Enter Romeo and Juliet.

Jul.
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day ^note:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon' pome-granate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn ^note,
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 tip-toe on the misty mountains' ^note tops;
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul.
Yon' light is not day-light, I know it, I;
It is some meteor that the sun exhales ^note,
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 ^note 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' grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the ^note lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven 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. ^note

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!14Q1407
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 ^note grows.

Rom.
More light and light, more dark and dark our woes. Enter Nurse, to the Door.

Nur.
Madam!

Jul.
Nurse?

Nur.
Your lady mother's coming to your chamber:
The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit.

Jul.
Then, window, [op'ning it.] let day in, and let life out.

Rom.
Farewel, farewel! one kiss, and I'll descend. [kisses her, and goes out of it.

Jul.
Art thou gone so? Love! lord! ah, husband ^note! friend!
I must hear from thee every day i' the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O, by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom.
Farewel! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul.
O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?

Rom.
I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our times ^note to come.

Jul.
O God ^note! I have an ill-divining soul;
Methinks, I see thee, now thou art so low ^note,
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! [Exit Romeo, below.

Jul.
O fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown'd ^note for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.

L. C. [within.]
Ho, daughter! are you up?

Jul.
Who is't, that calls? is it my ^note lady mother?—
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? ^note Enter Lady Capulet.

L. C.
Why, how now, Juliet?

Jul.
Madam, I am not well.

L. C.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
An if thou could'st, thou could'st 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.

L. C.
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you do weep for.

Jul.
Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

L. C.
Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

Jul.
What villain, madam?

L. C.
That same villain, Romeo.

Jul.
Villain and he are many ^note miles asunder.
God pardon him ^note! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.

L. C.
That is, because the traitor murderer ^note lives.

Jul.
Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands;
'Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death!

L. C.
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 runagate doth live,—
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd ^note dram,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfy'd.

Jul.
Indeed, I never shall be satisfy'd
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; ^note
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 ^note
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

L. C.
Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings ^note, girl.

Jul.
And joy comes well in such a needful ^note time:
What are they, I ^note beseech your ladyship?

L. C.
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 expect'st ^note not, nor I look'd ^note not for.

Jul.
Madam, in happy time, what day is that? ^note

L. C.
Marry, my child, early next thursday morn,
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The county Paris, at saint Peter's church,
Shall happily ^note make thee there ^note a joyful bride.

Jul.
Now, by saint Peter's church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste; that I must wed

Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
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! Enter Capulet, at a Distance; Nurse following.

L. C.
Here ^note comes your father; tell him so yourself,
And see how he will take it at your ^note hands.

Cap.
When the sun sets, the air doth ^note drizzle dew;
But for the sun-set of my brother's son,
It rains downright.—
How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st ^note 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 is ^note,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
Who,—raging with thy tears ^note, and they with them,—
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body.—How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

L. C.
Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives ^note you thanks:
I would, the fool were marry'd 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? ^note

Jul.
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have;
Proud can I never be of what I hate ^note;
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.

Cap.
How, how! how, how ^note! chop ^note logick? What is this?
Proud—and, I thank you—and, I thank you not—
And yet not proud—Mistress minion, you ^note,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle ^note 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!
You tallow-face!

L. C.
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 o' 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 ^note 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 heaven 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 gossips ^note, go.

Nur.
I speak no treason:

Cap.
O, God-ye-good-den ^note?

Nur.
May not one speak?

Cap.
Peace, peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

L. C.
You are too hot.

Cap.
God's bread! it makes me mad: ^note Day, night, late, early,
At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her ^note match'd: and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage ^note,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd ^note,
Stuft (as they say) with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart could ^note wish a man,—
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer—I'll not wed,—I cannot love,—
I am too young,—I pray you, pardon me;—
But, an 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:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never ^note 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 lies.

L. C.
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 heaven
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.—
Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems,
Upon so soft a subject as myself!—
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.

Nur.
'Faith, here 'tis: Romeo
Is banished; 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 marry'd with the county: ^note
O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo!
Romeo's a dish-clout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew ^note 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 ^note soul too;
Or ^note else beshrew them both.

Jul.
Amen!

Nur.
What?

Jul.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvelous ^note much.
Go in; and tell my lady, I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nur.
Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. [Exit.

Jul.
Ancient damnation! o most wicked fiend!
Is it ^note 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, myself have power to die. [Exit. SCENE II. Friar Lawrence's Cell. 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'd ^note of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous,
That she do give ^note her sorrow so much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hasts our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears:
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society:
Now do you know the reason of this haste. ^note

&clquo;Fri.
&clquo;I would, I knew not why it should be slow'd.&crquo;
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards ^note 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, were to confess ^note 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 you, I ^note am sure, that you love me.

Jul.
If I do so, it ^note 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 spite.

Par.
Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that ^note report.

Jul.
That is no wrong, sir ^note, that is but a ^note truth:
And what I spake, I spake it to my face ^note.

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, we must ^note entreat the time alone.

Par.
God sheild, I should disturb devotion!—
Juliet, on thursday early will I rouze you:
'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 ^note, past help!

Fri.
Ah, Juliet ^note, I already know thy grief;
It strains me ^note past the compass of my wits:
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On thursday next be marry'd to this count ^note.

Jul.
Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st 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 ere this hand, by thee to Romeo ^note 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 ^note time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extreams and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire ^note, 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 ^note to slay ^note thyself;
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st ^note 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 ^note;
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-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless ^note sculls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,

And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ^note,
Things that, to hear them told, have ^note 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 ^note is to-morrow;
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this † vial, being then in bed,
And this distilled ^note liquor drink thou off:
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowzy humour; for no pulse ^note
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease;
No warmth, no breath ^note, shall testify thou liv'st;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes ^note; thy eyes' ^note windows fall,
Like death, when he shuts ^note up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold appear like death:
And in this borrow'd 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 rouze 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, ^note14Q1408
Thou shalt be born to that same antient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift;
And hither shall he come, and he and I ^note
Will watch thy waking, ^note and that very night

Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
If no inconstant toy ^note, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul.
Give me, o give me! tell ^note me not of fear. ^note

Fri.
Hold &dagger2;; 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. [Exeunt, severally. SCENE III. Hall in Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, his Lady, Nurse, and Servants.

Cap.
So many guests invite as here &dagger2; are writ.— [to a Servant; who goes out.
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

1. S.

You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.

Cap.

How canst thou try them so?

1. S.

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, begone.— ^note [Exit Servant.
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 ^note harlotry it is. Enter Juliet.

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

Cap.
How now, my head-strong? where have you been gadding?

Jul.
Where I have learnt me ^note to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you, and your behests; and am enjoin'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 county ^note, 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 ^note 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 holy reverend ^note 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.

L. C.
No, not 'till thursday; there is ^note time enough ^note

Cap.
Go, nurse, go with her; we'll to church to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet, and Nurse.

L. C.
We shall be short in our provision ^note;
'Tis now near night.

Cap.
Tush! I will stir about,
And all things shall be well, I warr'nt 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 myself
To county Paris, to prepare him up ^note
Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,

Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet, and Nurse.

Jul.
Ay, those attires are best: But, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself 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.

L. C.
What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?

Jul.
No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
As are behoveful ^note for our state to-morrow:
So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night set up ^note with you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

L. C.
Good night!
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. [Exeunt Lady, and Nurse.

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 life: ^note
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 marry'd then to-morrow morning? ^note
No, no; this † shall forbid it;—lie thou there.—
What if it be a poison, which the friar

Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead;
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he marry'd me before to Romeo?
I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,
For he hath still been try'd a holy ^note man.
How if, when I am lay'd into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to ^note redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifl'd in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breaths in,
And there die strangl'd ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it 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 ^note many hundred years, the bones
Of all my bury'd ancestors are packt;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; 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 ^note torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;—
O, if ^note I wake ^note, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangl'd 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 a ^note rapier's ^note point:—Stay, Tybalt, stay!—
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. ^note [drinks; throws away the Vial, and casts herself upon the Bed. Scene closes. SCENE V. The Hall. Enter Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

L. C.
Hold, take these &dagger2; keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

Nur.
They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. Enter Capulet, hastily.

Cap.
Come, stir, stir, stir; the second cock hath crow'd,
The curfeu bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:—
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica:
Spare not for cost.

Nur.
Go, 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; What! I have watch'd ere now
All night for a ^note less ^note cause, and ne'er been sick.

L. C.
Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
But I will watch you from such watching now. [Exeunt Lady, and Nurse.

Cap.
A jealous-hood, a jealous hood.—Now, fellow, Enter divers Servants, with logs, baskets, &c.
What's there?

1. S.
Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.

Cap.
Make haste, make haste. [Exit Ser.] Sirrah, fetch drier logs;
Call Peter, he will shew you where they are.

2. S.
I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.

Cap.
Mass, and well said; A merry whorson! ha,
Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, ^note 'tis day:
The county will be here with musick straight, [Musick within.
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:—hey, make haste,
Make haste! the bridegroom he is come already;
Make haste, I say! [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Anti-room of Juliet's Chamber. Door of the Chamber open, and Juliet upon her Bed. Enter Nurse.

Nur.
Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet!—fast, I warrant her: ^note—
Why, lamb! why, lady!—fie, you slug-abed!—
Why, love, I say! madam! sweet heart! why, bride!—
What, not a word?—you take your pen'-orths ^note now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The county Paris hath set up his rest,
That you shall rest but little.—God forgive me,
(Marry, and amen) how sound is she asleep!
I needs must ^note wake her:—Madam! madam! madam! [goes towards the Bed.
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i'faith.—Will it not be? [undraws the Curtains.
What, drest! and in your cloaths! and down again!
I must needs wake you:—Lady! lady! lady! [shaking her.
Alas, alas!—Help, help! my lady's dead!—

O wel-a-day ^note, that ever I was born!—
Some aqua-vitæ, ho!—My lord!—my lady! Enter Lady Capulet.

L. C.
What noise is here?

Nur.
O lamentable day!

L. C.
What is the matter?

Nur.
Look, † look! O heavy day!

L. C.
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, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the day!

L. C.
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 settl'd, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been seperated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Nur.
O lamentable day!

L. C.
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; Musicians, and Servants, after them.

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 ^note, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflow'red now ^note by him.—
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir,
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die,

And leave him all; life leaving ^note, all is death's.

Par.
Have I thought long to ^note see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?

L. C.
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 catch'd ^note it from my sight!

Nur.
O woe! o woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day, most woful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold ^note!
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 détestable 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, dead! alack, my child is dead;
And, with my child, my joys are buried!

Fri.
Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure ^note lives not
In these confusions.14Q1409 Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was—her promotion;

For 'twas your heaven, she ^note should be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself ^note?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well marry'd, that lives marry'd long;
But she's best marry'd, that dies marry'd young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her ^note best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature ^note bids us all ^note 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 melancholy bells;
Our wedding chear, to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a bury'd corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.

Fri.
Sir, go you in,—and, madam, go with him,—
And go, sir Paris;—every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
The heavens do lour upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will. [Exeunt Friar Lawrence, Paris, Capulet, and Lady Capulet. Door shut.

1. M.
'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.

1. M.
Ay, by my ^note troth, the case may be amended. Enter another Servant. ^note

Ser.
Musicians, o, musicians, Heart's ease, heart's ease;

O, an you will have me live, play—heart's ease.

1. M.

Why heart's ease?

Ser.

O, musicians, because my heart itself plays— My heart is full of woe ^note: O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. ^note

1. M.

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

Ser.

You will not then?

1. M.

No.

Ser.

I will then give it you soundly.

1. M.

What will you give us?

Ser.

No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel ^note.

1. M.

Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Ser.

Then will I lay ^note 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?

1. M.

An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2. M.

Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Ser.

Then have at you with my wit; ^note I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men;