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.

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