, good my lord.

Rom.
No matter. Get thee gone,
And hire those horses, I'll be with thee, strait. [Exit Balthasar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee, to-night;—
Let's see for means—O mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thought of desperate men!

I do remember an apothecary,* ^note
And hereabouts he dwells, who late I noted,
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuft, and other skins
Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a shew.
Noting his penury, to myself I said,
An' if a man did need a poison now,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
Oh this same thought did but forerun my need:
As I remember, this should be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's shop is shut.
What, hoa! apothecary! Enter Apothecary.

Ap.
Who calls so loud?

Rom.
Come hither, man; I see that thou art poor;
Hold, there are forty ducats: let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding geer,
As will disperse itself thro' all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may soon die.

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

Rom.
Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks;
Need and oppression stare within thine eyes;
Contempt and beggary hang on thy back:

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
The world affords no law to make thee rich:
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.

Ap.
My poverty, but not my will, consents. [Exit.

Rom.
I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. [Apothecary returns.

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

Rom.
There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murder in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell.
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewel, buy food, and get thee into flesh.
Come, cordial, and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, the Monastery at Verona. Enter Friar John to Friar Lawrence.

John.
Holy Franciscan friar! brother! hoa!

Law.
This same should be the voice of friar John.
Welcome from Mantua; what says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

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

Law.
Who bore my letter then to Romeo?

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

Law.
Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge,
Of dear import, and the neglecting it

May do much danger. Friar John, go hence,
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

John.
Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit.

Law.
Now must I to the monument alone:
Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents:
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell, till Romeo come,
Poor living coarse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit. Scene SCENE, a Church-yard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets. Enter Paris,* ^note and his Page with a Light.

Par.
Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof.
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen;
Under yon yew-tree lay thee all along,
Placing thy ear close to the hollow ground,
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flow'rs. Do as I bid thee; go.

Page.
I am almost afraid to stand alone,
Here in the church-yard, yet I will adventure. [Exit.

Par.
Sweet flow'r! with flow'rs thy bridal bed I strew; [Strewing flowers,
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hand,
That living, honour'd thee, and, being dead,
With funeral obsequies adorn thy tomb. [The boy whistles.
—The boy gives warning, something does approach—

What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rite?
What, with a torch! Muffle me, night, a while. [Paris retires. Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a Light.

Rom.
Give me the wrenching iron.
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father,
Put out the torch, and, on thy life, I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is partly to behold my lady's face;
But chiefly to take thence, from her dead finger,
A precious ring, a ring that I must use
In dear employment; therefore, hence, begone;
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs:
The time and my intents are savage, wild,
More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea.

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

Rom.
So shalt thou win my favour. Take thou that,
Live and be prosp'rous, and farewel, good fellow.

Bal.
For all this same, I'll hide me near this place;
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Exit.

Rom.
Thou maw detestable, thou womb of death,
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth;
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, [Breaking open the Monument.
And in despight I'll cram thee with more food.

Par. [Shewing himself.]
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague.
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee;
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.

Rom.
I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither—
Good, gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man;

Fly hence and leave me:
By heav'n, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither, arm'd against myself.

Par.
I do defy thy pity and thy counsel,
And apprehend thee for a felon, here.

Rom.
Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy. [They fight, Paris falls.

Page.
Oh lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

Par.
Oh, I am slain; if thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, and lay me with my Juliet. [Dies.

Rom.
In faith, I will: let me peruse this face—
Mercutio's kinsman! Noble County Paris!
Give me thy hand—
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, [Breaks open the Monument.
For here lies Juliet—Oh my love, my wife,
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd, beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Oh Juliet, why art thou yet so fair—here, here,
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke, of inauspicious stars,
From this world-weary flesh:
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsav'ry guide,
Thou desp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks my sea-sick weary bark:
No more—here's to my love!—eyes, look your last; [Drinking the Poison.
Arms, take your last embrace: and lips, do you
The doors of breath seal with a righteous kiss—
Soft—she breathes, and stirs? [Juliet wakes.

Jul.
Where am I? Defend me!* ^note

Rom.
She speaks, she lives: and we shall still be bless'd!
My kind propitious stars o'erpay me now,
For all my sorrows past—rise, rise, my Juliet,
And from this cave of death, this house of horror,
Quick let me snatch thee to thy Romeo's arms,
There breathe a vital spirit in thy lips,
And call thee back to life and love. [Takes her Hand.

Jul.
Bless me! how cold it is! Who's there?

Rom.
Thy husband,
'Tis thy Romeo, Juliet; rais'd from despair
To joys unutt'rable! Quit, quit this place,
And let us fly together— [Brings her from the Tomb.

Jul.
Why do you force me so—I'll ne'er consent—
My strength may fail me, but my will's unmov'd—
I'll not wed Paris—Romeo is my husband—

Rom.
Her senses are unsettl'd—Heav'n restore 'em!
Romeo is thy husband; I am that Romeo,
Nor all the opposing powers of earth or man,
Shall break our bonds, or tear thee from my heart.

Jul.
I know that voice—its magick sweetness wakes
My tranced soul—I now remember well
Each circumstance—Oh my lord, my husband— [Going to embrace him.
Dost thou avoid me, Romeo? Let me touch
Thy hand, and taste the cordial of thy lips—
You fright me—speak—oh let me hear some voice,
Besides my own, in this drear vault of death,
Or I shall faint—Support me—

Rom.
Oh, I cannot,
I have no strength, but want thy feeble aid;
Cruel poison!

Jul.
Poison! What means my lord? Thy trembling voice!
Pale lips! and swimming eyes! Death's in thy face!

Rom.
It is, indeed—I struggle with him now—
The transports that I felt, to hear thee speak,
And see thy op'ning eyes, stopt for a moment
His impetuous course, and all my mind
Was happiness and thee: but now the poison

Rushes thro' my veins—I've not time to tell—* ^note
Fate brought me to this place—to take a last,
Last farewel of my love, and with thee die.

Jul.
Die! Was the friar false?

Rom.
I know not that—
I thought thee dead: distracted at the fight,
(Fatal speed) drank poison, kiss'd thy cold lips,
And sound, within thy arms, a precious grave—
But in that moment—Oh—

Jul.
And did I wake for this!

Rom.
My powers are blasted,
'Twixt death and love I'm torn—I am distracted!
But death's strongest—and I must leave thee, Juliet!
Oh cruel, cursed fate! in sight of Heav'n—

Jul.
Thou rav'st—lean on my breast—

Rom.
Fathers have flinty hearts, no tears can melt 'em.
Nature pleads in vain—Children must be wretched—

Jul.
Oh, my breaking heart—

Rom.
She is my wife—our hearts are twin'd together—
Capulet, forbear—Paris, loose your hold—
Pull not our heart-strings thus—they crack—they break—
Oh, Juliet! Juliet! [Dies.

Jul.
Stay, stay, for me, Romeo—
A moment stay; fate marries us in death,
And we are one—No power shall part us. [Faints on Romeo's body. Enter Friar Lawrence, with lanthorn, crow, and spade.

Fri.
St. Francis be my speed! How oft, to-night,
Have my old feet stumbled at graves? Who's there?
Alack, alack! what blood is this, which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre!

Jul.
Who's there?

Fri.
Ah, Juliet awake, and Romeo dead!
And Paris too—Oh, what unkind hour

Is guilty of this lamentable chance!

Jul.
Here he is still, and I will hold him fast,
They shall not tear him from me—

Fri.
Patience, lady—

Jul.
Who is that? O, thou cursed friar! Patience!
Talk'st thou of patience, to a wretch like me!

Fri.
O fatal error! Rise, thou fair distrest,
And fly this scene of death!

Jul.
Come thou not near me,
Or this dagger shall quit my Romeo's death! [Draws a Dagger.

Fri.
I wonder not, thy griefs have made thee desp'rate.
What noise without? Sweet Juliet, let us fly—
A greater power than we can contradict,
Hath thwarted our intents—Come, haste away,
I will dispose thee, most unhappy lady,
Amongst a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question—for the watch is coming,
Come, go, good Juliet,—I dare not longer stay. [Exit.

Jul.
Go, get thee hence, I will not away—
What's here! a phial—Romeo's timeless end.
O churl, drink all, and leave no friendly drop,
To help me after—I will kiss thy lips,
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them— [Kisses him. Watch, and Page within.

Watch.
Lead, boy, which way?—

Jul.
Noise again!
Then I'll be brief—O, happy dagger!
This is thy sheath, there rest, and let me die. [Kills herself.

Boy.
This is the place—my liege. Enter Prince, &c.

Prin.
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from its morning's rest. Enter Capulet.

Cap.
What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
The people in the street, cry Romeo;
Some Juliet; and some, Paris; and all run,
With open outcry towards our monument.

Prin.
What fear is this, which startles in your ears?

Watch.
Sovereign, here lies the County Paris, slain,
And Romeo dead—Juliet thought dead before,
Is warm, and newly killed.—

Cap.
Oh me, this sight of death, is as a bell,
That warns my old age to a sepulchre. Enter Montague.

Prin.
Come, Montague, for thou art early up,
To see thy son and heir, now early fall'n—

Mont.
Alas, my liege, my wife is dead, to-night,
Grief of my son's exile, hath stopp'd her breath.
What farther woe conspires against my age?

Prin.
Look there—and see—

Mont.
Oh, thou untaught what manners is, in this,
To press before thy father to a grave!

Prin.
Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear these ambiguities,
And know their spring, and head—mean time forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

Fri.
I am the greatest.

Prin.
Then say, at once, what thou dost know of this.

Fri.
Let us retire from this dread scene of death,* ^note
And I'll unfold the whole. If ought in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, some hour before its time,
Unto the rigor of severest law.

Prin.
We still have known thee for a holy man.
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate.
Let Romeo's man, and let the boy attend us:
We'll hence, and farther scan these sad disasters.
Well may you mourn, my lords, (now wise too late)
These tragic issues of your mutual hate:
From private feuds, what dire misfortunes flow;
Whate'er the cause, the sure effect is Woe.† ^note End of the Fifth Act.

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