SCENE II.
Capulet's Garden.
Enter Romeo.
Rom.
2 noteHe jests at scars, that never felt a wound.—
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!—
[Juliet appears above, at a window.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
3 noteBe not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.—
4 noteIt is my lady; O, it is my love:
O, that she knew she were!—
She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.—
I am too bold, 'tis not to me it speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres 'till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As day-light doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright,
That birds would sing, and think it were not night.
-- 55 --
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
5 note
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek6 note!
Jul.
Ay me!
Rom.
She speaks:—
7 note
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides 8 notethe lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
Jul.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom.
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
[Aside.
-- 56 --
Jul.
'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy;
1 note
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. 9Q1108
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part:
What's in a name? that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title:—Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
2 noteTake all myself.
Rom.
I take thee at thy word:
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
Jul.
What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?
Rom.
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul.
My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound;
-- 57 --
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Rom.
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
Jul.
How cam'st thou hither, tell me? and wherefore?
The orchard-walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Rom.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; 9Q1109
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
Jul.
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Rom.
Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords3 note
; look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
Jul.
I would not for the world, they saw thee here.
Rom.
I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
And, but thou love me, let them find me here;
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued4 note, wanting of thy love.
Jul.
By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
Rom.
By love, who first did prompt me to enquire;
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.
Jul.
Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face;
-- 58 --
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain fain deny
What I have spoke; But farewel compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know, thou wilt say—Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true,
Than those that have more 5 note
cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heardst, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom.
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,9Q1110—
Jul.
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom.
What shall I swear by?
Jul.
Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
-- 59 --
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Rom.
If my heart's dear love—
Jul.
Well, do not swear; although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say—It lightens6 note
. 7 noteSweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart, as that within my breast!
Rom.
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul.
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom.
The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
Jul.
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
And yet I would it were to give again.
Rom.
Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?
Jul.
But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu!
[Nurse calls within.
-- 60 --
Anon, good nurse!—Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.
[Exit.
Rom.
O blessed blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter Juliet, above.
Jul.
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night, indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable, 9Q1111
Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
Where, and what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay,
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
[Within: Madam.
I come, anon:—But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee,—[Within: Madam]. By and by, I come:—
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.
Rom.
So thrive my soul,—
Jul.
A thousand times good night!
[Exit.
Rom.
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.—
Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their books;
But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
Re-enter Juliet again, above.
Jul.
Hist! Romeo, hist!—O, for a faulconer's voice,
8 note
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
-- 61 --
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave where echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's name.
Rom.
It is my soul, that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
Jul.
Romeo!
Rom.
My sweet?
Jul.
At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Rom.
By the hour of nine.
Jul.
I will not fail; 'tis twenty years 'till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom.
Let me stand here 'till thou remember it.
Jul.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
Rom.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
Jul.
'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone:
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
-- 62 --
Rom.
I would, I were thy bird.
Jul.
Sweet, so would I;
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say—good night, 'till it be morrow.
[Exit.
Rom.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!—
'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
A MONASTERY.
Enter friar Lawrence, with a basket.
Fri.
9 note
The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness1 note
like a drunkard reels
-- 63 --
From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels:
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to chear, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours2 note
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
3 note
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb:
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find;
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the 4 notepowerful grace, that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live5 note
,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor ought so good, but, strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignify'd.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part chears each part;
-- 64 --
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
6 note
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo.
Rom.
Good morrow, father!
Fri.
Benedicite!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?—
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
7 note
But where unbruised youth with unstuft brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art up-rouz'd by some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right—
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Rom.
That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri.
God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
-- 65 --
Rom.
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri.
That's my good son: But where hast thou been then?
Rom.
I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where, on a sudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physick lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Fri.
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Rom.
Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.
Fri.
Holy saint Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
8 noteHoly saint Francis! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear, that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
-- 66 --
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then—
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom.
Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri.
For doating, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom.
And bad'st me bury love.
Fri.
Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom.
I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love now,
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
Fri.
O, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come go with me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your housholds' rancour to pure love9 note.
Rom.
O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Fri.
Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run fast.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
The STREET.
Enter Benvolio, and Mercutio.
Mer.
Where the devil should this Romeo be?—
Came he not home to-night?
Ben.
Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.
Mer.
Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben.
Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.
Mer.
A challenge, on my life.
-- 67 --
Ben.
Romeo will answer it.
Mer.
Any man, that can write, may answer a
letter.
Ben.
Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how
he dares, being dar'd.
Mer.
Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd
with a white wench's black eye,9Q1112 shot thorough the ear
with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with
the blind bow-boy's but-shaft; 9Q11139Q1114 And is he a man to
encounter Tybalt?
Ben.
Why, what is Tybalt?
Mer.
1 note
More than prince of cats, I can tell you.
O, he is the 2 note
courageous captain of compliments:
he fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance3 note
,
and proportion; he rests his minim, one, two, and the
third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button4 note
,
a duellist, a duellist; 5 note
a gentleman of the very first
-- 68 --
house;—of the first and second cause: Ah, the immortal
passado! the punto reverso! 6 notethe hay!—
Ben.
The what?
Mer.
The pox of such antick, lisping, affecting
fantasticoes7 note; these new tuners of accents!—By
—a very good blade!—a very tall man!—
a very good whore!—8 noteWhy, is not this a lamentable
thing, grandsire, that we should be thus
afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,
9 notethese Pardonnez-moy's, who stand so much on the
new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old
bench? 1 note
O, their bon's, their bon's!
-- 69 --
Enter Romeo.
Ben.
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mer.
Without his roe, like a dried herring:—O
flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!—Now is he for the
numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady,
was but a kitchen-wench;—marry, she had a better
love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra,
a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots;
Thisbé, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose.—
Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
to your French slop2 note
. You gave us the counterfeit
fairly last night.
Rom.
Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit3 note
did I give you?
Mer.
The slip, sir, the slip; Can you not conceive?
-- 70 --
Rom.
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was
great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain
courtesy.
Mer.
That's as much as to say—such a case as
yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
Rom.
Meaning—to curt'sy.
Mer.
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom.
A most courteous exposition.
Mer.
Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom.
Pink for flower.
Mer.
Right.
Rom.
Why, 3 note
then is my pump well flower'd.
Mer.
Well said: follow me this jest now, 'till thou
hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of
it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing,
solely singular.
Rom.
O single-sol'd jest, solely singular for the
singleness!
Mer.
Come between us, good Benvolio; my wit faints.
Rom.
Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll
cry a match.
Mer.
Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I
am done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one
-- 71 --
of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole
five: Was I with you there for the goose?
Rom.
Thou wast never with me for any thing,
when thou wast not there for the goose.
Mer.
4 note
I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom.
Nay, good goose, bite not5 note.
Mer.
Thy wit is 6 note
a very bitter sweeting; it is a
most sharp sauce.
Rom.
And is it not well serv'd in to a sweet goose?
Mer.
O, here's 7 note
a wit of cheverel, that stretches
from an inch narrow to an ell broad!
-- 72 --
Rom.
I stretch it out for that word—broad; which
added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad
goose.
Mer.
Why, is not this better now than groaning
for love? now thou art sociable, now art thou Romeo;
now art thou what thou art, by art as well as
by nature: for this driveling love is like a great natural,
that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble
in a hole8 note
.
Ben.
Stop there, stop there.
Mer.
Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against
the hair9 note.
Ben.
Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.
Mer.
O, thou art deceiv'd, I would have made it
short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale;
and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no
longer.
Rom.
Here's goodly geer!
Enter Nurse, and Peter.
Mer.
A sail, a sail, a sail!
Ben.
Two, two; a shirt, and a smock.
-- 73 --
Nurse.
Peter!
Peter.
Anon?
Nurse.
My fan, Peter1 note
.
Mer.
Do, good Peter, to hide her face; for her
fan's the fairer of the two.
Nurse.
God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer.
God ye good den,2 note
fair gentlewoman.
Nurse.
Is it good den?
Mer.
'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand3 note
of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
Nurse.
Out upon you! what a man are you?
Rom.
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made
himself to mar.
Nurse.
By my troth, it is well said;—For himself
to mar, quoth'a?—Gentlemen, can any of you tell
me where I may find the young Romeo?
Rom.
I can tell you; but young Romeo will be
older when you have found him, than he was when
you sought him: I am the youngest of that name,
for fault of a worse.
Nurse.
You say well.
-- 74 --
Mer.
Yea, is the worst well? very well took,
i'faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse.
If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence
with you.
Ben.
She will indite him to some supper.
Mer.
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom.
What hast thou found?
Mer.
4 noteNo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a
lenten pye, that is something stale and hoar ere it be
spent.
An old hare hoar5 note
,
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in lent:
But a hare that is hoar,
Is too much for a score,
When it hoars ere it be spent.—
Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner
thither.
Rom.
I will follow you.
Mer.
Farewel, ancient lady; farewel, lady, lady,
lady6 note.
[Exeunt Mercutio, and Benvolio.
-- 75 --
Nurse.
I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant7 note was
this, that was so full 8 note
of his ropery?
Rom.
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself
talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he
will stand to in a month.
Nurse.
An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take
him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty
such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.
Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am
9 note
none of his skains-mates:—And thou must stand by
too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?
-- 76 --
Pet.
I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I
had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant
you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I
see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
Nurse.
Now, afore God, I am so vext, that every
part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!—Pray you,
sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade
me enquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep
to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead
her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very
gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman
is young; and, therefore, if you should deal
double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered
to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
Rom.
Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress.
I protest unto thee,—
Nurse.
Good heart! and, i'faith, I will tell her as
much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman.
Rom.
What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost
not mark me.
Nurse.
I will tell her, sir,—that you do protest1 note
;
which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.
-- 77 --
Rom.
Bid her devise some means to come to shrift
This afternoon;
And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell
Be shriv'd, and marry'd. Here is for thy pains. 9Q1116
Nurse.
No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom.
Go to; I say, you shall.
Nurse.
This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
Rom.
And stay, good nurse, behind the abby-wall:
Within this hour my man shall be with thee;
And bring thee cords made 2 notelike a tackled stair,
3 note
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewel!—Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
Farewel!—Commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse.
Now God in heaven bless thee!—Hark you, sir.
Rom.
What say'st thou, my dear nurse?
Nurse.
Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say—
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
Rom.
I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel.
Nurse.
Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady—
Lord, lord!—when 'twas a little prating thing,— 9Q1117
O,—there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that
-- 78 --
would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul,
had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I
anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the
properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so,
she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world.
Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a
letter?
4 note
Rom.
Ay, nurse; What of that? both with an R.
-- 79 --
Nurse.
Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name5 note
. R
is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some
other letter: and she hath the prettiest sententious of
it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good
to hear it.
Rom.
vCommend me to thy lady.
[Exit.
Nurse.
Ay, a thousand times.—Peter!
Pet.
Anon?
Nurse.
Peter, take my fan, and go before.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Capulet's Garden.
Enter Juliet.
Jul.
The clock struck nine, when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance, she cannot meet him:—that's not so.—
O, she is lame! love's heralds 6 note
should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over lowring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey; and from nine 'till twelve
-- 80 --
Is three long hours,—yet she is not come.
Had she affections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me:
But old folks, many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse, with Peter.
O God, she comes!—O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse.
Peter, stay at the gate.
[Exit Peter.
Jul.
Now, good sweet nurse,—O lord! why look'st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou sham'st the musick of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse.
I am aweary, give me leave a while;—
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! 9Q1118
Jul.
I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:
Nay, come, I pray thee, speak;—good, good nurse, speak.
Nurse.
What haste? can you not stay awhile?
Do you not see, that I am out of breath?
Jul.
How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath
To say to me—that thou art out of breath?
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied; Is't good or bad?
Nurse.
Well, you have made a simple choice; you
know not how to chuse a man: Romeo! no, not he;
though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg
excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a
body,—though they be not to be talk'd on, yet they
-- 81 --
are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy,
but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.—Go thy
ways, wench; serve God:—What, have you din'd at
home?
Jul.
No, no: But all this did I know before;
What says he of our marriage? what of that? 9Q1119
Nurse.
Lord, how my head akes! what a head have I?
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o' the other side,—O, my back, my back!—
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Jul.
I'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well:
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?
Nurse.
Your love says like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and
I warrant, a virtuous:—Where is your mother?
Jul.
Where is my mother?—why, she is within;
Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st?
Your love says like an honest gentleman,—
Where is your mother?
Nurse.
O, God's lady dear!
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow;
Is this the poultice for my aking bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
Jul.
Here's such a coil;—Come, what says Romeo?
Nurse.
Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Jul.
I have.
Nurse.
Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell,
There stays a husband to make you a wife:
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church; I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark:
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
-- 82 --
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
Jul.
Hie to high fortune!—honest nurse, farewel.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar Laurence, and Romeo7 note
.
Friar.
So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!
-- 83 --
Rom.
Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight:
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare,
It is enough I may but call her mine.
Friar.
These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph, die; like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so;
8 noteToo swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter Juliet.
9 noteHere comes the lady:—O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
A lover may bestride the gossamour1 note
-- 84 --
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
Jul.
Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Friar.
Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul.
As much to him, else are his thanks too much.
Rom.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich musick's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Jul.
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth2 note
.
Friar.
Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
'Till holy church incorporate two in one.
[Exeunt.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
