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.

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