Leap to these arms, untalkt of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their am'rous rites
By their own beauties, or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. ^{8 note}Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenheads.
Hood my ^{9 note}unmann'd blood baiting in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; 'till strange love, grown bold,
Thinks true love acted, simple modesty.
Come, night; come, Romeo! come, thou day in night!
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night,
Whiter than snow upon a raven's back:
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night!
Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world shall be in love with night,
And pay no worship to ^{1 note}




the gairish sun.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd; so tedious is this day,

As is the night before some festival,
To an impatient child that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse! Enter Nurse with cords.
And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence;
Now, nurse, what news? what hast thou there?
The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurse.
Ay, ay, the cords.

Jul.
Ah me, 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.—
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead.

Jul.
Can heaven be so envious?

Nurse.
Romeo can,
Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo!
Who ever would have thought it, Romeo?

Jul.
What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but, I;
^{2 note}

Nurse.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
(God save the mark,) here on his manly breast.
A piteous coarse, a bloody piteous coarse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood,
All in gore blood. I swooned at the sight.

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

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

Jul.
What storm is this, that blows so contrary!
Is Romeo slaughter'd? and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer Lord?
Then let the trumpet sound the general Doom,
For who is living, if those two are gone?

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

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

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

Jul.
O serpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical!

^{3 note}

Nurse.
There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty, in men; all perjur'd;
All, all forsworn; all naught; and all dissemblers.
Ah, where's my man? Give me some Aqua vitæ—
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old!
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.
O, what a beast 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!
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband.
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have kill'd my husband;
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me; I would forget it, fain;
But, oh! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!
That banished, that one word banished,
^{4 note}Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there;
Or if sou'r woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both?
^{5 note}Which modern lamentation might have mov'd:
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished—to speak that word,
Is, father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead!—Romeo is banished!
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.

Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

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

Jul.
Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those Cords;—poor Ropes, you are beguil'd;
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd.
He made you for a high-way to my bed:
But I, a maid, die Maiden widowed.
Come, Cord; come, nurse; I'll do my wedding-Bed:
And Death, not Romeo, take my Maidenhead!

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

Jul.
Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight.
  And bid him come, to take his last farewel. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Changes to the Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Fri.
Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.
Affliction is enamour'd 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 sou'r company.
I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom?

Rom.
What less than dooms-day is 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.

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

Rom.
There is no world without Verona's walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished, is banish'd from the world;
And world-exil'd, is death. That banishment,
Is 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 rusht 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,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Lives here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not. ^{6 note}

More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo; they may seize

On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
Which ev'n in pure and vestal modesty
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
But Romeo may not;—he is banished.
Hadst thou no Poison mixt, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, tho' ne'er so mean,
But banished to kill me? banished?
O Friar, the Damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a Divine, a ghostly Confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word, banishment?

Fri.
Fond mad-man, hear me speak.—

Rom.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.

Fri.
I'll give thee armour to keep 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,
Displant a town, reverse a Prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more—

Fri.
O, then I see that mad-men have no ears.

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

Fri.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Rom.
Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doating 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. [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. [Knock.

Fri.
Hark, how they knock!—(who's there?)—Romeo, arise.
Thou wilt be taken—(stay a while)—stand up: [Knocks.
Run to my Study—(By and by)—God's will!
What wilfulness is this?—I come, I come. [Knock.
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.
O 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' case,
Just in her case, O woful sympathy!
Piteous predicament! ev'n so lies she,
Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand up, stand up;—Stand, an' you be a Man:
For Juliet's Sake, for her Sake, rise and stand.
^{7 note}
Why should you fall into so deep an—

Rom.
Oh, Nurse!—

Nurse.
Ah Sir! ah Sir!—Death is the end of all.

Rom.
Speak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood, remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how does she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our ^{8 note}cancell'd love?

Nurse.
O, she says nothing, Sir; but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up;
And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then down falls again.

Rom.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her, as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman.—Tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword.

Fri.
Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
Th' unreasonable fury of a beast.
^{9 note}

Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned Hate upon thyself?
^{1 note}

For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead:
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there thou'rt happy too.
The law, that threatned death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy;
A pack of blessings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her best array,
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love.
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But, look, thou stay not 'till the watch be set;
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou shalt live, 'till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of 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 bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.

Nurse.
O Lord, I could have staid here all night long,
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.

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

Fri.
^{3 note}Go hence. Good night. And ^{4 note}here stands all your state;
Either begone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day, disguis'd from hence.

Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here.
Give me thy hand. 'Tis late. Farewel. Good night.

Rom.
But that a joy, past joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee. [Exeunt. 5 ^noteSCENE VI.

Changes to Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.

Cap.
Things have fallen out, Sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I.—Well, we were born to die.—
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night.
I promise you, but for your Company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par.
These times of woe afford no time to wooe.
Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.

La. Cap.
I will, and know her Mind early to-morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap.
^{6 note}

In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here with my son Paris' love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,—
But, soft; what day is this?

Par.
Monday, my Lord.

Cap.
Monday? Ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too soon,
On Thursday let it be. O' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble Earl.
—Will you be ready? Do you like this Haste?
We'll keep no great a do—a friend or two—
For, hark you, Tybalt 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 to-morrow.

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!
'Fore me.—It is so late, that we may call
It early by and by. Good night. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Juliet's Chamber looking to the Garden. Enter Romeo and Juliet, above at a window; a ladder of ropes set.

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 pomgranate 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 tiptoe on the misty mountains' tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul.
Yon light is not day-light, I know it,
It is some meteor that the Sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;
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's eye,
'Tis but ^{7 note}the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heav'ns so high above our heads.
^{8 note}
I have more care to stay, than will to go.
Come death, and welcome; Juliet wills it so.

How is't, my Soul? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul.
It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so: for she divideth us.
Some say, the lark and loathed toad chang'd eyes;
^{9 note}

Rom.
More light and light?—More dark and dark our Woes.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Madam,—

Jul.
Nurse?

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

Jul.
Then, Window, let Day in, and let Life out.

Rom.
Farewel, farewel; one Kiss, and I'll descend. [Romeo descends.

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

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

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 God! I have an ill divining soul.
Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my 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, adieu. [Exit Romeo. SCENE VIII.

Jul.
Oh 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. Enter Lady Capulet.

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

Jul.
Who is't that calls? Is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause ^{2 note}procures her hither?

La. Cap.
Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul.
Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his Grave with tears?
An' if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;
Therefore, have done. Some Grief shews much of Love;
But much of Grief shews still some want of Wit.

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

La. Cap.
So shall you feel the Loss, but not the Friend
Which you do weep for.

Jul.
Feeling so the Loss,
I cannot chuse but ever weep the Friend.

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

Jul.
What villain, Madam?

La. Cap.
That same villain, Romeo.

Jul. [Aside.]
Villain and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my Heart:
And, yet, no Man like he doth grieve my Heart.

La. Cap.
That is, because the Traitor lives.

Jul.
^{3 note}I, Madam, from the Reach of these my hands—
'Would, none but I might venge my Cousin's Death!

La. Cap.
We will have Vengeance for it, fear thou not.
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish'd Runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an ^{4 note}unaccustom'd Dram,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt Company.
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfy'd.

Jul.
Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him, dead—
Is my poor heart so for a Kinsman vext?
Madam, if you could find out but a Man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should upon Receipt thereof
Soon sleep in Quiet.—O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam'd,—and cannot come to him—
To wreak the Love I bore my Cousin,
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him.

La. Cap.
Find thou the Means, and I'll find such a Man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful Tidings, Girl.

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

La. Cap.
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child,
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.

Jul.
Madam, ^{5 note}in happy time, what day is this?

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

Jul.
Now, by St. Peter's church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
Ere he, that must be husband, comes to wooe.
I pray you, tell my Lord and father, Madam,
I will not marry yet: and when I do,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris.—These are news, indeed!

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.
When the Sun sets, the Air doth drizzle Dew;
But for the Sunset of my Brother's Son
It rains downright.—
How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring? in one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds thy sighs,
Which, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
Without a sudden calm will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body—How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

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 a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Jul.
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have.
Proud can I never be of what I hate,
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap.
How now! how now! Chop Logick? What is This?
Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not!
And yet not proud!—Why, Mistress Minion, You,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
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.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!
You Tallow-face!

La. Cap.
Fy, fy, what, are you mad?

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.
My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest,
That God hath 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!—

Nurse.
God in heaven 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—O, god-ye-good-den—
May not one speak?

Cap.
Peace, 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.
It makes me mad: day, night, hour, tide, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match'd; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesns, youthful, and nobly-allied,
Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man:
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's Tender,
To answer, I'll not wed,—I cannot love,—
I am too young,—I pray you, pardon me—
But, if you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me;
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise;
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,
Nor what is mine shall ever do thee good.
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [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 dun monument where Tybalt 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 God!—O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My Husband is on Earth; my Faith in Heav'n;
How shall that Faith return again to Earth,
Unless that Husband send it me from Heav'n,
By leaving Earth?—Comfort me, counsel me.

Alack, alack, that heav'n should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of Joy?
Some Comfort, Nurse.—

Nurse.
Faith, here it is:
Romeo is banish'd; all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then since the case so stands, as now it doth,
I think it best, you married with the Count.
Oh, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dish-clout to him; an eagle, Madam,
Hath not ^{6 note}so keen, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you happy in this second match,
For it excels your first; or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
^{7 note}As living here, and you no use of him.

Jul.
Speak'st thou from thy heart?

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

Jul.
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.
Ancient Damnation! O most wicked Fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,

Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongue
Which she hath 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. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The MONASTERY. Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

Friar.
On Thursday, Sir? The time is very short.

Par.
My father Capulet will have it so,
^{8 note}

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

Par.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of love,
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, Sir, her father counts it dangerous,
That she should give her sorrow so much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society.
Now do you know the reason of this haste?

Fri.
I would, I knew not why it should be slow'd. [Aside.
Look, Sir, here comes the lady tow'rds my cell.

Enter Juliet.

Par.
Welcome, my love, ^{9 note}
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.

Fri.
That's a certain text.

Par.
Come you to make confession to this father?

Jul.
To answer that, I should confess to you.

Par.
Do not deny to him, that you love me.

Jul.
I will confess to you, that I love him.

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

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

Par.
Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.

Jul.
The tears have got small victory by that:
For it was bad enough before their spight.

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

Jul.
That is no slander, Sir, which is but truth,
And what I speak, I speak it to my face.

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

Jul.
It may be so, for it is not mine own.
Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?

Fri.
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
My Lord, I must intreat the time alone.

Par.
God shield, I should disturb devotion.
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouze you;
'Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss. [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,
It strains me past the Compass of my Wits.
I hear, you must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this County.

Jul.
Tell me not, Friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's; thou our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both.
Therefore out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extreams and me this bloody knife
^{1 note}Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that,
Which the ^{2 note}commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

Fri.
Hold, daughter, I do 'spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution,
As that is desp'rate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry County Paris,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,
Then it is likely, thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st with death himself, to 'scape from it:
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 tow'r;

^{3 note}

Fri.
Hold, then, go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris; Wednesday is to-morrow;
To-morrow Night, look, that thou lie alone,
Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.
Take thou this phial, being then in Bed,
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;
Each Part, depriv'd of supple Government,
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold appear, like Death:
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,
And then awake, as from a pleasant sleep.

Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.
Then, as the manner of our Country is,
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,
Be borne to burial in thy kindred's Grave,
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; ^{4 note}
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,
^{5 note}If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul.
Give me, oh 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!— [Exeunt. SCENE II. Changes to Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and two or three Servants.

Cap.
So many guests invite, as here are writ;
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

Serv.

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

Cap.

How canst thou try them so?

Serv.

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

Cap.
Go, be gone.
We shall be much unfurnished for this time.
—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; and am enjoin'd
By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here, [She kneels.
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;
This is as't should be.—Let me see the County:
Ay, marry—Go, I say, and fetch him hither.
Now, afore God, this reverend holy Friar,
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.
^{6 note}We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.

Cap.
Tush, I will stir about,
And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her,
I'll not to bed to-night. Let me alone;
I'll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!
They are all forth; well, I will walk myself
To County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morrow. My heart's wondrous light,
Since this same way-ward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt Capulet and lady Capulet. SCENE III. Changes to 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;
^{7 note}For I have need of many Orisons
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 sit up with you;

For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

La. Cap.
Good-night,
Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt.

Jul.
Farewel—God knows, when we shall meet again!
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the heat of life.
I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Nurse! What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone:
Come, 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— [Laying down a dagger.
—What if it be a poison, which the Friar
Subtly hath ministred, 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 healthsom 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 packt;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festring in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort.

Alas, alas! ^{8 note}is it not like, that I
So early waking, what with loathsom smells,
And shrieks, like mandrake's torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad.
Or, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Invironed with all these hideous fears,
And madly play with my fore fathers' joints,
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desp'rate brains?
O look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his Body
Upon a Rapier's Point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romeo, here's drink! Romeo, I drink to thee. [She throws herself on the bed. SCENE IV. Changes to Capulet's 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.

Cap.
Come, stir, stir, stir, the second cock hath crow'd,
^{9 note}The curfeu bell 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.

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

La. Cap.
Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time,
But I will watch you, from such watching, now. [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.

Cap.
A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood.
Now fellow, what's there? Enter three or four with spits, and logs, and baskets.

Serv.
Things for the cook, Sir, but I know not what.

Cap.
Make haste, make haste. Sirrah, fetch drier logs,
Call Peter, he will shew thee where they are.

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

Cap.
'Mass, and well said, a merry whoreson, ha!
Thou shalt be logger-head.—Good faith, 'tis day.
The County will be here with musick straight, [Play musick.
For so, he said, he would. I hear him near.
Nurse,—wife,—what, ho! 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, the Bride-groom he is come already.
Make haste, I say. [Exeunt Capulet and Nurse, severally.

SCENE V. Changes to Juliet's Chamber, Juliet on a bed. Re-enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Mistress,—what, mistress? Juliet—Fast, I warrant her.
Why, lamb—why, Lady—Fy, you slug-a-bed—
Why, love, I say—Madam—Sweet-heart—why? Bride—
What, not a word!—You take your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The County Paris hath set up his Rest,
That you shall rest but little—God forgive me—
Marry, and amen!—How sound is she asleep?
I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed.
He'll fright you up, i'faith. Will it not be?
What drest, and in your cloaths—and down again!
I must needs wake you: Lady, lady, lady—
Alas! alas! help! help! my lady's dead.
O, well-a-day that ever I was born!
Some Aqua-vitæ. Ho! my Lord, my lady! Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What noise is here?

Nurse.
O lamentable day!

La. Cap.
What's the matter?

Nurse.
Look,—oh heavy day!

La. Cap.
Oh me, 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, deceas'd, 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 flow'r of all the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man!

Nurse.
O lamentable day!

La. Cap.
O woeful Time!

Cap.
Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my Tongue, and will not let me speak. 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 thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flow'r as she was, deflowered now by him.
Death is my son-in-law.—

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

La. Cap.
Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
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 rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.

Nurse.
^{1 note}O woe! oh woful, woful, woful, day!
Most lamentable day! most woful day!
That ever, ever, I did yet behold.
Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this.
Oh woful day, oh woful day!

Par.
Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spighted, slain,
Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown:—
O Love, O Life,—not Life, but Love in Death!—

Cap.
Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd,
Uncomfortable Time! why cam'st thou now
To murder, murder our Solemnity?
O Child! O Child! My Soul, and not my Child!
Dead art thou! dead; alack! my Child is dead;
And, with my Child, my Joys are buried.

Fri.
^{2 note}

The most, you sought, was her Promotion;
For 'twas your Heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep you now, seeing she is advanc'd,
Above the Clouds, as high as Heav'n himself?
Oh, in this Love you love your Child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing, that she is well.
She's not well married, that lives married long;
But she's best married, that dies married young.
Dry up your Tears, and stick your Rosemary
On this fair Coarse; and, as the Custom is,
And in her best Array, bear her to Church.
^{3 note}For tho' fond Nature bids us all lament,
Yet Nature's Tears are Reason's Merriment.

Cap.
All Things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their Office to black Funeral;
Our Instruments to melancholy Bells,
Our wedding Chear to a sad Funeral Feast;
Our solemn Hymns to sullen Dirges change,
Our bridal Flow'rs serve for a buried Coarse;
And all things change them to the contrary.

Fri.
Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris; ev'ry 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. [Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.

SCENE VI. Manent Musicians, and Nurse.

Mus.
'Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.

Nurse.
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up;
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit Nurse.

Mus.
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter.

Pet.
Musicians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's ease:
Oh, an you will have me live, why, play heart's ease.

Mus.
Why, heart's ease?

Pet.

O musicians, because my heart itself plays, my heart itself is full of woe. ^{4 note}O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me!

Mus.

Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.

Pet.

You will not then?

Mus.

No.

Pet.

I will then give it you soundly.

Mus.

What will you give us?

Pet.

No mony, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the Minstrel.

Mus.

Then will I give you the Serving Creature.

Pet.

Then will I lay the Serving Creature's Dagger on your Pate. I will carry no Crotchets. I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?

Mus.

An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2 Mus.

Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Pet.

Then have at you with my wit: I will dry-beat you with an iron Wit, and put up my iron dagger: —answer me like men: