SCENE V.
Juliet's Chamber; Juliet on the Bed.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse.
Mistress!—what, mistress!—Juliet!—fast, I warrant her:—
Why, lamb!—why, lady!—fie, 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 9 note
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; 9Q1141
He'll fright you up, i'faith.—Will it not be?
What, drest! and in your clothes! and down again!
-- 135 --
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, look! O heavy day!
La. Cap.
O me, O 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!
La. Cap.
Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, she's dead.
Cap.
Ha! let me see her:—Out, alas! she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of 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. 9Q1142
Enter Friar Laurence, and Paris, with Musicians.
Fri.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap.
Ready to go, but never to return:—
-- 136 --
1 note
O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death lain with thy bride2 note
:—See, there she lies
Flower as she was, deflowered now by him3 note.
4 noteDeath is my son-in-law, death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die,
And leave him all; life leaving, all is death's.
Par.
Have I thought long to see this morning's face5 note
,
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.
6 noteO woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
-- 137 --
Most lamentable day! most woeful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woeful day, O woeful 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!—alack! my child is dead;
And, with my child, my joys are buried!
Fri.
7 note
Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was—her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well marry'd, that lives marry'd long;
-- 138 --
But she's best marry'd, that dies marry'd young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
8 noteFor though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
Cap.
All things, 9 note
that we ordained festival, 9Q1144
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding chear, to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a bury'd corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri.
Sir, go you in,—and, madam, go with him;—
And go, sir Paris;—every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
The heavens do lour upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.
[Exeunt Capulet, lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.
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 Peter1 note.
Pet.
Musicians, O, musicians, Heart's ease, heart's ease;
-- 139 --
O, an you will have me live, play—heart's ease.
Mus.
Why heart's ease?
Pet.
O, musicians, because my heart itself plays—
2 noteMy heart is full of woe9Q1145: 3 note
O, play me some
merry dump, to comfort me.
Mus.
4 note
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 money, on my faith; but the gleek5 note
: 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?
-- 140 --
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:
When gripping grief6 note
the heart doth wound,
7 noteAnd doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then musick, with her silver sound,
Why silver sound? why, musick with her silver sound?
-- 141 --
What say you, Simon Catling8 note?
1 Mus.
Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Pet.
Pretty! What say you, 9 noteHugh Rebeck?
2 Mus.
I say—silver sound, because musicians sound
for silver.
Pet.
Pretty too!—What say you, James Soundpost?
3 Mus.
'Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet.
O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I
will say for you1 note. It is—musick with her silver
sound2 note
, because such fellows as you have no gold for
sounding:—
-- 142 --
Then musick with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.
[Exit, singing.
1 Mus.
What a pestilent knave is this same?
2 Mus.
Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here;
tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
[Exeunt.
3 noteACT V.
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].
