Ben.
Tut Man, one Fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning,
One desperate Grief cures with another's languish:
Take thou some new Infection to the Eye,
And the rank Poison of the old will die.

Rom.
Your Plantan Leaf is excellent for that.

Ben.
For what, I pray thee?

Rom.
For your broken Shin.

Ben.
Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom.
Not mad, but bound more than a mad Man is:
Shut up in Prison, kept without my Food,
Whipt and tormented; and—Good-e'en, good Fellow.

Ser.
God gi' Good-e'en: I pray, Sir, can you read?

Rom.
Ay, mine own Fortune in my Misery.

Ser.
Perhaps you have learn'd it without Book:
But, I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom.
Ay, if I know the Letters and the Language.

Ser.
Ye say honestly, rest you merry.

Rom.
Stay Fellow, I can read. He reads the Letter.

Signior Martino, and his Wife and Daughter: Count Anselm and his beauteous Sisters; the Lady Widow of Vitruvio, Signior Placentio, and his lovely Nieces; Mercutio and his Brother Valentine; mine Uncle Capulet, his Wife and Daughters; my fair Niece Rosaline, Livia, Signior Valentio, and his Cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lovely Helena.

Ser.
Up.

Rom.
Whither? to Supper?

Ser.
To our House.

Rom.
Whose House?

Ser.
My Master's.

Rom.
Indeed I should have askt you that before.

Ser.

Now I'll tell you without asking. My Master is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the House of Mountagues, I pray come and crush a Cup of Wine. Rest you merry.

Ben.
At this same ancient Feast of Capulets,
Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lovest;
With all the admired Beauties of Verona:
Go thither, and with unattainted Eye,
Compare her Face with some that I shall shew,
And I will make thee think thy Swan a Crow.

Rom.
When the devout Religion of mine Eye
Maintains such Falsehood, then turn Tears to Fire;
And these who often drown'd could never die,
Transparent Hereticks be burnt for Liars.
One fairer than my Love! the all-seeing Sun
Ne'er saw her Match, since first the World begun.

Ben.
Tut, tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Her self pois'd with her self in either Eye:
But in those Chrystal Scales, let there be weigh'd,
Your Ladies love against some other Maid,
That I will shew you, shining at this Feast,
And she'll shew scant well, that now shews best.

Rom.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. SCENE II. Capulet's House. Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

La. Cap.

Nurse, where's my Daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse.

Now by my Maiden-head, at twelve Years old, I bad her come; what Lamb, what Lady-bird, God forbid.— Where's this Girl? what, Juliet?

Jul.

How now, who calls?

Nurse.

Your Mother.

Jul.

Madam, I am here, what is your Will?

La. Cap.

This is the matter—Nurse, give leave a while, we must talk in Secret. Nurse come back again, I have remembred me, thous' hear my Counsel: Thou knowest my Daughter's of a pretty Age.

Nurse.
Faith, I can tell her Age unto an Hour.

La. Cap.
She's not fourteen.

Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my Teeth,
And yet to my Teeth be it spoken,
I have but four, she's not fourteen;
How long is it now to Lammas-tide?

La. Cap.

A fortnight and odd Days.

Nurse.

Even or odd, of all Days in the Year, come Lammas-Eve at Night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she, God rest all Christian Souls, were of an Age. Well, Susan is with

God, she was too good for me. But as I said, on Lammas-Eve at Night shall she be fourteen, that shall she, marry, I remember it well. 'Tis since the Earthquake now eleven Years, and she was wean'd, I never shall forget it, of all the Days in the Year, upon that Day; for I had then laid Worm-wood to my Dug, sitting in the Sun under the Dove-House Wall, my Lord and you were then at Mantua—nay, do bear a Brain. But as I said, when it did taste the Worm-wood on the Nipple of my Dug, and felt it hitter, pretty Fool, to see it teachy, and fall out with the Dug. Shake, Quoth the Dove-house—'twas no need I trow to bid me trudge; and since that time it is eleven Years, for then she could stand alone, nay, byth' Rood she could have run, and wadled all about; for even the Day before she broke her Brow, and then my Husband, God be his Soul, a was a merry Man, took up the Child, yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy Face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more Wit, wilt thou not, Juliet? And by my Holy-dam, the pretty Wretch left Crying, and said, Ay; to see now how a Jest shall come about. I warrant, and I should live a thousand Years, I never should forget it: Wilt thou not, Juliet, quoth he? and pretty Fool, it stinted, and said, Ay.

La. Cap.

Enough of this, I pray thee hold thy Peace.

Nurse.

Yes, Madam, yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to think it should leave crying, and say, Ay; and yet I warrant it had upon its Brow a bump as big as a young Cockrels Stone: A perilous knock, and it cried bitterly. Yea, quoth my Husband, fall'st upon thy Face? thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to Age; wilt thou not, Juliet? It stinted, and said, Ay.

Jul.

And stint thee too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.

Nurse.

Peace, I have done: God mark thee to his Grace, thou wast the prettiest Babe that e'er I nurst, and I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.

La. Cap.
Marry, that marry is the very Theam
I came to talk of; tell me, Daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul.
'Tis an hour that I dream not of.

Nurse.

An hour, were not I thine only Nurse, I would say that thou hadst suck'd Wisdom from thy Teat.

La. Cap.
Well, think of Marriage now; younger than you
Here in Verona, Ladies of Esteem,
Are made already Mothers. By my count,
I was your Mother much upon these Years,
That you are now a Maid; thus then in brief,
The valiant Paris seeks you for his Love.

Nurse.

A Man, young Lady, Lady, such a Man, as all the World—Why he's a Man of Wax.

La. Cap.
Verona's Summer hath not such a Flower.

Nurse.
Nay he's a Flower, in saith a very Flower.

La. Ca.
What say you, can you love the Gentleman?
This Night you shall behold him at our Feast,
Read o'er the Volume of young Paris's Face,
And find Delight writ there with Beauty's Pen;
Examine every several Lineament,
And see how one, another lends Content;
And what obscur'd in this fair Volume lyes,
Find written in the Margent of his Eyes.
This precious Book of Love, this unbound Lover,
To beautifie him, only lacks a Cover.
The Fish lives in the Sea, and 'tis much Pride
For fair without, the fair within to hide:
That Book in manies Eyes doth share the Glory,
That in Gold Clasps locks in the golden Story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making your self no less.

Nurse.
No less! nay bigger; Women grow by Men.

La. Cap.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris love?

Jul.
I'll look to like, if looking liking move.
But no more deep will I endart mine Eye,
Than your Consent gives Strength to make it fly. Enter a Servant.

Ser.

Madam, the Guests are come, Supper serv'd up, you call'd, my young Lady ask'd for, the Nurse curst in the Pantry, and every thing in extremity; I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.

La. Cap.
We follow thee. Juliet, the County stays.

Nurse.
Go, Girl, seek happy Nights to happy Days. [Exeunt.

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six other Maskers, Torch-bearers.

Rom.
What, shall this Speech be spoke to our excuse?
Or shall we on without Apology?

Ben.
The date is out of such prolixity,
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a Scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted Bow of Lath,
Scaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper.
But let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a Measure and be gone.

Rom.
Give me a Torch, I am not for this ambling.
Being but heavy, I will bear the Light.

Mer.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Rom.
Not I, believe me, you have dancing Shoes
With nimble Soles, I have a Sole of Lead,
So stakes me to the Ground I cannot move.

Mer.
You are a Lover, borrow Cupid's Wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom.
I am too sore impierced with his Shaft,
To soar with his light Feathers, and to bound:
I cannot bound a pitch above dull Woe;
Under Love's heavy burden do I sink.

Mer.
And to sink in it, should you burden Love,
Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom.
Is Love a tender thing? it is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous, it pricks like Thorn.

Mer.
If Love be rough with you, be rough with Love,
Prick Love for pricking, and you Love beat down:
Give me a Case to put my Visage in,
A Visor for a Visor; what care I
What curious Eye doth quote Deformities,
Here are the Beetle-brows shall blush for me.

Ben.
Come knock and enter, and no sooner in,
But every Man betake him to his Legs.

Rom.
A Torch for me, let Wantons, light of Heart,
Tickle the senseless Rushes with their Heels;
For I am proverb'd with a Grand-sire Phrase;
I'll be a Candle-lighter, and look on,
The Game was ne'er so fair, and I am Done.

Mer.
Tut, Dun's the Mouse, the Constables own word;
If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the Mire;

Or, save your Reverence, Love, wherein thou stickest
Up to the Ears: Come, we burn day-light, ho.

Rom.
Nay, that's not so.

Mer.
I mean, Sir, we delay.
We waste our Lights in vain, lights, lights, by day;
Take our good meaning, for our Judgment fits
Five things in that, e'er once in our fine Wits.

Rom.
And we mean well in going to this Mask;
But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer.
Why, may one ask?

Rom.
I dreamt a Dream to Night.

Mer.
And so did I.

Rom.
Well; what was yours?

Mer.
That Dreamers often Lie.

Rom.
In Bed asleep; while they do dream things true.

Mer.

O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you: She is the Fairies Mid-wife, and she comes in shape no bigger than an Agat-stone on the Fore-finger of an Alderman, drawn with a teem of little Atomies, over Mens Noses as they lye asleep: Her Waggon Spokes made of long Spinners Legs; the Cover, of the Wings of Grashoppers; her Trace of the smallest Spider's Web; her Collars of the Moonshine's watry beams; her Whip of Cricket's bone; the Lash of film; her Waggoner a small gray-coated Gnat, not half so big as a round little Worm, prickt from the lazy Finger of a Woman. Her Chariot is an empty Hazel-Nut, made by the Joyner Squirrel or old Grub, time out of mind, the Fairies Coach-makers: And in this state she gallops Night by Night, through Lovers Brains; and then they dream of Love. On Countries Knees, that dream on Cursies strait: O'er Lawyers Fingers, who strait dream on Fees: O'er Ladies Lips, who strait on Kisses dream, which oft the angry Mab with Blisters plagues, because their breaths with Sweet-meats tainted are. Sometimes she gallops o'er a Courtier's Nose, and then dreams he of smelling out a Suit: And sometimes comes she with a Tith-pigs Tail, tickling a Parson's Nose as he lies asleep; then he dreams of another Benefice. Sometimes she driveth o'er a Soldier's Neck, and then dreams he of cutting Foreign Throats, of Breaches, Ambuscadoes, Spanish Blades; of Healths five Fathom deep; and then anon drums in his Ears, at which

he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted, swears a Prayer or two, and sleeps again. This is that very Mab that plats the Manes of Horses in the Night, and bakes the Elf-locks in foul sluttish Hairs, which once intangled, much Misfortunes bodes.

Rom.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace;
Thou talk'st of nothing.

Mer.
True, I talk of Dreams;
Which are the Children of an idle Brain,
Begot of nothing, but vain Phantasie,
Which is as thin of substance as the Air,
And more unconstant than the Wind; who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the North,
And being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the Dew-dropping South.

Ben.
This Wind you talk of, blows us from our selves;
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

Rom.
I fear too early; for my mind misgives,
Some consequence still hanging in the Stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this Night's Revels, and expire the term
Of a despised Life clos'd in my Breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death;
But he that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my Suit: On, lusty Gentlemen.

Ben.
Strike, Drum. They march about the Stage, and Servants come forth with their Napkins.

1 Ser.
Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
He shift a Trencher! He scrape a Trencher!

2 Ser.
When good Manners shall ye in one or two Mens
Hands, and they unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.

1 Ser.

Away with the Joint-stools, remove the Court-cupboard, look to the Plate: Good thou, save me a piece of March-pane; and as thou lovest me, let the Porter let in

Susan Grindstone, and Nell, Anthony, and Potpan.

2 Ser.

Ay, Boy, ready.

1 Ser.

You are look'd for, call'd for, ask'd for, and sought for, in the great Chamber.

2 Ser.
We cannot be here and there too; chearly Boys;
Be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. [Exeunt. Enter all the Guests and Ladies to the Maskers.

1 Cap.
Welcome, Gentlemen;
Ladies that have their Toes
Unplagu'd with Corns, will walk about with you.
Ah me, my Mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to Dance? She that makes dainty,
She, I'll swear, hath Corns; Am I come near ye now?
Welcome Gentlemen, I have seen the day
That I have worn a Visor, and could tell
A whispering Tale in a fair Lady's Ear,
Such as would please: 'Tis gone; 'tis gone; 'tis gone:
You are all welcome, Gentlemen; come, Musicians, play. [Musick plays, and they Dance.
A Hall, Hall; give room, and foot it, Girls:
More Light ye Knaves, and turn the Tables up;
And quench the Fire, the Room is grown too hot.
Ah, Sirrah, this unlook'd for sport comes well:
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good Cousin Capulet,
For you and I, are past our dancing daies:
How long is't now since last your self and I
Were in a Mask?

2 Cap.
By'r Lady, thirty Years.

1 Cap.
What, Man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much;
'Tis since the Nuptial of Lucentio,
Come Pentecost, as quickly as it will,
Some five and twenty Years, and then we Mask'd.

2 Cap.
'Tis more, 'tis more, his Son is Elder, Sir:
His Son is Thirty.

1 Cap.
Will you tell me that?
His Son was but a Ward two Years ago.

Rom.
What Lady is that which doth enrich the Hand
Of yonder Knight?

Ser.
I know not, Sir.

Rom.
O she doth teach the Torches to burn bright;
Her Beauty hangs upon the cheek of Night,

Like a rich Jewel in an Æthiop's Ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear!
So shews a Snowy Dove trooping with Crows,
As yonder Lady o'er her Fellows shows:
The Measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make blessed my rude Hand.
Did my Heart love till now; forswear it Sight?
For I ne'er saw true Beauty 'till this Night.

Tib.
This by his Voice should be a Mountague.
Fetch me my Rapier, Boy: what dares the Slave
Come hither cover'd with an Antick Face,
To fleer and scorn at our Solemnity?
Now by the stock and honour of my Kin,
Te strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

Cap.
Why, how now, Kinsman,
Wherefore storm you so?

Tib.
Uncle, this is a Mountague, our Foe:
A Villain that is hither come in spight,
To scorn at our Solemnity this Night.

Cap.
Young Romeo, is it?

Tib.
'Tis he, that Villain Romeo.

Cap.
Content thee, gentle Coz, let him alone,
He bears him like a portly Gentleman:
And to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well-govern'd Youth.
I would not for the wealth of all the Town,
Here in my House do him disparagement:
Therefore be patient, take no Note of him,
It is my will, the which if thou respect,
Shew a fair Presence, and put off these Frowns,
An ill beseeming semblance of a Feast.

Tib.
It fits, when such a Villain is a Guest.
I'll not endure him.

Cap.
He shall be indur'd.
What, Goodman-boy—I say he shall. Go to—
Am I the Master here, or you? Go to—
You'll not endure him! God shall mend my Soul,
You'll make a Mutiny among the Guests:
You will set Cock-a-hoop? You'll be the Man?

Tib.
Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame.

Cap.
Go to, go to.

You are a saucy Boy—'tis so indeed—
This trick may chance to scathe you; I know what,
You must contrary me?—marry 'tis time.
Well said, my Hearts, you are a Princox, go,
Be quiet, or more light, for shame;
I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my Hearts.

Tib.
Patience perforce with wilful Choler meeting,
Makes my Flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw; but this Intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter Gall.

Rom.
If I prophane with my unworthiest Hand, [To Juliet.
This holy Shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My Lips two blushing Pilgrims ready stand,
To smooth that rough touch with a tender Kiss.

Jul.
Good Pilgrim,
You do wrong your Hand too much,
Which mannerly Devotion shews in this,
For Saints have Hands—the Pilgrim's Hand do touch,
And Palm to Palm, is holy Palmer's Kiss.

Rom.
Have not Saints Lips, and holy Palmers too?

Jul.
Ay, Pilgrim, Lips that they must use in Prayer.

Rom.
O then, dear Saint, let Lips do what Hands do,
They pray (grant thou) lest Faith turn to Despair.

Jul.
Saints do not move,
Though grant for Prayers sake.

Rom.
Then move not while my Prayers effect do take:
Thus from my Lips, by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her.

Jul.
Then have my Lips the sin that they have took.

Rom.
Sin from my Lips! O trespass sweetly urg'd:
Give me my sin again.

Jul.
You kiss by th' Book.

Nur.
Madam, your Mother craves a word with you.

Rom.
What is her Mother?

Nur.
Marry, Batchelor,
Her Mother is the Lady of the House,
And a good Lady, and a wise and virtuous,
I nurs'd her Daughter that you talk withal:
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the Chinks.

Rom.
Is she a Capulet?
O dear Account! My Life is my Foe's debt.

Ben.
Away, be gone, the sport is at the best.

Rom.
Ay, so I fear, the more is my unrest.

Cap.
Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish Banquet towards.
Is it e'en so? why then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honest Gentlemen, good Night:
More Torches here—come on, then let's to Bed.
Ah, Sirrah, by my Fay it waxes late.
I'll to my rest. [Exeunt.

Jul.
Come hither, Nurse.
What is yond' Gentleman?

Nur.
The Son and Heir of old Tyberio.

Jul.
What's he that now is going out of Door?

Nur.
Marry, that I think to be young Petruchio.

Jul.
What's he that follows here, that would not dance?

Nur.
I know not.

Jul.
Go ask his Name. If he be Married,
My Grave is like to be my wedding Bed.

Nur.
His Name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The only Son of our great Enemy.

Jul.
My only Love sprung from my only Hate!
Too early seen, unknown, and known too late:
Prodigious birth of Love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed Enemy.

Nur.
What's this? what's this?

Jul.
A Rhime I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within, Juliet.

Nur.
Anon, anon:
Come, let's away, the Strangers all are gone, [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.

Chorus.
Now old Desire doth in his Death-bed lye,
And young Affection gapes to be his Heir:
That fair, for which Love groan'd sore, and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,

Alike bewitched by the charm of Looks:
But to his Foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal Love's sweet bait from fearful Hooks.
Being held a Foe, he may not have access
To breath such Vows as Lovers use to swear;
And she as much in Love, her means much less,
To meet her new Beloved any where:
But Passion lends them Power, Time Means to meet,
Tempting Extremities with extream sweet. SCENE II. The Street. Enter Romeo alone.

Rom.
Can I go forward when my Heart is here?
Turn back, dull Earth, and find my Center out. [Exit. Enter Benvolio with Mercutio.

Ben.
Romeo, my Cousin Romeo, Romeo.

Mer.
He is wise,
And on my Life hath stoln him home to Bed.

Ben.
He ran this way, and leap'd this Orchard Wall,
Call, good Mercutio.

Mer.
Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo Humours, Madman, Passion, Lover,
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one time, and I am satisfied:
Cry me but Ay me! couple but Love and Day;
Speak to my Gossip Venus one fair Word,
One Nick-name for her pur-blind Son and her,
Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so true,
When King Cophetua lov'd the Beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not,
The Ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright Eyes,
By her high Fore-head, and her Scarlet Lip,
By her fine Foot, streight Leg, and quivering Thigh,
And the Desmeans that there adjacent lye,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben.
And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

Mer.
This cannot anger him, 'twould anger him
To raise a Spirit in his Mistress's Circle,

Of some strange Nature, letting it there stand
'Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spight.
My Invocation is fair and honest, and in his Mistress's Name
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben.
Come, he hath hid himself among these Trees,
To be consorted with the humorous Night:
Blind is his Love, and best befits the dark.

Mer.
If Love be blind, Love cannot hit the Mark.
Now will he sit under a Medlar-tree,
And wish his Mistress were that kind of Fruit,
Which Maids call Medlars when they laugh alone:
O, Romeo, that she were, O that she were
An Open—or thou a Poprin Pear;
Romeo, good Night, I'll to my Truckle-bed,
This Field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?

Ben.
Go then, for 'tis in vain to seek him here,
That means not to be found. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Garden. Enter Romeo.

Rom.
He jests at Scars that never felt a Wound—
But soft, what Light thro' 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.
Be 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:
It 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 she speaks:
Two of the fairest Stars of 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:
See how she leans her Cheek upon her Hand!
O that I were a Glove upon that Hand,
That I might touch that Cheek.

Jul.
Ah me!

Rom.
She speaks.
Oh speak again, bright Angel, for thou art
As glorious to this Night, being o'er my Head,
As is a winged Messenger from Heaven,
Unto the white upturned wondring Eyes,
Of Mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy puffing 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.

Jul.
'Tis but thy Name that is my Enemy:
Thou art thy self, though not a Mountague.
What's Mountague? it is not Hand, nor Foot,
Nor Arm, nor Face—O be some other Name.
Belonging to a Man.
What's in a Name? that which we call a Rose,
By any other word 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,
Take all my self.

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 my self,

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 thy Tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Mountague?

Rom.
Neither, fair Maid, 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,
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 Swords; 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 Eyes,
And but thou love me, let them find me here;
My Life were better ended by their Hate,
Than Death prorogued, wanting of thy Love.

Jul.
By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

Rom.
By Love, that 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 should adventure for such Merchandise.

Jul.
Thou knowest the mask of Night is on my Face,
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 Complements:
Dost thou Love? O, 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; oh 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 wooe: But else not for the World.
In truth, fair Mountague, 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 Coining to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, e'er 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 Moon I vow,
That tips with Silver all these Fruit-tree tops—

Jul.
O swear not by the Moon, th' unconstant 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,
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,
E'er one can say, it lightens. Sweet, good Night,
This bud of Love by Summers 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.
Th' exchange of thy Love's faithful Vow of 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.
Anon, good Nurse—Sweet Mountague be true:
Stay but a little, I will come again. [Exit.

Rom.
O blessed, blessed Night, I am afraid,
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,
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 meanest not well,
I do beseech thee—

[Within:
Madam.

By and by, I come—
To cease thy Strife, 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. Enter Juliet again.

Jul.
Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a Falkner's Voice,
To lure this Tassel gently back again—
Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,
Else would I tear the Cave where Eccho lyes,
And make her airy Tongue more hoarse—Then with
The repetition of my Romeo—

Rom.
It is my Soul that calls upon my Name.
How silver-sweet sound Lovers Tongues by Night,
Like softest Musick to attending Ears.

Jul.
Romeo.

Rom.
My Sweet.

Jul.
What a 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,
Remembring how I love thy Company.

Rom.
And I'll still stay to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other Name but this.

Jul.
'Tis almost Morning, I would have thee gone.
And yet no further than a wanton's Bird,
That lets it hop a little from his Hand,
Like a poor Prisoner in his twisted Gyves,
And with a silken thread plucks it again,
So loving jealous of his Liberty.

Rom.
I would I were thy Bird.

Jul.
Sweet, so would I,
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing:
Good Night, good Night.

Rom.
Parting is such sweet Sorrow,
That I shall say Good Night 'till it be Morrow.

Jul.
Sleep dwell upon thine Eyes, peace in thy Breast.
Would I were Sleep and Peace, so sweet to Rest. [Exit.

Rom.
The gray-ey'd Morn smiles on the frowning Night,
Check'ring the Eastern Clouds with streaks of Light,
And Darkness fleckell'd like a Drunkard reels,
From forth Days path-way, made by Titan's Wheels.
Hence will I to my Ghostly Friar's close Cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. SCENE IV. A Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence, with a Basket.

Fri.
Now e'er 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 ours,

With baleful Weeds, and precious juiced Flowers.
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 powerful Grace, that lies
In Plants, Herbs, Stones, and their true Qualities:
For nought so vile, that on the Earth doth live,
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 it self turns Vice, being misapplied.
And Vice sometime by Action dignified. Enter Romeo.
Within the infant Rind of this weak Flower,
Poison hath residence, and Medicine Power:
For this being smelt, with that part chears each part;
Being tasted, slays all Senses, with the Heart.
Two such opposed Kings 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.

Rom.
Good morrow, Father.

Fri.
Benedicite.
What early Tongue so sweet salutes mine Ear?
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 lodgeth, Sleep will never lye;
But where unbruised Youth, with unstuft Brain,
Doth couch his Limbs, there golden Sleep doth raign;
Therefore, thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art up-rouz'd with some distemperature;
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?

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 e'er 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, rest homely in thy drift,
Ridling confession finds but ridling 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 to Day.

Fri.
Holy Saint Francis, what a Change is here?
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? young Mens Love then lyes
Not truly in their Hearts, but in their Eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of Brine
Hath washt 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 yet ring in my ancient Ears;
Lo here upon thy Cheek the Stain doth sit,
Of an old Tear that is not washt off yet.
If e'er thou wast thy self, and these Woes thine,
Thou and these Woes were all for Rosaline.
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 doting, 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 me not, her I love now
Doth Grace for Grace, and Love for Love allow;

The other did not so.

Fri.
Oh she knew well,
Thy Love did read by Rote, that 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 Houshold-rancour to pure Love.

Rom.
O let us hence, I stand on sudden haste.

Fri.
Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast. [Exeunt. SCENE V. 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 to old Capulet, hath sent a Letter to his Father's House.

Mer.

A Challenge on my Life.

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 dared.

Mer.

Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabb'd with a white Wench's black Eye, run through the Ear with a Love-song, the very Pin of his Heart cleft with the blind Bow-boy's but-shaft; and is he a Man to Encounter Tybalt?

Ben.

Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer.

More than Prince of Cats. Oh he's the Couragious Captain of Compliments; he fights as you sing prick-songs, keeps time, distance, and proportion; he rests his minum, one, two, and the third in your Bosom; the very Butcher of a silk Button, a Duellist, a Duellist; a Gentleman of the very first House of the first and second Cause; Ah the immortal Passado, the Punto reverso, the Hay—

Ben.

The what?

Mer.

The Pox of such antique lisping affecting Phantasies, these new turners of Accent—Jesu, a very good blade,—

a very tall Man—a very good Whore.—Why is not this a lamentable thing, Grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange Flies, these Fashion-mongers, these pardon-me's, who stand so much on the new Form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old Bench. O their Bones, their Bones.

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 a Kitchen-wench; marry she had a better love to berime her: Dido a Dowdy, Cleopatra a Gipsie, Helen and Hero Hildings and Harlots: Thisby a gray Eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, Bonjour, there's a French Salutation to your French slop; you gave us the Counterfeit fairly last Night.

Rom.

Good morrow to you both, what Counterfeit did I give you?

Mer.

The slip Sir, the slip: can you not conceive?

Rom.

Pardon Mercutio, my Business was great, and in such a Case as mine, a Man may strain Curtsie.

Mer.

That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a Man to bow in the Hams.

Rom.

Meaning to Curtsie.

Mer.

Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Rom.

A most courteous Exposition.

Mer.

Nay, I am the very Pink of Courtesie.

Rom.

Pink for Flower.

Mer.

Right.

Rom.

Why then is my Pump well flower'd.

Mer.

Sure Wit—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, sole-singular.

Rom.
O single-sol'd Jest.
Solely singular, for the singleness.

Mer.
Come between us good Benvolio, my Wit faints.

Rom.
Swits and Spurs,
Swits and Spurs, or I'll cry a Match.

Mer.

Nay, if our Wits run the Wild-goose Chase, I am done: For thou hast more of the Wild-goose in one 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.

I will bite thee by the Ear for that Jest.

Rom.
Nay, good Goose bite not.

Mer.
Thy Wit is a very bitter Sweeting,
It is a most sharp Sawce.

Rom.
And is it not well-serv'd in to a sweet Goose?

Mer.

O here's a Wit of Cheverel, that stretches from an Inch narrow, to an Ell broad.

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 art thou 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 Hole.

Ben.

Stop there, stop there.

Mer.

Thou desirest me to stop in my Tale against the Hair.

Ben.

Thou wouldst 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 gear:
A sayle, a sayle.

Mer.
Two, two, a Shirt and a Smock.

Nur.
Peter.

Pet.
Anon.

Nur.
My Fan, Peter.

Mer.
Good Peter, to hide her Face;
For her Fan's the fairer Face.

Nur.
God ye good morrow, Gentlemen.

Mer.
God ye good-den fair Gentlewoman.

Nur.
Is is good-den?

Mer.

'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy Hand of the Dyal is now upon the prick of Noon.

Nur.
Out upon you; what a Man are you?

Rom.
One, Gentlewoman,
That God hath made, himself to mar.

Nur.

By my troth it is sad: for himself to mar, quotha? 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.

Nur.
You say well.

Mer.
Yea, is the worst well?
Very well took, I'faith, wisely, wisely.

Nur.
If you be he, Sir,
I desire some Confidence with you.

Ben.
She will invite him to some Supper.

Mer.
A Baud, a Baud, a Baud. So ho.

Rom.
What hast thou found?

Mer.

No Hare, Sir, unless a Hare Sir, in a Lenten Pye; that is something Stale and Hoar e'er 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, Lady. [Ex. Mercutio, Benvolio.

Nur.

I pray you, Sir, what saucy Merchant was this that was so full of his Roguery?

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.

Nur.

And a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, and 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-gils; I am none of his Skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every Knave to use me at his pleasure.

Pet.

I saw no Man use you at his Pleasure: If I had, my Weapon should quickly have been out, I warant you. I dare draw as soon as another Man, if I see occasion in a good Quarrel, and the Law on my side.

Nur.

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 bid me enquire you out; what she bid me say, I will keep to my self: But first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her in 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.

Commend me to thy Lady and Mistress, I protest unto thee—

Nur.
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?

Nur.

I will tell her, Sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a Gentleman-like offer.

Rom.
Bid her devise some means to come to Shrift, this afternoon;
And there she shall at Friar Lawrence's Cell,
Be shriv'd and married: Here is for thy pains.

Nur.
No, truly Sir, not a Penny.

Rom.
Go to, I say you shall.

Nur.
This Afternoon, Sir? Well, she shall be there.

Rom.
And stay thou, good Nurse, behind the Abby-wall,
Within this Hour my Man shall be with thee,
And bring thee Cords made like a tackled Stair,
Which to the high top-gallant of my Joy,
Must be my Convoy in the secret Night.
Farewel, be trusty, and I'll quite thy Pains:
Farewel, commend me to thy Mistress.

Nur.
Now God in Heaven bless thee: Hark you, Sir.

Rom.
What say'st thou, my dear Nurse?

Nur.
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.

Nur.

Well, Sir, my Mistress is the sweetest Lady; Lord, Lord, when 'twas a little prating thing—O, there is a Noble Man in Town, one Paris, that would fain lay Knife aboard; but she, good Soul, had as live 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 versal World. Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a Letter?

Rom.

Ay Nurse, what of that? Both with an R.

Nur.

Ah mocker! that's the Dog's name. R. is for the no, I know it begins with no other Letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and Rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Rom.
Commend me to thy Lady.— [Exit Romeo.

Nur.
A thousand times. Peter?

Pet.
Anon.

Nur.
Before, and apace. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Capulet's House. Enter Juliet.

Jul.
The Clock stroke Nine, when I did send the Nurse:
In half an Hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him—That's not so—
Oh she is Lame: Love's Heralds should be Thoughts,
Which ten times faster glides than the Sun-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—
Ay three long Hours—and 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.
O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what News?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy Man away.

Nur.
Peter, stay at the Gate.

Jul.
Now good sweet Nurse—
O Lord, why look'st thou sad?
Tho' News be sad, yet tell them merrily,
If good, thou sham'st the Musick of sweet News.
By playing it to me with so sower a Face.

Nur.
I am a weary, give me leave a while;
Fy, how my Bones ake, what a Jaunt have I had?

Jul.
I would thou hadst my Bones, and I thy News:
Nay come, I pray thee speak—Good Nurse speak.

Nur.
Jesu! what haste? can you not stay a while?
Do you not see how 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?

Nur.

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 Legs excell all Mens, and for a Hand and a Foot, and a Baw-dy, tho' they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare. He is not the Flower of Courtesie, but I warrant him as gentle a Lamb—Go thy ways Wench, serve God: What, have you dined at home?

Jul.
No, no—But all this did I know before:
What says he of our Marriage? What of that?

Nur.
Lord how my Head akes! what a Head have I?
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My Back a t'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 so ill,
Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what says my Love?

Nur.
Your Love says like an honest Gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsom,
And I warrant a virtuous—where is your Mother?

Jul.
Where is my Mother? Why she is within,
Here should she be? How odly thou reply'st!
Your Love says like an honest Gentleman:
Where is my Mother?—

Nur.
O God's Lady dear,
Are you so hot? marry come up I trow,
Is this the Poultis for my aking Bones?

Hence-forward, do your Messages your self.

Jul.
Here's such a coil; come, what says Romeo?

Nur.
Have you got leave to go to shrift to Day?

Jul.
I have.

Nur.
Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence's 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,
But you shall bear the Burthen soon at Night.
Go, I'll to Dinner, hie you to the Cell.

Jul.
Hie to high Fortune; honest Nurse farewel. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. The Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Fri.
So smile the Heavens upon this holy Act,
That after Hours with Sorrow chide us not.

Rom.
Amen, Amen; but come what Sorow 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.

Fri.
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,
Too swift arrives, as tardy as too slow. Enter Juliet.
Here comes the Lady. Oh so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting Flint;
A Lover may bestride the Gossamour,
That idles in the wanton Summer Air,
And yet not fall, so light is Vanity.

Jul.
Good-even to my ghostly Confessor.

Fri.
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 heapt like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blason 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 some half of my Wealth.

Fri.
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. ACT III. SCENE I. SCENE The Street. Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.

Ben.
I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire,
The Day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And if we meet, we shall not scape a Brawl;
For now these hot Days is the mad Blood stirring.

Mer.

Thou art like one of those Fellows, that when he enters the confines of a Tavern, claps me his Sword upon the Table, and says, God send me no need of thee: And by the Operation of a second Cup, draws him on the Drawer, when indeed there is no need.

Ben.

Am I like such a Fellow?

Mer.

Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be mov'd.

Ben.

And what too?

Mer.

Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou

wilt quarrel with a Man that hath a Hair more, or a Hair less in his Beard than thou hast: Thou wilt quarrel with a Man for cracking Nuts, having no other reason, but because thou hast hasel Eyes; what Eye, but such an Eye, would spy out such a quarrel? Thy Head is as full of quarrels, as an Egg is full of Meat, and yet thy Head hath been beaten as addle as an Egg for quarrelling: Thou hast quarrell'd with a Man for Coughing in the Street, because he hath wakened thy Dog that hath lain asleep in the Sun. Didst thou not fall out with a Tailor for wearing his new Doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new Shooes with old Ribband? And yet thou wilt Tutor me from quarreling!

Ben.

And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any Man should buy the Fee-simple of my Life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer.

The Fee-simple? O simple!

Ben.
By my Head here come the Capulets.

Mer.
By my Heel I care not.

Tyb.
Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, Good-den, a Word with one of you.

Mer.

And but one Word with one of us? couple it with something, make it a Word and a Blow.

Tyb.

You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, and you will give me occasion.

Mer.

Could you not take some Occasion without giving?

Tyb.

Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo—

Mer.

Consort! What, dost thou make us Minstrels? And thou make Minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but Discords: Here's my Fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. Come, Consort.

Ben.
We talk here in the publick haunt of Men:
Either withdraw unto some private place,
Or reason coldly of your Grievances,
Or else depart; here all Eyes gaze on us.

Mer.
Mens Eyes were made to look, and let them gaze,
I will not budge for no Man's pleasure I.

Enter Romeo.

Tyb.
Well, peace be with you, Sir, here comes my Man.

Mer.
But I'll be hang'd, Sir, if he wear your Livery:
Marry go before to Field, he'll be your Follower,
Your Worship in that sense may call him Man.

Tyb.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this; Thou art a Villain.

Rom.
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee,
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting:
Therefore farewel, I see thou know'st me not.

Tyb.
Boy, this shall not excuse the Injuries
That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.

Rom.
I do protest I never injur'd thee,
But lov'd thee better than thou canst devise;
'Till thou shalt know the reason of my Love.
And so good Capulet, which Name I tender
As dearly as my own, be satisfied.

Mer.
O calm, dishonourable, vile Submission!
Allastucatho carries it away.
Tybalt, You, Rat-catcher, will you walk?

Tyb.
What wouldst thou have with me?

Mer.

Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine Lives, that I mean to make bold withal; and as you shall use me, hereafter dry beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your Sword out of his Pilcher by the Ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your Ears e'er it be out.

Tyb.

I am for you.

Rom.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier up.

Mer.
Come, Sir, your Passado. [Mer. and Tyb. fight.

Rom.
Draw, Benvolio—beat down their Weapons—
Gentlemen—for shame forbear this Outrage—
Tybalt—Mercutio—the Prince expresly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona Streets.
Hold Tybalt—good Mercutio. [Exit Tybalt.

Mer.
I am hurt—
A Plague of both the 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.
Where is my Page? Go, Villain, 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: Ask for me to Morrow, and you shall find me a Grave-Man. 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 Arithmetick? 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—your Houses. [Ex. Mer. Ben.

Rom.
This Gentleman, the Prince's near Allie,
My very Friend, hath got his mortal Hurt
In my behalf, my Reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's Slander; Tybalt, that an Hour
Hath been my Cousin: O sweet Juliet,
Thy Beauty hath made me Effeminate,
And in my Temper softned 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.

Rom.
This Day's black Fate, on more Days does depend,
This but begins the Woe, others must end. Enter Tybalt.

Ben.
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

Rom.
He gone in Triumph, and Mercutio slain?
Away to Heaven respective Lenity,
And Fire and Fury be my Conduct now:
Now, Tybalt, take the Villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's Soul
Is but a little way above our Heads,
Staying for thine to keep him Company:
Either thou or I, or both must go with him.

Tyb.
Thou wretched Boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.

Rom.
This shall determine that. [They fight, Tybalt falls.

Ben.
Romeo, away, be gone:
The Citizens are up, and Tybalt slain—
Stand not amaz'd, the Prince will doom thee Death,
If thou art taken: Hence, be gone, away.

Rom.
O! I am Fortune's Fool.

Ben.
Why dost thou stay? [Exit Romeo. Enter Citizens.

Cit.
Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
Tybalt that Murtherer, which way ran he?

Ben.
There lyes that Tybalt.

Cit.
Up Sir, go with me:
I charge thee in the Prince's Name obey. Enter Prince, Mountague, Capulet, their Wives, &c.

Prin.
Where are the vile beginners of this Fray?

Ben.
O Noble Prince I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal Braul:
There lies the Man slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy Kinsman brave Mercutio.

La. Cap.
Tybalt my Cousin! O my Brother's Child,
O Prince, O Cousin, Husband, O the Blood is spill'd,
Of my dear Kinsman—Prince, as thou art true,
For Blood of ours, shed Blood of Mountague.
O Cousin, Cousin.

Prin.
Benvolio, who began this Fray?

Ben.
Tybalt here Slain, whom Romeo's hand did Slay:
Romeo that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the Quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high Displeasure: All this uttered,
With gentle Breath, calm Look, Knees humbly bow'd,
Could not take Truce with the unruly Spleen
Of Tybalt, 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 Tybalt, whose Dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
Hold Friends, Friends part, and swifter than his Tongue,
His able Arm beats down their fatal Points,
And twixt them rushes, underneath whose Arm,
An envious thrust from Tybalt, hit the Life

Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd Revenge,
And to't they go like Lightning, for e'er I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And as he fell, did Romeo turn to Fly:
This is the Truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap.
He is a Kinsman to the Mountagues
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one Life.
I beg for Justice, which thou Prince must give:
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not Live.

Prin.
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio,
Who now the Price of his dear Blood doth owe.

La. Cap.
Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's Friend,
His Fault concludes but what the Law should end,
The Life of Tybalt.

Prin.
And for that Offence,
Immediately we do Exile him hence:
I have an Interest in your Hearts Proceeding,
My Blood for your rude Brawls doth lye a Bleeding.
But I'll amerce you with so strong a Fine,
That you shall all Repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to Pleading and Excuses,
Nor Tears, nor Prayers shall purchase our abuses,
Therefore use none; let Romeo hence in haste,
Else when he is found, that Hour is his last.
Bear hence this Body, and attend our Will:
Mercy but Murthers, pardoning those that Kill. [Exeunt. SCENE II. An Apartment in Capulet's House. Enter Juliet alone.

Jul.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed Steeds,
Toward Phœbus lodging, such a Waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the West,
And bring in cloudy Night immediately.

Spred thy close Curtain, Love-performing night,
That run-aways Eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these Arms, untalkt of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their Amorous Rites,
By their own Beauties: Or if Love be blind,
It best agrees with Night; Come civil Night,
Thou sober-suted Matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning Match,
Plaid for a pair of stainless Maidenheads,
Hood my 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 lye upon the Wings of Night,
Whiter than new Snow on a Raven's back:
Come gentle Night, come loving black-brow'd Night,
Give me my Romeo, and when I 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 will be in love with Night,
And pay no Worship to the Garish 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?

Nur.
Ay, ay, the Cords.

Jul.
Ay me, what News?
Why dost thou wring thy Hands?

Nur.
A weladay 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 Heav'n be so envious?

Nur.
Romeo can,
Though Heaven 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 Ay;
And that bare Vowel Ay, shall poison more
Than the Death-darting Eye of Cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an Ay,
Or those Eyes shot that makes the answer Ay,
If he be slain say Ay, or if not, No.
Brief Sounds determine of my weal or woe.

Nur.
I saw the Wound, I saw it with mine Eyes,
God save the Mark, here on his manly Breast.
A piteous Coarse, a blody 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.

Nur.
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 dearest Cousin, and my dearer Lord?
The dreadful Trumpet sound the general Doom,
For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nur.
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that kill'd him, he is Banished.

Jul.
O God!
Did Romeo's Hand shed Tybalt's Blood?

Nur.
It did, it did, alas the day! it did.

Jul.
O Serpent Heart, hid with a flowring Face,
Did ever Dragon keep so fair a Cave?
Beautiful Tyrant, Fiend Angelical,
Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven,
Wolvish-ravening Lamb,
Despised Substance of Divinest Show:
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,

A damned Saint, an honourable Villain:
O Nature! what hadst thou to do in Hell,
When thou didst bower the Spirit of a Fiend
In mortal Paradise of such sweet Flesh?
Was ever Book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous Palace.

Nur.
There's no Trust, no Faith, no honesty in Men,
All Perjur'd; all Forsworn; all Naught; 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?

Nur.
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 did'st 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 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 murdered 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,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or if sower woe delights in Fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other Griefs,

Why followed not, when she said Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both,
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?

Nur.
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's Coarse.
Will you go 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 an Highway to my Bed,
But I a Maid, die Maiden-widowed.
Come Cord, come Nurse, I'll to my Wedding-bed,
And Death, not Romeo, take my Maiden-head.

Nur.
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.
O find him, give this Ring to my true Knight,
And bid him come, to take his last Farewel, [Exeunt. SCENE III. The Monastery. Enter Frier 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 admittance at my Hand,
That I yet know not?

Fri.
Too familiar
Is my dear Son in such sower Company:
I bring thee Tydings of the Prince's Doom.

Rom.
What, less than Dooms-day, is the Prince's Doom?

Fri.
A gentle 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 Walls,
But Purgatory, Torture, Hell it self:
Hence banish'd, is banished from the World,
And World's Exile is Death. Then banished
Is Death miss-term'd, calling Death Banished.
Thou cut'st my Head off with a Golden Ax,
And smil'st upon the stroak 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.
That is dear Mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom.
'Tis Torture, and not Mercy: Heaven 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. 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,
Who even 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 Banished?

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 shou'd they,
When wise Men have no Eyes?

Fri.
Let me despair with thee of thy Estate.

Rom.
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as Juliet my Love,
An hour but married, Tybalt 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. [Throwing himself on the Ground.

Fri. [Knock within.
Arise, one knocks;
Good Romeo hide thy self.

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; [Knock.
Run to my Study—By and by—God's Will;
What Simpleness is this—I come, I come. [Knock.
Who knocks so hard?
Whence come you? what's your Will?

Nur. [Within.]
Let me come in,
And you shall know my Errand:
I come from Lady Juliet.

Fri.
Welcome then. Enter Nurse.

Nur.
O holy Friar, O tell me holy Friar,

Where is my Lady's Lord? where's Romeo?

Fri.
There, on the Ground,
With his own Tears made drunk.

Nur.
O he is even in my Mistress's Case,
Just in her Case, O woful Sympathy!
Piteous Predicament, even so lyes she,
Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring.
Stand up, stand up, stand and you be a Man,
For Juliet's sake, for her sake rise and stand:
Why should you fall into so deep an Oh!—

Rom.
Nurse.

Nur.
Ah Sir! Ah Sir!—Death's the end of all.

Rom.
Speak'st thou of Juliet? How is't with her?
Doth not she think me an old Murtherer,
Now I have stain'd the Child-hood of our Joy
With Blood, removed but little from her own?
Where is she? and how does she? and what says
My conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Love?

Nur.
Oh she says nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her Bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.

Rom.
As if that Name
Shot from the deadly level of a Gun
Did murder her, as that Names cursed Hand
Murdered her Kinsman. 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:
Art thou a Man? Thy form cries out, thou art:
Thy Tears are Womanish, thy wild Acts do note
The unreasonable fury of a Beast.
Unseemly Woman, in a seeming Man,
And ill beseeming Beast in seeming both,
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy Order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thy self?
And slay thy Lady, that in thy Life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thy self?

Why rail'st thou on thy Birth? the Heaven and Earth?
Since Birth, and Heaven, and Earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which thou at once would'st lose.
Fy, fy, thou sham'st thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit;
Which like an Usurer abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed,
Which should bedeck thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit:
Thy noble Shape is but a Form of Wax,
Digressing from the Valour of a Man;
Thy dear Love sworn, but hollow Perjury,
Killing that Love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy Wit, that Ornament to Shape and Love,
Mis-shapen in the Conduct of them both,
Like Powder in a skilless Soldier's Flask,
Is set a fire by thine own Ignorance,
And thou dismembred with thine own Defence.
What, rouse thee, Man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou 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 mis-hav'd and a sullen Wench,
Thou puttest up 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.

Nur.
O 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.

Nur.
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.
Go hence.
Good Night, and here stands all your State:
Either be gone 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 signifie 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:
Farewel. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.

Cap.
Things have faln 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 Woo:
Madam, good Night, commend me to your Daughter.

La. Cap.
I will, and know her Mind early to Morrow;
To Night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

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.
Wife, go you to her e'er you go to Bed,
Acquaint her here of 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,
A Thursday let it be: A 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—a Thursday be it then:
Go you to Juliet e'er you go to Bed, [To Lady Capulet.
Prepare her, Wife, against this Wedding-day.
Farewel, my Lord—light to my Chamber, hoa!
'Afore me, it is so late, that we may call it early by and by.
Good Night. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Garden Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a Window; a Ladder of Ropes set.

Jul.
Wilt thou be gone?
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine Ear,
Nightly she sings on yond 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 Mountain tops,
I must be gone and live, or stay and dye.

Jul.
Yon Light is not Day-light, I know it, I:
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.
Therefore stay, yet thou need'st not to be gone.

Rom.
Let me be ta'en, let me be put to Death,
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon gray is not the Morning's Eye,

'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's Brow,
Nor that is not the Lark whose Notes do beat
The vaulty Heavens so high above our Heads,
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 change Eyes,
O now I would they had chang'd Voices too:
Since, arm from arm, that Voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-up to the Day,
O now be gone, more light, and light it grows.

Rom.
More light and light, more dark and dark our Woes. Enter Nurse.

Nur.
Madam.

Jul.
Nurse.

Nur.
Your Lady Mother is coming to your Chamber:
The Day is broke, be wary, look about.

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

Rom.
Farewel, farewel, one Kiss, and I'll Descend.

Jul.
Art thou gone so? Love! Lord! ah Husband! Friend!
I must hear from thee every Day in the Hour, [Romeo comes down by the Ladder into the Garden.
For in a Minute there are many Days,
O by this count I shall be much in Years,
E're I again behold my Romeo.

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

Jul.
O thinkest 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 so low,
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 my Eye so do you:
Dry Sorrow drinks our Blood. Adieu, adieu. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. 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. 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 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?
And 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 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.
Villain and he be 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.
Ay, 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 Runnagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd Dram,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt Company:
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied

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 Tybalt,
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 needy 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 expects not, nor I look'd not for.

Jul.
Madam, 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
E'er he that should be Husband comes to wooe.
I pray you tell my Lord and Father, Madam,
I will not marry yet, and when I do, I swear
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 your self,
And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse.

Cap.
When the Sun sets, the Earth doth drizzle Dew;
But for the Sunset of my Brother's Son,
It rains down-right.
How now? a Conduit, Girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring in one little Body?
Thy Counterfeit's 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
Sailing in this salt Flood, the Winds thy Sighs,
Who raging with the Tears, and they with them,

Without a sudden Calm will over-set
Thy tempest-tossed Body. 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 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? chopt Logick? what is this?
Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not!
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine Joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church:
Or I will drag thee on a Hurdle thither.
Out you Green-sickness Carrion, out you Baggage,
Out you Tallow-face.

La. Cap.
Fie, fie, 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 a 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 had lent 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.

Nur.
God in 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 Gossip, go.

Nur.
I speak no Treason,
O God-ye-good-den—
May not one speak?

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.
God's Bread, it makes me mad:
Day, night, hour, tide, time, 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 Demeans, Youthful, and nobly Allied,
Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable Parts,
Proportion'd as ones thought would wish a Man:
And then to have a wretched puling Fool,
A whining Mammet, in her Fortunes tender,
To answer I'll not wed, I cannot Love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.
But, and 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;
And you be mine, I'll give you to my Friend:
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the Streets,
For, by my Soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine, shall never 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 dim Monument where Tybalt lyes.

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 Heaven,
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 my self.
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, Nurse.

Nur.
Faith here it is:
Romeo is banish'd, and 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 so green, so quick, so fair an Eye
As Paris hath: beshrew my very Heart,
I think you are 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,
As living here, and you no use of him.

Jul.
Speakest thou from thy Heart?

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

Jul.
Amen.

Nur.
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 Absolved.

Nur.
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, my self have power to die. [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I. SCENE the Monastery. Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

Fri.
On Thursday, Sir! the time is very short.

Par.
My Father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.

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

Par.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's Death,
And therefore have I little talk 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 her self 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.
Look, Sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell. Enter Juliet.

Par.
Happily met, 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 rowze ye,
'Till then adieu, and keep this holy kiss. [Exit Paris.

Jul.
O 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 thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this Count.

Jul.
Tell me not, Friar, that thou hearest 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 e'er 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
Shall play the Umpire; arbitrating that,
Which the 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 desperate which we would prevent.
If rather than to marry County Paris,
Thou hast the strength of Will to slay thy self,
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 any Tower,
Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk
Where Serpents are: Chain me with roaring Bears,
Or hide me nightly in a charnel House,
O'er covered quite with dead Mens ratling Bones,
With reeky Shanks, and yellow chapless Skulls:
Or bid me go into a new-made Grave,
And hide me with a dead Man in his Grave,
Things that to hear them told, have made me tremble,
And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain'd Wife to my sweet Love.

Fri.
Hold then. Go home, be merry, give consent,
To marry Paris. Wednesday is to morrow;
To morrow Night look that thou lye alone,
Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy Chamber:
Take thou this Viol being then in Bed,
And this distilling Liquor drink thou off,
When presently, through all thy Veins, shall run
A cold and drowsie Humour: For no Pulse
Shall keep his Native Progress, but surcease:
No warmth, no breath shall testifie thou livest;
The Roses in thy Lips and Cheeks shall fade
To mealy Ashes, the 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 rowse 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 born to Burial in thy Kindreds Grave:
Thou shalt be born to that same antient Vault,
Where all the Kindred of the Capulets lye.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,

Shall Romeo by my Letters know our Drift,
And hither shall he come; and that very Night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present Shame,
If no unconstant Toy nor Womanish fear,
Abate thy Valour in the acting it.

Jul.
Give me, give me, O tell not me of fear.

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. SCENE II. 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.

Ser.

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

Cap.

How canst thou try them so?

Ser.

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 unfurnish'd for this time: What is my Daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?

Nur.
Ay forsooth.

Cap.
Well, he may chance to do some good on her,
A peevish self-will'd Harlotry it is. Enter Juliet.

Nur.
See where she comes from Shrift, with merry look.

Cap.
How now, my Headstrong?
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 enjoyn'd
By holy Lawrence, to fall prostrate here,

To beg your Pardon: Pardon I beseech you,
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

Cap.
Send for the Count, 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 to morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.

La. Cap.
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 Huswife for this once. What ho?
They are all forth; well I will walk my self
To County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to morrow. My Heart is wondrous Light,
Since this same way-ward Girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt Capulet and Lady Cap. SCENE III. Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet and Nurse.

Jul.
Ay, those Attires are best; but, gentle Nurse,
I pray thee leave me to my self to Night:
For I have need of many Orisons,
To move the Heavens to smile upon my state,
Which well thou know'st is cross and full of Sin.

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What are you busie, ho? Need you 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.

Mo.
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 Fire:
I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Nurse—what should she do here?
My dismal Scene, I needs must act alone:
Come Vial—what if this Mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married to morrow Morning?
No, no, this shall forbid it; Lye thou there. [Pointing to a Dagger.
What if it be a Poison, which the Friar,
Subtilly 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
Come to redeem me? There's a fearful Point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the Vault,
To whose foul Mouth no healthsome Air breaths in,
And there die strangled e'er my Romeo comes?
Or if I live, it is 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 Shrowd; where, as they say,
At some Hours in the Night, Spirits resort—

Alack, alack! is it not like that I
So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like Mandrakes torn out of the Earth,
That living Mortals, hearing them, run mad—
Or if I walk, 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 desperate Brains?
O look! methinks I see my Cousin's Ghost,
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his Body
Upon his Rapier's Point: Stay, Tybalt stay!
Romeo! Romeo! Romeo! here's drink—I drink to thee. [Exit. SCENE IV. A Hall. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

La. Cap.
Hold,
Take these Keys and fetch more Spices, Nurse.

Nur.
They call for Dates and Quinces in the Pastry. Enter Capulet.

Cap.
Come, stir, stir, stir,
The second Cock hath crow'd,
The Curphew Bell hath rung, 'tis three a Clock:
Look to the bak'd Meats, good Angelica.
Spare not for cost.

Nur.
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, I have watch'd e'er 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. [Exit 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.

Ser.
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.

Ser.
I have a Head, Sir, that will find out Logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter.

Cap.
Mass and well said, a merry Horson, ha!
Thou shalt be Logger-head—good Faith, 'tis Day. [Play Musick.
The County will be here with Musick straight,
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, I say. [Exit Capulet. Scene SCENE draws and discovers Juliet on a Bed.

Nur.

Mistress, what Mistress! Juliet!—Fast I warrant her.

La. Cap.
What Noise is here?

Nur.
O lamentable Day!

La. Cap.
What is the matter?

Nur.
Look, look—oh 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.

Nur.
She's dead, Deceast, 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 the Field.

Nur.
O lamentable Day!

La. Cap.
O woful 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.

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,
Flower as she was, Deflower'd now by him:
Death is my Son-in-Law, Death is my Heir,
My Daughter he hath wedded. I will dye,
And leave him all, Life, living, all is Death's.

Par.
Have I thought long to see this Morning's Face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?

La. Cap.
Accurst, unhappy, wretched, hateful Day,
Most miserable Hour, that e'er time 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 catcht it from my sight.

Nur.
O wo! O woful, woful, woful Day!
Most lamentable Day! most woful 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 woful Day! O 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 murther, murther 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.
Peace ho for shame—Confusions? Care lives not
In these Confusions. Heaven and your self
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 that she should be advanc'd;
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd
Above the Clouds, as high as Heaven it self?
O 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 dyes married young,
Dry up your Tears, and stick your Rosemary
On this fair Coarse, and as the Custom is,
All in her best Array, bear her to Church:
For tho' fond Nature bids all us 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 melancholly Bells;
Our wedding Chear, to a sad burial Feast;
Our solemn Hymns, to sullen Dirges change;
Our Bridal Flowers, 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, every one prepare
To follow this fair Coarse unto her Grave.
The Heavens do lowre upon you for some ill:
Move them no more, by crossing their high Will. [Exeunt.

Mu.
Faith we may put up our Pipes and be gone.

Nur.
Honest good Fellows: Ah, put up, put up,
For well you know this is a pitiful Case.

Mu.
Ay, by my Troth, the Case may be amended. Enter Peter.

Pet.
Musicians: Oh Musicians,
Heart's ease, Heart's ease;
Oh, and you will have me live, play Heart's ease.

Mu.
Why Heart's ease?

Pet.
O Musicians,
Because my Heart it self plays, my Heart is full.

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

Pet.
You will not then?

Mu.
No.

Pet.
I will then give it you soundly.

Mu.
What will you give us?

Pet.
No Mony on my Faith, but the Gleek.
I will give you the Ministrel.

Mu.
Then I will 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?

Mu.
And you Re us, and Fa us, you Note us.

2 Mu.
Pray you put up your Dagger,
And put out your Wit.
Then have at you with my Wit.

Pet.
I will dry-beat you with an Iron Wit,
And put up my Iron Dagger.
Answer me like Men:
When griping Griefs the Heart doth wound
Then Musick with her Silver sound—
Why Silver sound? Why Musick with her Silver sound?
What say you, Simon Catling:

Mu.
Marry, Sir, because Silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet.
Pratest? what say you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Mu.
I say Silver sound, because Musicians sound for Silver.

Pet.
Pratest too? what say you, James Sound-Post?

3 Mu.
Faith I know not what to say.

Pet.
O I cry you mercy, you are the Singer.
I will say for you, it is Musick with her Silver sound,
Because Musicians have no Gold for sounding:

Then Musick with her Silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.

Mu.

What a pestilent Knave is this same?

2 Mu.

Hang him, Jack, come, we'll in here, tarry for the Mourners, and stay Dinner.

ACT V. SCENE I. SCENE Mantua. Enter Romeo.

Rom.
If I may trust the flattering truth of Sleep,
My Dreams presage some joyful News at hand:
My Bosom's Lord sits lightly in his Throne,
And all this winged unaccustom'd Spirit,
Lifts me above the Ground with chearful Thoughts.
I dreamt my Lady came and found me dead,
(Strange Dream! that gives a dead Man leave to think)
And breath'd such Life with Kisses in my Lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is Love it self possest,
When but Love's Shadows are so rich in Joy. Enter Romeo's Man.
News from Verona—How now Balthazar?
Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Friar?
How doth my Lady? Is my Father well?
How doth my Lady Juliet? That I ask again,
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

Man.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her Body sleeps in Capulet's Monument,
And her immortal part with Angels lives:
I saw her laid low in her Kindreds Vault,
And presently took Post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill News,
Since you did leave it for my Office, Sir.

Rom.
Is it even so?—
Then I deny you Stars.
Thou knowest my Lodging, get me Ink and Paper,
And hire Post-Horses, I will hence to Night.

Man.
I do beseech you, Sir, have patience:
Your Looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some Misadventure.

Rom.
Tush, thou art deceiv'd,
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no Letters to me from the Friar?

Man.
No, good my Lord.

Rom.
No matter: Get thee gone,
And hire those Horses, I'll be with thee straight. [Exit Man.
Well Juliet, I will lye with thee to Night;
Let's see for means—O Mischief thou art swift
To enter in the Thought of desperate Men:
I do remember an Apothecary,
And hereabouts he dwells, which late I noted
In tatter'd Weeds, with overwhelming Brows,
Culling of Simples; Meager were his Looks,
Sharp Misery had worn him to the Bones:
And in his needy Shop a Tortoise hung,
An Alligator stuft, and other Skins
Of ill-shap'd Fishes, and about his Shelves
A beggarly Account of empty Boxes;
Green earthen Pots, Bladders, and musty Seeds,
Remnants of Packthread, and old Cakes of Roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a shew.
Noting this Penury, to my self I said,
And if a Man did need a Poison now,
Whose sale is present Death in Mantua,
Here lives a Caitiff Wretch would sell it him.
O this same Thought did but fore-run my Need,
And this same needy Man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the House,
Being holy-day, the Beggar's Shop is shut.
What ho! Apothecary! Enter Apothecary.

Ap.
Who calls so loud?

Rom.
Come hither Man, I see that thou art poor,
Hold, there is forty Ducats, let me have
A Dram of Poison, such soon-speeding Geer,
As will disperse it self thro' all the Veins,
That the Life-weary-taker may fall Dead,
And that the Trunk may be discharg'd of Breath,
As violently, as hasty Power fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal Canon's Womb.

Ap.
Such Mortal Drugs I have, but Mantua's Law
Is Death to any he that utters them.

Rom.
Art thou so bare and full of Wretchedness,
And fear'st to dye? Famine is in thy Cheeks,

Need and Oppression starveth in thine Eyes,
Contempt and Beggary hang on thy Back:
The World is not thy Friend, nor the World's Law;
The World affords no Law to make thee Rich.
Then be not Poor, but break it, and take this.

Ap.
My Poverty, but not my Will consents.

Rom.
I pray thy Poverty, and not thy Will.

Ap.
Put this in any Liquid thing you will,
And drink it off, and if you had the Strength
Of twenty Men, it would dispatch you straight.

Rom.
There is thy Gold, worse Poison to Mens Souls,
Doing more Murder in this loathsom World,
Than these poor Compounds that thou maist not sell:
I sell thee Poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewel, buy Food, and get thy self in Flesh.
Come Cordial, and not Poison, go with me
To Juliet's Grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Monastery near Verona. Enter Friar John to Friar Lawrence.

John.
Holy Franciscan Friar! Brother! ho!

Law.
This same should be the Voice of Friar John.
Welcome from Mantua, what says Romeo?
Or if his Mind be writ, give me his Letter.

John.
Going to find a bare-foot Brother out,
One of our Order, to associate me,
Here in this City visiting the Sick,
And finding him, the Searchers of the Town,
Suspecting that we both were in a House
Where the infectious Pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the Doors, and would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua there was staid.

Law.
Who bare my Letter then to Romeo?

John.
I could not send it; here it is again,
Nor get a Messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of Infection.

Law.
Unhappy Fortune! by my Brotherhood,
The Letter was not nice, but full of Charge
Of dear Import, and the neglecting it
May do much Danger. Friar John, go hence,

Get me an Iron Crow, and bring it streight
Unto my Cell.

John.
Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit.

Law.
Now must I to the Monument alone,
Within this three Hours will fair Juliet wake,
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these Accidents:
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my Cell 'till Romeo come,
Poor living Coarse, clos'd in a dead Man's Tomb. [Exit. SCENE III. A Church-yard, in it, a noble Monument belonging to the Capulets. Enter Paris and his Page, with a Light.

Par.
Give me thy Torch, Boy; hence, and stand aloof:
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen:
Under yond' young Trees lay thee all along,
Laying thy Ear close to the hollow Ground,
So shall no foot upon the Church-yard tread,
Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of Graves,
But thou shalt hear it: Whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hearest something approach.
Give me those Flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

Pag.
I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the Church-yard, yet I will adventure. [Exit.

Par.
Sweet Flower, with Flowers thy bridal Bed I strew:
O Woe, thy Canopy is Dust and Stones,
Which with sweet Water nightly I will dew,
Or wanting that, with Tears distill'd by Mones;
The Obsequies that I for thee will keep,
Nightly shall be, to strew thy Grave and weep. [The Boy whistles.
The Boy gives warning, something doth approach,—
What cursed Foot wanders this way to Night,
To cross my Obsequies, and true Loves Right?
What with a Torch? Muffle me, Night, a while. Enter Romeo and Peter with a Light.

Rom.
Give me that Mattock, and the wrenching Iron.
Hold, take this Letter, early in the Morning

See thou deliver it to my Lord and Father,
Give me the Light; upon thy Life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my Course.
Why I descend into this Bed of Death,
Is partly to behold my Lady's Face:
But chiefly to take thence from her dead Finger,
A precious Ring, a Ring that I must use
In dear Employment, therefore hence be gone:
But if thou, Jealous, dost return to Pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By Heaven I will tear thee Joint by Joint,
And strew this hungry Church-yard with thy Limbs:
The Time, and my Intents are savage wild,
More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Than empty Tygers, or the roaring Sea.

Pet.
I will be gone Sir, and not trouble you.

Rom.
So shalt thou shew me Friendship: Take thou that,
Live and be prosperous, and farewel good Fellow.

Pet.
For all this same, I'll hide me here about,
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Exit.

Rom.
Thou detestable Maw, thou Womb of Death,
Gorg'd with the dearest Morsel of the Earth:
Thus I enforce thy rotten Jaws to open, [Breaking open the Monument.
And in despight, I'll cram thee with more Food,

Par.
This is that banisht haughty Mountague
That murthered my Love's Cousin; with which Grief,
It is supposed the Fair Creature died,
And here is come to do some Villanous Shame
To the dead Bodies: I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallowed Toil, vile Mountague:
Can Vengeance be pursu'd further than Death?
Condemned Villain, I do apprehend thee;
Obey, and go with me, for thou must Die.

Rom.
I must indeed, and therefore came I hither—
Good gentle Youth, tempt not a desperate Man,
Fly hence and leave me, think upon those gone,
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, Youth,
Pull not another Sin upon my Head,
By urging me to Fury. O be gone,
By Heaven I love thee better than my self;

For I come hither arm'd against my self:
Stay not, be gone; Live, and hereafter say,
A mad Man's Mercy bid thee run away.

Par.
I do defie thy Commiseration,
And apprehend thee for a Fellon here.

Rom.
Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee Boy. [They Fight, Paris falls.

Pag.
O Lord they Fight, I will go call thee Watch.

Par.
O I am slain; if thou be Merciful,
Open the Tomb, lay me with Juliet.

Rom.
In Faith I will: Let me peruse this Face—
Mercutio's Kinsman! Noble County Paris!
What said my Man, when my betossed Soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet.
Said he not so? Or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so? O give me thy Hand,
One writ with me in sour Misfortune's Book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant Grave.
A Grave? O no a Lanthorn, slaughter'd Youth:
For here lyes Juliet, and her Beauty makes
This Vault a Feasting Presence full of Light.
Death, lye thou there, by a dead Man interr'd.
How oft when Men are at the Point of Death,
Have they been Merry? Which their Keepers call
A Lightning before Death? O how may I
Call this a Lightning? O my Love, my Wife,
Death that hath suckt the Honey of thy Breath,
Hath had no Power yet upon thy Beauty:
Thou art not Conquer'd, Beauties Ensign yet
Is Crimson in thy Lips, and in thy Cheeks,
And Death's pale Flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloody Sheet?
O what more Favour can I do to thee,
Then with that Hand that cut thy Youth in twain,
To sunder his that was thy Enemy?
Forgive me, Cousin. Ah dear Juliet:
Why art thou yet so fair? I will believe,
Shall I believe, that unsubstantial Death is Amorous?
And that the lean abhorred Monster, keeps
Thee here in Dark, to be his Paramour?

For fear of that, I still will stay with thee,
And never from this Palace of dim Night
Depart again: Come lye thou in my Arms,
Here's to thy Health, where-e'er thou tumblest in.
O true Apothecary!
Thy Drugs are quick. Thus with a Kiss I die,
Depart again; here, here will I remain,
With Worms that are thy Chamber-Maids; O here
Will I set up my Everlasting rest;
And shake the Yoak of inauspicious Stars
From this World's wearied Flesh, Eyes look your last.
Arms take your last Embrace; and Lips, O you
The Doors of Breath, seal with a Righteous Kiss
A dateless Bargain to engrossing Death:
Come bitter Conduct, come unsavoury Guide,
Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run on
The dashing Rocks thy Sea-sick weary Bark:
Here's to my Love. O true Apothecary!
Thy Drugs are quick. Thus with a Kiss I die. Enter Friar Lawrence with Lanthorn, Crow, and Spade.

Fri.
St. Francis be my speed, how oft to Night
Have my old Feet stumbled at Graves? Who's there?

Pet.
Here's one, a Friend, and one that knows you well.

Fri.
Bliss be upon you. Tell me, good my Friend,
What Torch is yond, that vainly lends his Light
To grubs and eyeless Sculls? As I discern,
It burneth in the Capulets Monument.

Pet.
It doth so, Holy Sir.
And there's my Master, one that you Love.

Fri.
Who is it?

Pet.
Romeo.

Fri.
How long hath he been there?

Pet.
Full half an hour.

Fri.
Go with me to the Vault.

Pet.
I dare not, Sir.
My Master knows not but I am gone hence,
And fearfully did menace me with Death,
If I did stay to look on his Intents.

Fri.
Stay, then I'll go alone; fears comes upon me;
O much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

Pet.
As I did sleep under this young Tree here,
I dreamt my Master and another fought,
And that my Master slew him.

Fri.
Romeo!
Alack, alack, what Blood is this which stains
The stony Entrance of this Sepulchre?
What mean these Masterless and Goary Swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of Peace?
Romeo! oh pale! Who else? What Paris too?
And steep'd in Blood? Ah what an unkind Hour
Is guilty of this lamentable Chance?
The Lady stirs.

Jul.
O comfortable Friar, where's my Lord?
I do remember well where I should be;
And there I am; where is my Romeo?

Fri.
I hear some noise, Lady, come from that Nest
Of Death, Contagion, and unnatural Sleep;
A greater Power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our Intents; come, come away,
Thy Husband in thy Bosom there lyes Dead,
And Paris too—Come I'll dispose of thee,
Among a Sisterhood of Holy Nuns:
Stay not to question, for the Watch is coming,
Come, go good Juliet, I dare no longer stay. [Exit.

Jul.
Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
What's here? A Cup clos'd in my true Love's hand?
Poison I see hath been his timeless End.
O Churl, drink all, and left no Friendly drop,
To help me after? I will Kiss thy Lips,
Haply some Poison yet doth Hang on them,
To make me Die with a Restorative.
Thy Lips are warm. Enter Boy and Watch.

Watch.
Lead Boy, which way?

Jul.
Yea, noise?
Then I'll be brief. O happy Dagger,
'Tis in thy Sheath, there rust and let me die. [Kills her self.

Boy.
This is the place,
There where the Torch doth burn.

Watch.
The Ground is bloody,
Search about the Church-yard.
Go some of you, who e'er you find attach.
Pitiful sight! here lyes the County slain,
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
Who here hath lain these two Days buried.
Go tell the Prince, run to the Capulets,
Raise up the Mountagues, some others search—
We see the Ground whereon these Woes do lye;
But the true Ground of all these piteous Woes
We cannot without Circumstance descry. Enter some of the Watch with Romeo's Man.

2 Watch.
Here's Romeo's Man,
We found him in the Church-yard.

1 Watch.
Hold him in safety, 'till the Prince comes hither. Enter Friar and a third Watchman.

3 Watch.
Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs and weeps:
We took this Mattock and this Spade from him,
As he was coming from this Church-yard side.

1 Watch.
A great Suspicion, stay the Friar too. Enter the Prince and Attendants.

Prince.
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our Person from our Mornings Rest? Enter Capulet and Lady Capulet.

Cap.
What should it be that they so shriek abroad?

La. Cap.
O the People in the Street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris, and all run
With open out-cry toward our Monument.

Prince.
What Fear is this which startles in your Ears?

Watch.
Soveraign, here lyes the County Paris slain,
And Romeo dead, and Juliet dead before,
Warm and new kill'd.

Prince.
Search,
Seek, and know how this foul Murther comes.

Watch.
Here is a Friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's Man,
With Instruments upon them, fit to open
These dead Mens Tombs.

Cap.
O Heaven!
O Wife, look how our Daughter bleeds!
This Dagger hath mista'en, for loe his House

Is empty on the back of Mountague,
And is mis-sheathed in my Daughter's Bosom.

La. Cap.
O me, this sight of Death is as a Bell,
That warns my old Age to a Sepulcher. Enter Mountague.

Pri.
Come, Mountague, for thou art early up
To see thy Son and Heir now early down.

Moun.
Alas, my Liege, my Wife is dead to Night,
Grief of my Son's Exile hath stop'd her Breath:
What further Wo conspires against my Age?

Pri.
Look, and thou shalt see.

Moun.
O thou untaught, what Manners is in this,
To press before thy Father to a Grave?

Pri.
Seal up the mouth of Out-rage for a while,
'Till we can clear these Ambiguities,
And know their Spring, their Head, their true Descent;
And then will I be General of your Woes,
And lead you even to Death. Mean time forbear,
And let Mischance be Slave to Patience.
Bring forth the Parties of Suspicion.

Fri.
I am the greatest, able to do least,
Yet most suspected, as the Time and Place
Doth make against me, of this direful Murther:
And here I stand both to Impeach and Purge
My self Condemned, and my self Excus'd.

Pri.
Then say at once what thou dost know in this?

Fri.
I will be brief, for my short date of Breath
Is not so long as is a tedious Tale.
Romeo, there dead, was Husband to that Juliet;
And she there dead, that Romeo's faithful Wife:
I Married them; and their stoln Marriage Day
Was Tybalt's Dooms-day, whose untimely Death
Banish'd the new-made Bridegroom from this City;
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd.
You, to remove that Siege of Grief from her,
Betroth'd, and would have Married her perforce
To County Paris. Then comes she to me,
And, with wild Looks, bid me devise some means
To rid her from this second Marriage,
Or in my Cell there would she kill her self.

Then gave I her (so tutor'd by my Art)
A sleeping Potion, which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of Death. Mean time I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come, as this dire Night,
To help to take her from her borrowed Grave,
Being the time the Potion's force should cease.
But he which bore my Letter, Friar John,
Was staid by Accident, and yesternight
Return'd my Letter back; then all alone,
At the prefixed Hour of her waking,
Came I to take her from her Kindreds Vault,
Meaning to keep her closely at my Cell,
'Till I conveniently could send to Romeo.
But when I came (some Minute e'er the time
Of her awaking) here untimely lay
The Noble Paris, and true Romeo dead.
She wakes, and I intreat her to come forth,
And bear this Work of Heaven with Patience:
But then a Noise did scare me from the Tomb,
And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But, as it seems, did Violence on her self.
All this I know, and to the Marriage her Nurse is privy:
If ought in this miscarried by my fault,
Let my old Life be sacrific'd, some Hour before the time,
Unto the Rigour of severest Law.

Pri.
We still have known thee for an Holy Man.
Where's Romeo's Man? What can he say to this?

Peter.
I brought my Master News of Juliet's Death,
And then in Post he came from Mantua
To this same Place, to this same Monument.
This Letter he early bid me give his Father,
And threatned me with Death, going in the Vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Pri.
Give me the Letter, I will look on it.
Where is the County's Page that rais'd the Watch?
Sirrah, what made your Master in this Place?

Page.
He came with Flowers to strew his Lady's Grave,
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:
Anon comes one with light to ope the Tomb,

And by and by my Master drew on him,
And then I ran away to call the Watch,

Pri.
This Letter doth make good the Friar's words,
Their Course of Love, the tidings of her Death:
And here he writes, that he did buy a Poison
Of a poor 'Pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this Vault to die, and lye with Juliet.
Where be these Enemies? Capulet, Mountague,
See what a Scourge is laid upon your Hate,
That Heav'n finds means to kill your Joys with Love;
And I, for winking at your Discords too,
Have lost a brace of Kinsmen: All are punish'd.

Cap.
O Brother Mountague, give me thy Hand,
This is my Daughter's Jointure; for no more
Can I demand.

Moun.
But I can give thee more,
For I will raise her Statue in pure Gold,
That while Verona by that Name is known,
There shall no Figure at that rate be set,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap.
As rich shall Romeo by his Lady lye,
Poor Sacrifices of our Enmity.

Pri.
A gloomy Peace this Morning with it brings,
The Sun for Sorrow will not shew his Head;
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished.
For never was a Story of more Wo,
Than this of Juliet, and her Romeo. [Exeunt omnes.

Introductory matter