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 notethe 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.
-- 84 --
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
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!
1 noteSince arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee up with huntsup to the day.
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom.
More light and light?—More dark and dark our Woes.
-- 85 --
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.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
