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. [Exe. Mer. Ben. SCENE II.

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.
^{a note}Alive? in triumph? and Mercutio slain?
Away to heav'n respective lenity,
And ^{b note}fire-ey'd 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:
Or 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. SCENE III. 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,
Unhappy sight! alas the blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman—Prince as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Mountague.

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 agil 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 come back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning: for ere 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 Mountague,
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 out 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 IV. An Apartment in Capulet's House. Enter Juliet alone.

Jul.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
To Phæbus' mansion; such a waggoner
As Phæton, would whip you to the west,

And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread 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 am'rous rites
By their own beauties: or if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come civil night,
Thou sober-suited 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 balck 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 he shall die
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heav'n 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 heav'nly eloquence;
Now nurse, what news? what hast thou there?

The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurse.
Ay, ay, the cords.

Jul.
Ay me, what news?
Why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse.
Ah welladay he's dead, 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 heaven be so envious?

Nurse.
Romeo can,
Though heav'n 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.* ^note

Nurse.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
God save the mark, here on his manly breast.
A piteous coarse, a bloody 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!

Nurse.
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 ^{c note}dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then let the trumpet sound the general doom,

For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul.
O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse.
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!* ^note







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!

Nurse.
There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd;
All, all forsworn; all naught; and 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?

Nurse.
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 didst 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 murther'd 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 sow'r woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both?
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?

Nurse.
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.

Nurse.
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 V. The Monastery. Enter Friar 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 ^{d note}acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?

Fri.
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sow'r company.
I bring thee tydings of the prince's doom?

Rom.
What less than dooms-day, is the prince's doom?

Fri.
A gentler 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,
Than death it self. 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's walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell it self.
Hence banished, is banish'd from the world,

^{e note}

And world-exil'd, is death. Calling death banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with an golden ax,
And smil'st upon the stroak that murthers 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.
^{f note}This is meer mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom.
'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n 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;*
^{g note}








But Romeo may not, he is banished!
O father, hadst thou no strong poison mixt,
No sharp ground knife, no present means of death,
But banishment to torture me withal?
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, banishment?

Fri.
Fond mad-man, hear me speak.

Rom.
O thou wilt speak again of banishment.

Fri.
I'll give thee armour to bear 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 should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

Fri.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

Rom.
Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young ^{h note}as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murthered,
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.
Arise, one knocks; good Romeo hide thy self. [Knock within.
Thou wilt be taken—stay a while—stand up; [Knocks.
Run to my study—By and by—God's will;
What wilfulness is this—I come, I come. [Knock.
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

Nurse. [Within.]
Let me come in, and you shall know my errand:
I come from lady Juliet.

Fri.
Welcome then. Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
O holy Friar, oh tell me holy Friar,

Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo?

Fri.
There, on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

Nurse.
O he is even in my mistress's case,
Just in her case, O woful sympathy!
Piteous predicament! even so lies she,
Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Why should you fall into so deep an oh!—

Rom.
Nurse.

Nurse.
Ah Sir! ah Sir!—Death is the end of all.

Rom.
Speak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murtherer,
Now have I stain'd the child-hood of our joy
With blood, remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how does she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our ^{i note}cancell'd love?

Nurse.
O she says nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then down falls again.

Rom.
As if that name
Shot from the deadly level of a gun
Did murther her, as that name's cursed hand
Murther'd her kinsman. 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
Th' unreasonable fury of a beast.
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 too, that lives in thee?* ^note
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 thou'rt 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 misbehav'd and sullen wench,
Thou ^{l note}pout'st upon 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.

Nurse.
O lord, I could have staid here all night long,
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.

Nurse.
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.
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. [Exeunt. ^noteSCENE VI.

* [Footnote: 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.

Par.
These times of woe afford no time to wooe:
Madam, good-night, commend me to your daughter.

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.
But soft; what day is this?

Par.
Monday, my lord.

Cap.
Monday? ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too soon,
On Thursday let it be: you shall be marry'd.
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—on Thursday be it then:
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [To lady Capulet.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lord—light to my chamber, hoa!
Good-night. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. The Garden. Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a window; a ladder of ropes set.

&plquo;Jul.
&plquo;Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
&plquo;It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
&plquo;That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
&plquo;Nightly she sings on yond pomgranate tree:
&plquo;Believe me love, it was the nightingale.

&plquo;Rom.
&plquo;It was the Lark, the herald of the morn,
&plquo;No Nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
&plquo;Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
&plquo;Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
&plquo;Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
&plquo;I must be gone and live, or stay and dye.

&plquo;Jul.
&plquo;Yon light is not day-light, I know it well:
&plquo;It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
&plquo;To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
&plquo;And light thee on thy way to Mantua;

&plquo;^{m note}








Then stay a while, thou shalt not go so soon.

&plquo;Rom.
&plquo;Let me then stay, let me be ta'en and dye;
&plquo;If thou wilt have it so, I am content.
&plquo;I'll say yon gray is not the morning's eye,
&plquo;'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
&plquo;I'll say it is the Nightingale that beats
&plquo;The vaulty heav'ns so high above our heads,
&plquo;And not the Lark, the messenger of morn.
&plquo;Come death and welcome: Juliet wills it so.
&plquo;What says my love? 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.
† ^noteSome say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
O now I would they had chang'd voices too!
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.

Rom.
Farewel my love: one kiss, and I'll descend. Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Madam.

Jul.
Nurse.

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

Jul.
Art thou gone so? love! lord! ah husband! friend!
I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' 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 time to come.

Jul.
O God! I have an ill-divining soul,
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: [Romeo descends.
Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.

Rom.
And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you:
Dry Sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet.

Jul.
Oh 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?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

La. Cap.
Why how now, Juliet?

Jul.
Madam, I'm not well.

La. Cap.
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?* ^note

Jul.
Yet let me weep, for such a feeling loss.

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 are many miles asunder.

La. Cap.
Content thee girl. If I could find a man,
I soon would send to Mantua where he is,
And give him such an unaccustom'd dram
That he should soon keep Tybalt company.

Jul.
Find you the means, and I'll find such a man,
For while he lives, my heart shall ne'er be light
'Till I behold him—dead—is my poor heart,
Thus for a kinsman vext?

La. Cap.
Well, let that pass.
I come to bring thee joyful tydings, girl.

Jul.
And joy comes well in such a needful 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 expect'st 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
Ere he that must be husband comes to wooe.
I pray you tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet, and when I do,
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.
How now? a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring? in one little body
Thou counterfeit'st 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
Sailing in this salt flood: the winds thy sighs,
Which raging with thy tears, 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?

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.
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.

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 sent 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.

Nurse.
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, go.

Nurse.
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: ^{n note}

day, night, late, early,
At home, abroad; alone, in company,
Waking or sleeping; 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, if 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;
If you be mine, I'll give you to my friend:
If you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i'th' streets;
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall ever 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?
Alack, alack, that heav'n should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as my self.

Nurse.
Faith here it is:
Romeo is banish'd, 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 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?

Nurse.
And from my soul too,
Or else beshrew them both.

Jul.
Amen.

Nurse.
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.

Nurse.
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. [Exit.

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

Friar.
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 this course, I like it not.

Par.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd 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 tow'rds my cell. Enter Juliet.

Par.
Welcome my love, 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 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 farewel, and keep this holy kiss. [Exit Paris.

Jul.
Go 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 your grief,
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this Count.

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 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:
^{a note}Speak not, be brief; for I desire to dye,
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 desp'rate which we would prevent.
If rather than to marry County Paris
Thou hast the strength or 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 yonder tower;
^{b note}


Or chain me to some steepy mountain's top
Where roaring bears and savage lions roam;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel house,
O'er-cover'd 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 shroud;
Things that to hear them ^{c note}nam'd, 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 Juliet: hye thee home, get thee to bed:
(Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy chamber:)
And when thou art alone, take thou this viol,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off,
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsie humour, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His nat'ral progress, but surcease to beat.
No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To ^{d note}paly ashes; the eyes windows fall
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
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 he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua;
If no unconstant toy nor womanish fear
Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul.
Give me, oh give me, tell not me of fear. [taking the vial.

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— [Exeunt. 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.* ^note

Nurse.
Ay forsooth.

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

Nurse.
^{e note}See where she comes from her confession.

Cap.
How now, my head-strong? 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,
And 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 houswife for this once. What ha?
They are all forth; well I will walk my self
To County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morrow. My heart's wondrous light,
Since this same way-ward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt Capulet and lady Capulet. 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 heav'ns 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, do you need 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.

La. Cap.
Good-night,
Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt.

&plquo;Jul.
&plquo;Farewel—God knows, when we shall meet again!
&plquo;I have a faint cold fear thrills though my veins,
&plquo;That almost freezes up the heat of ^{f note}life.
&plquo;I'll call them back again to comfort me.
&plquo;Nurse—what should she do here?
&plquo;My dismal scene I needs must act alone:
&plquo;Come vial—What if this mixture do not work at all?
&plquo;Shall I of force be marry'd to the Count.
&plquo;No, no, this shall forbid it; lye thou there— [Pointing to a dagger.
&plquo;What if it be a poison, which the Friar
&plquo;Subt'ly hath ministred, to have me dead,
&plquo;Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
&plquo;Because he married me before to Romeo?
&plquo;I fear it is; and yet methinks it should not,
&plquo;For he hath still been tried a holy man—
&plquo;How, if when I am laid into the tomb,
&plquo;I wake before the time that Romeo
&plquo;Comes to redeem me? there's a fearful point!

&plquo;Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
&plquo;To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breaths in?
&plquo;Or if I live, is it not very like
&plquo;The horrible conceit of death and night,
&plquo;Together with the terror of the place,
&plquo;(As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
&plquo;Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
&plquo;Of all my buried ancestors are packt;
&plquo;Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
&plquo;Lies festring in his shroud; where, as they say,
&plquo;At some hours in the night spirits resort—)
&plquo;Alas, alas! is it not like, that I
&plquo;So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
&plquo;And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
&plquo;That living mortals hearing them run mad—
&plquo;Or if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
&plquo;(Invironed with all these hideous fears,)
&plquo;And madly play with my fore-fathers joints,
&plquo;And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
&plquo;And in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone
&plquo;As with a club, dash out my desp'rate brains?
&plquo;O look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
&plquo;Seeking out Romeo—Stay, Tybalt, stay!
&plquo;Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. [She throws herself on the bed. 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.

Nurse.
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 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. [Ex. 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 V. Scene draws and discovers Juliet on a bed.

Nurse.
Mistress, what mistress! Juliet—Fast I warrant her,
Why lamb—why lady—Fie you slug-a-bed—
Why love, I say—Madam, sweet-heart—why bride—
What, not a word! you take your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night I warrant,
The County Paris hath set up his rest,
That you shall rest but little—God forgive me—
Marry and amen—How sound is she asleep?
I must needs wake her: Madam, madam, madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed—
He'll fright you up i'faith. Will it not be?
What drest, and in your cloaths—and down again!
I must needs wake you: Lady, lady, lady—
Alas! alas! help! help! my lady's dead.
O well-a-day, that ever I was born?
Some Aqua vitæ, ho! my lord, my lady! Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap.
What noise is here?

Nurse.
O lamentable day!

La. Cap.
What is the matter?

Nurse.
Look,—oh heavy day!

La. Cap.
Oh me, oh me, my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee:
Help, help! call help. Enter Capulet.

Cap.
For shame bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.

Nurse.
She's dead, deceast, she's dead: alack the day!

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:
&plquo;Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
&plquo;Upon the sweetest flower of the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man! Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris with Musicians.

Fri.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Cap.
Ready to go, but never to return.
O son, the night before the 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.—

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 Time e'er saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catcht it from my sight.

Nurse.
Oh woe! oh woful, woful, woful day!† ^note
Most lamentable day! most woful day!
That ever, ever, I did yet behold,
Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
Oh woful day! oh woful day!

Fri.
Oh peace for shame—
Your daughter lives in peace and happiness,
And it is vain to wish it otherwise.
Heav'n and your self had part in this fair maid,
Now heav'n hath all—

Come stick your rosemary on this fair corpse,
And as the custom of our country is,
In all her best and sumptuous ornaments
Convey her where her ancestors lie tomb'd.

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;
And bridal flow'rs serve for a buried coarse. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Manent Musicians.

Mus.
Faith we may put up our pipes and be gone.

Nurse.
Honest good fellows: ah, put up, put up,
For well you know this is a pitiful case.

Mus.
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter.

Pet.

Musicians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's ease: oh, an you will have me live, play heart's ease.

Mus.

Why heart's ease?

Pet.

O musicians, because my heart it self plays, my heart is full of woe. O play me some merry dump, to comfort me!

Mus.

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

Pet.

You will not then?

Mus.

No.

Pet.

I will then give it you soundly.

Mus.

What will you give us?

Pet.

No mony on my faith, I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?

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

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

Pet.
Then have at you with my wit, 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?

Mus.
Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet.
^{g note}Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Mus.
I say silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

Pet.
^{h note}Pretty too! what say you Samuel Sound-board?

3 Mus.
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 such fellows as you have no gold for sounding.

Mus.

What a pestilent knave is this same?

2 Mus.

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

ACT V. SCENE I. Mantua.

Enter Romeo.
If I may trust the ^{a note}flattery of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne,
^{b note}And all this day, an 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 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.

Rom.
Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!
Thou know'st my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.

Man.
Pardon me Sir, I dare not leave you thus.
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!
&plquo;I do remember an Apothecary,
&plquo;And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
&plquo;In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
&plquo;Culling of simples; meager were his looks,
&plquo;Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
&plquo;And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
&plquo;An alligator stuft, and other skins
&plquo;Of ill-shap'd fishes, and about his shelves
&plquo;A beggarly account of empty boxes;
&plquo;Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
&plquo;Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
&plquo;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.
Oh 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 spreading 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 powder fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap.
Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.

&plquo;Rom.
&plquo;Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
&plquo;And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
&plquo;Need and oppression stare within thine eyes,
&plquo;Contempt and beggary hang on thy back:
&plquo;The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
&plquo;The world affords no law to make thee rich,
&plquo;Then be not poor, but break it and take this.

Ap.
My poverty, but not my will, consents.

Rom.
I pay 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 murther in this loathsom world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewel, buy food, and get ^{c note}thee into flesh.

Come cordial, and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Monastery at 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 bore 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 straight
Unto my cell.

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

Law.
Now must I to the monument alone:
Within these 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 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 ^{d note}yew-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 hear'st something approach.
Give me those flow'rs. Do as I bid thee; go.

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

Par.
Sweet flow'r! with flow'rs thy bridal bed I strew; [Strewing flowers.
^{e note}Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hand,
That living honour'd thee, and being dead
With fun'ral obsequies adorn thy tomb. [The Boy whistles.
—The boy gives warning, something doth approach,—
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,

To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites?
What with a torch? muffle me, night, a while. SCENE IV. 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 win my favour. Take thou that,
Live and be prosp'rous, and farewel good fellow.

Pet.
For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout;
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 murther'd my love's cousin; (with which grief
It is supposed the fair creature dy'd,)
And here is come to do some villanous shame
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallow'd 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 desp'rate 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. Oh be gone!
By heav'n I love thee better than my self;
For I come hither arm'd against my self.* ^note

Par.
I do defie thy commiseration,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.

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

Page.
Oh lord they fight! I will go call the watch.

Par.
Oh 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? Oh give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortunes's book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.
For here lyes Juliet—Oh 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, beauty's 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?
Oh what more favour can I do to thee,
Than 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
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.—Oh true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Here, here will I remain,
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; oh here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-weary'd flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, oh you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide,
Thou desp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks ^{f note}my sea-sick weary bark:

Here's to my love! oh 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 you dearly 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; fear comes upon me;
O much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

Pet.
As I did sleep under this yew-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. [awaking.]
Oh comfortable Friar, where's my lord?
I do remember well where I should be;
And there I am; but where is 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. [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.
Oh churl, drink all, and leave no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips,
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them;
Thy lips are warm. Enter Boy and Watch.

Watch.
Lead boy, which way?

Jul.
Yea, noise?
Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! [Finding a dagger.
^{g note}This is thy sheath, there rust and let me die. [Kills herself.

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, whom e'er you find attach.
Pitiful sight! here lies 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— Enter some of the watch with Romeo's man.

2 Watch.

Here's Romeo's man, we found him in the churchyard.

1 Watch.

Hold him in safety 'till the Prince comes hither.

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. SCENE V. Enter the Prince and attendants.

Prince.
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter Capulet and lady Capulet.

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

La. Cap.
The people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run
With open out-cry tow'rd our monument.

Prince.
What fear is this which startles in your ears?

Watch.
Sovereign, 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.
Oh heav'n! oh wife, look how our daughter bleeds!

This dagger hath mista'en, for loe ^{f note}


the sheath
Lies empty on the back of Mountague,
The point mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom.

La. Cap.
Oh me, this sight of death is as a bell,
That warns my old age to a sepulcher. Enter Mountague.

Prince.
Come Mountague, for thou art early up,
To see thy son and heir now early ^{g note}fallen.

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?

Prince.
Look, and thou shalt see.

Moun.
Oh thou untaught, what manners is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave?

Prince.
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 ev'n 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.

Prince.
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 write 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 awaking,
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 ere 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 heav'n with patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb,
And she too desp'rate 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: but if ought in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, some hour before its time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.

Prince.
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 to the vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Prince.
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?

Prince.
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.
Oh 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!

Prince.
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 woe,
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt omnes.

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