THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET
Escalus, Prince of Verona.
Paris, a young Count, kinsman
to the Prince.
Montague, heads of two houses at variance with
Capulet, heads of two houses at variance with
An old Man, of the Capulet family.
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.
kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo.
to Montague, and friend to Romeo
Tybalt, nephew to Lady
Friar Laurence, Franciscan.
Balthasar, servant to Romeo.
Abram, servant to
Sampson, servant to Capulet.
Gregory, servant to
Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse.
Lady Montague, wife to Montague.
Lady Capulet, wife to
Juliet, daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.
Citizens of Verona; Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both
Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watchmen,
Chor. Two households, both alike in dignity,
Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of
star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Doth with their death bury their parents'
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their
children's end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hours'
traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to
ACT I. Scene I.
Verona. A public place.
Enter Sampson and Gregory (with swords and bucklers) of
house of Capulet.
Samp. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry
Greg. No, for then we should be colliers.
mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Greg. Ay, while you
live, draw your neck out of collar.
Samp. I strike quickly,
Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to
Samp. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.
if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
Samp. A dog of that
house shall move me to stand. I will take the
wall of any man
or maid of Montague's.
Greg. That shows thee a weak slave;
for the weakest goes to the
Samp. 'Tis true; and
therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are
ever thrust to
the wall. Therefore I will push Montague's men
from the wall
and thrust his maids to the wall.
Greg. The quarrel is
between our masters and us their men.
Samp. 'Tis all one. I
will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought
with the men, I
will be cruel with the maids- I will cut off
Greg. The heads of the maids?
Samp. Ay, the heads
of the maids, or their maidenheads.
Take it in what sense
Greg. They must take it in sense that feel
Samp. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and
'tis known I
am a pretty piece of flesh.
Greg. 'Tis well
thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been
Draw thy tool! Here comes two of the house of
Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar].
Samp. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back
Greg. How? turn thy back and run?
Samp. Fear me
Greg. No, marry. I fear thee!
Samp. Let us take the
law of our sides; let them begin.
Greg. I will frown as I
pass by, and let them take it as they list.
Samp. Nay, as
they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is
them, if they bear it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us,
Samp. I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abr. Do you bite your
thumb at us, sir?
Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our
side if I say ay?
Greg. [aside to Sampson] No.
sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my
Greg. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? No,
Samp. But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a
man as you.
Abr. No better.
Samp. Well, sir.
Greg. [aside to Sampson] Say 'better.' Here comes one of
Samp. Yes, better, sir.
Samp. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy
Ben. Part, fools! [Beats down
Put up your swords. You know not what you do.
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
thee Benvolio! look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the
peace. Put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
Have at thee, coward!
Enter an officer, and three or four Citizens with clubs
Officer. Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! beat them
Citizens. Down with the Capulets! Down with the
Enter Old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife.
Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
Cap. My sword,
I say! Old Montague is come
And flourishes his blade in spite
Enter Old Montague and his Wife.
Mon. Thou villain Capulet!- Hold me not, let me go.
Wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince Escalus, with his Train.
Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
of this neighbour-stained steel-
Will they not hear? What,
ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your
With purple fountains issuing from your
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
your mistempered weapons to the ground
And hear the sentence
of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
disturb'd the quiet of our streets
And made Verona's ancient
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments
old partisans, in hands as old,
Cank'red with peace, to part
your cank'red hate.
If ever you disturb our streets
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
this time all the rest depart away.
You, Capulet, shall go
along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Freetown, our
common judgment place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men
Exeunt [all but Montague, his Wife, and
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close
fighting ere I did approach.
I drew to part them. In the
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt
withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
While we were interchanging
thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
Wife. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am
he was not at this fray.
Ben. Madam, an hour before the
Peer'd forth the golden window of the East,
troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the
grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I
made; but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the
I- measuring his affections by my own,
most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many
by my weary self-
Pursu'd my humour, not Pursuing his,
gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning
hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
the farthest East bean to draw
The shady curtains from
Away from light steals home my heavy son
private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows,
locks fair daylight
And makes himself an artificial
Black and portentous must this humour prove
good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do
you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
by myself and many other friend;
But he, his own affections'
Is to himself- I will not say how true-
himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
can spread his sweet leaves to the air
Or dedicate his beauty
to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Ben. See, where he comes. So please you step aside,
know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert
so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's
Exeunt [Montague and Wife].
Ben. Good morrow,
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck
Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father
that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens
Rom. Not having that which having makes them
Ben. In love?
Ben. Of love?
Out of her favour where I am in love.
Ben. Alas that love, so
gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in
Rom. Alas that love, whose view is muffled
Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for
I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
sleep, that is not what it is
This love feel I, that feel no
love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ben. No, coz, I rather
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good heart's
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt
propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine. This love
that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea
nourish'd with lovers' tears.
What is it else? A madness most
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Ben. Soft! I will go along.
An if you leave me so,
you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
me in sadness, who is that you love?
Rom. What, shall I groan
and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? Why, no;
But sadly tell me
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.
word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I
do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you
Rom. A right good markman! And she's fair I love.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom. Well, in
that hit you miss. She'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow. She
hath Dian's wit,
And, in strong proof of chastity well
From Love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide th'
encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to
O, she's rich in beauty; only poor
when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath
sworn that she will still live chaste?
Rom. She hath, and in
that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too
fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
live dead that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me:
forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes.
Rom. 'Tis the way
To call hers (exquisite)
in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies'
Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair.
that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of
his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may
read who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell. Thou canst not
teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die
in debt. Exeunt.
Enter Capulet, County Paris, and [Servant] -the Clown.
Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike;
and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,
'tis you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say
you to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers
wither in their pride
Ere we may think her ripe to be a
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath
swallowed all my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady of my
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;
to her consent is but a part.
An she agree, within her scope
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited
many a guest,
Such as I love; and you among the store,
more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house
look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads,
even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this
Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,
And like her
most whose merit most shall be;
Which, on more view of many,
mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reck'ning
Come, go with me. [To Servant, giving him a paper] Go,
Through fair Verona; find those
Whose names are written there, and to them
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay-
[Capulet and Paris].
Serv. Find them out whose names are
written here? It is written
that the shoemaker should meddle
with his yard and the tailor
with his last, the fisher with
his pencil and the painter with
his nets; but I am sent to
find those persons whose names are
here writ, and can never
find what names the writing person hath
here writ. I must to
the learned. In good time!
Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
pain is lessoned by another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be
holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with
Take thou some new infection to thy
And the rank poison of the old will die.
plantain leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray
Rom. For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;
up in Prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd and tormented
and- God-den, good fellow.
Serv. God gi' go-den. I pray, sir,
can you read?
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Perhaps you have learned it without book. But I pray, can
read anything you see?
Rom. Ay, If I know the letters
and the language.
Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry!
Stay, fellow; I can read. He reads.
'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;
The lady widow of
Signior Placentio and His lovely nieces;
and his brother Valentine;
Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and
My fair niece Rosaline and Livia;
Valentio and His cousin Tybalt;
Lucio and the lively Helena.'
[Gives back the paper.] A fair assembly. Whither should they
Serv. To supper, to our
Rom. Whose house?
Serv. My master's.
I should have ask'd you that before.
Serv. Now I'll tell you
without asking. My master is the great rich
Capulet; and if
you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come
and crush a
cup of wine. Rest you merry! Exit.
Ben. At this same ancient
feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
thither, and with unattainted eye
Compare her face with some
that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a
Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;
And these, who,
often drown'd, could never die,
Transparent heretics, be
burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
with herself in either eye;
But in that crystal scales let
there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other
That I will show you shining at this feast,
shall scant show well that now seems best.
Rom. I'll go
along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour
of my own. [Exeunt.]
Enter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse.
Wife. Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,
bade her come. What, lamb! what ladybird!
God forbid! Where's
this girl? What, Juliet!
Jul. How now? Who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.
Madam, I am here.
What is your will?
Wife. This is the
matter- Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret.
Nurse, come back again;
I have rememb'red me, thou's hear our
Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.
Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
Wife. She's not
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth-
to my teen be it spoken, I have but four-
She is not
fourteen. How long is it now
fortnight and odd days.
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in
Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be
Susan and she (God rest all Christian souls!)
of an age. Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me.
But, as I said,
On Lammas Eve at night shall she be
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd (I
never shall forget it),
Of all the days of the year, upon
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
in the sun under the dovehouse wall.
My lord and you were
then at Mantua.
Nay, I do bear a brain. But, as I said,
it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it
bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy and fall out with the
Shake, quoth the dovehouse! 'Twas no need, I trow,
bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years,
then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood,
have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she
broke her brow;
And then my husband (God be with his soul!
was a merry man) took up the child.
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost
thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou
hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidam,
pretty wretch left crying, and said 'Ay.'
To see now how a
jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand
I never should forget it. 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'Ay.'
Enough of this. I pray thee hold thy peace.
madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh
To think it should leave
crying and say 'Ay.'
And yet, I warrant, it bad upon it
A bump as big as a young cock'rel's stone;
knock; and it cried bitterly.
'Yea,' quoth my husband,
'fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou
comest to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' It stinted, and said
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd.
I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell
me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
An honour? Were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou
hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.
Wife. Well, think of
marriage now. Younger than you,
Here in Verona, ladies of
Are made already mothers. By my count,
I was your
mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus
then in brief:
The valiant Paris seeks you for his
Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man
the world- why he's a man of wax.
Wife. Verona's summer hath
not such a flower.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith- a
Wife. What say you? Can you love the
This night you shall behold him at our feast.
o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ
there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this
fair volume lies
Find written in the margent of his
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
beautify him only lacks a cover.
The fish lives in the sea,
and 'tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share
all that he doth possess,
By having him making yourself no
Nurse. No less? Nay, bigger! Women grow by men
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?
Jul. I'll look to
like, if looking liking move;
But no more deep will I endart
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you
young lady ask'd for, the nurse curs'd in the
everything in extremity. I must hence to wait. I
Wife. We follow thee. Exit
Juliet, the County stays.
Nurse. Go, girl,
seek happy nights to happy days.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six
Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
shall we on without apology?
Ben. The date is out of such
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
ladies like a crowkeeper;
Nor no without-book prologue,
After the prompter, for our entrance;
let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a
measure, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch. I am not for this
Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Rom. Not I, believe me.
You have dancing shoes
With nimble soles; I have a soul of
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings
And soar with them above a
Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
soar with his light feathers; and so bound
I cannot bound a
pitch above dull woe.
Under love's heavy burthen do I
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen love-
great oppression for a tender thing.
Rom. Is love a tender
thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous, and it
pricks like thorn.
Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love
Give me a case to put my visage in.
A visor for a
visor! What care I
What curious eye doth quote
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for
Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
man betake him to his legs.
Rom. A torch for me! Let wantons
light of heart
Tickle the senseless rushes with their
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,
a candle-holder and look on;
The game was ne'er so fair, and
I am done.
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own
If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the mire
this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st
Up to the
ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!
Rom. Nay, that's not
Mer. I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our lights in
vain, like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our
Five times in that ere once in our five
Rom. And we mean well, in going to this masque;
'tis no wit to go.
Mer. Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a
Mer. And so did I.
Rom. Well, what was
Mer. That dreamers often lie.
Rom. In bed asleep,
while they do dream things true.
Mer. O, then I see Queen Mab
hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she
In shape no bigger than an agate stone
forefinger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
spokes made of long spinners' legs,
The cover, of the wings
Her traces, of the smallest spider's
Her collars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams;
whip, of cricket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a
small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
this state she 'gallops night by night
brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees,
that dream on cursies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who
straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted
Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with
a tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies
Then dreams he of another benefice.
driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
healths five fadom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at
which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted, swears a
prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
plats the manes of horses in the night
And bakes the elflocks
in foul sluttish, hairs,
Which once untangled much misfortune
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women
of good carriage.
This is she-
Rom. Peace, peace,
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mer. True, I
talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an idle
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin
of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind,
Even now the frozen bosom of the North
being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to
the dew-dropping South.
Ben. This wind you talk of blows us
Supper is done, and we shall come too
Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives
consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin
his fearful date
With this night's revels and expire the
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile
forfeit of untimely death.
But he that hath the steerage of
Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen!
They march about the stage. [Exeunt.]
Servingmen come forth with napkins.
1. Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
shift a trencher! he scrape a trencher!
2. Serv. When good
manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands,
unwash'd too, 'tis a foul thing.
1. Serv. Away with the
join-stools, remove the court-cubbert, look
to the plate.
Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane and, as
me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
2. Serv. Ay, boy, ready.
1. Serv. You are
look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought
for, in the
3. Serv. We cannot be here and there too.
Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take
Enter the Maskers, Enter, [with Servants,] Capulet, his
Juliet, Tybalt, and all the Guests
to the Maskers.
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their
Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.
ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance?
She that makes dainty,
She I'll swear hath corns. Am I come
near ye now?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
I have worn a visor and could tell
A whispering tale in a
fair lady's ear,
Such as would please. 'Tis gone, 'tis gone,
You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians,
A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.
plays, and they dance.
More light, you knaves! and turn the
And quench the fire, the room is grown too
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet,
For you and I are past
our dancing days.
How long is't now since last yourself and
Were in a mask?
2. Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years.
What, man? 'Tis not so much, 'tis not so much!
'Tis since the
nuptial of Lucentio,
Come Pentecost as quickly as it
Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd.
Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more! His son is elder, sir;
His son is
Cap. Will you tell me that?
His son was but a ward
two years ago.
Rom. [to a Servingman] What lady's that, which
doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
Serv. I know not,
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in
an Ethiop's ear-
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her
place of stand
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Tyb. This, by his
voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What,
dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and
honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a
Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? Wherefore storm you so?
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither
come in spite
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Young Romeo is it?
Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
'A bears him like a
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.
I would not for the
wealth of all this town
Here in my house do him
Therefore be patient, take no note of him.
is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence
and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a
Tyb. It fits when such a villain is a guest.
not endure him.
Cap. He shall be endur'd.
boy? I say he shall. Go to!
Am I the master here, or you? Go
You'll not endure him? God shall mend my soul!
make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop!
you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
to, go to!
You are a saucy boy. Is't so, indeed?
trick may chance to scathe you. I know what.
contrary me! Marry, 'tis time.-
Well said, my hearts!- You
are a princox- go!
Be quiet, or- More light, more light!- For
I'll make you quiet; what!- Cheerly, my hearts!
Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh
tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw; but
this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitt'rest
Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest hand
holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing
pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is
holy palmers' kiss.
Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in
Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands
They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
move not while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips,
by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kisses her.]
Jul. Then have my
lips the sin that they have took.
Rom. Sin from my lips? O
trespass sweetly urg'd!
Give me my sin again. [Kisses
Jul. You kiss by th' book.
Nurse. Madam, your mother
craves a word with you.
Rom. What is her mother?
Her mother is the lady of the house.
a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter
that you talk'd withal.
I tell you, he that can lay hold of
Shall have the chinks.
Rom. Is she a Capulet?
dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone;
the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my
Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;
have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it e'en so? Why
then, I thank you all.
I thank you, honest gentlemen. Good
More torches here! [Exeunt Maskers.] Come on then,
let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;
to my rest.
Exeunt [all but Juliet and Nurse].
hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
Nurse. The son and
heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he that now is going out of
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
What's he that follows there, that would not dance?
Jul. Go ask his name.- If he be married,
grave is like to be my wedding bed.
Nurse. His name is Romeo,
and a Montague,
The only son of your great enemy.
only love, sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown,
and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me
I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurse. What's this? what's
Jul. A rhyme I learnt even now
Of one I danc'd
One calls within, 'Juliet.'
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.
Chor. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love
groan'd for and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is now
Now Romeo is belov'd, and loves again,
bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful
Being held a foe, he may not have access
such vows as lovers use to swear,
And she as much in love,
her means much less
To meet her new beloved anywhere;
passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
extremities with extreme sweet.
ACT II. Scene I.
lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.
Enter Romeo alone.
Rom. Can I go forward when my heart is here?
dull earth, and find thy centre out.
[Climbs the wall and
leaps down within it.]
Enter Benvolio with Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo!
Mer. He is wise,
on my life, hath stol'n him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this
way, and leapt this orchard wall.
Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! humours! madman! passion!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh;
one rhyme, and I am satisfied!
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but
'love' and 'dove';
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair
One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim
When King Cophetua lov'd the
He heareth not, he stirreth not, be moveth
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
thee by Rosaline's bright eyes.
By her high forehead and her
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
thy likeness thou appear to us!
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou
wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him. 'Twould anger
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle
strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it
and conjur'd it down.
That were some spite; my invocation
fair and honest: in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to
raise up him.
Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these
To be consorted with the humorous night.
his love and best befits the dark.
Mer. If love be blind,
love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
maids call medlars when they laugh alone.
O, Romeo, that she
were, O that she were
An open et cetera, thou a pop'rin
Romeo, good night. I'll to my truckle-bed;
field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.
Come, shall we
Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain
'To seek him here that
means not to be found.
Rom. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
Enter Juliet above at a window.
But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
the East, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill
the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
not her maid, since she is envious.
Her vestal livery is but
sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it
It is my lady; O, it is my love!
O that she knew she
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; 'tis not to
me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes
were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek
would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in
Would through the airy region stream so bright
birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she
leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon
That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. Ay me!
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged
messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and
refuse thy name!
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Rom. [aside] Shall
I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Jul. 'Tis but thy name
that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself, though not a
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be
some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a
By any other name would smell as sweet.
would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection
which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
for that name, which is no part of thee,
Rom. I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love,
and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be
Jul. What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in
So stumblest on my counsel?
Rom. By a name
know not how to tell thee who I am.
My name, dear saint, is
hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have yet not
drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
Jul. How cam'st
thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are
high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls;
limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
If they do see thee, they will murther thee.
there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their
swords! Look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their
Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee
Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their
And but thou love me, let them find me here.
life were better ended by their hate
Than death prorogued,
wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou
out this place?
Rom. By love, that first did prompt me to
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no
pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with
the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such
Jul. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell
on form- fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; but farewell
Dost thou love me, I know thou wilt say 'Ay';
I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove
false. At lovers' perjuries,
They say Jove laughs. O gentle
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.
thou thinkest I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be
perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else, not
for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
therefore thou mayst think my haviour light;
But trust me,
gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more
cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
true-love passion. Therefore pardon me,
And not impute this
yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-
Jul. O, swear not
by the moon, th' inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
What shall I swear by?
Jul. Do not swear at all;
thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my
And I'll believe thee.
Rom. If my heart's dear
Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
have no joy of this contract to-night.
It is too rash, too
unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth
cease to be
Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
prove a beauteous flow'r when next we meet.
Good night, good
night! As sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that
within my breast!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have
Rom. Th' exchange of thy love's faithful vow for
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
yet I would it were to give again.
Rom. Would'st thou
withdraw it? For what purpose, love?
Jul. But to be frank and
give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as
deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are
I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu!
Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
but a little, I will come again. [Exit.]
Rom. O blessed,
blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
Enter Juliet above.
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage,
send me word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to come to
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord
throughout the world.
Nurse. (within) Madam!
Jul. I come,
anon.- But if thou meanest not well,
I do beseech
Nurse. (within) Madam!
Jul. By-and-by I come.-
cease thy suit and leave me to my grief.
To-morrow will I
Rom. So thrive my soul-
Jul. A thousand times good
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their
But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
Enter Juliet again, [above].
Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer's voice
this tassel-gentle back again!
Bondage is hoarse and may not
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of
my Romeo's name.
Rom. It is my soul that calls upon
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by
Like softest music to attending ears!
Rom. My dear?
Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
I send to thee?
Rom. By the hour of nine.
Jul. I will not
fail. 'Tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did
call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand
Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
Rom. And I'll
still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other
home but this.
Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee
And yet no farther than a wanton's bird,
it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his
And with a silk thread plucks it back
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would I
were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would I.
Yet I should kill
thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! Parting is
such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
to crave and my dear hap to tell.
Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.
Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning
Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.
Non, ere the sun
advance his burning eye
The day to cheer and night's dank dew
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that's
nature's mother is her tomb.
What is her burying gave, that
is her womb;
And from her womb children of divers kind
sucking on her natural bosom find;
Many for many virtues
None but for some, and yet all different.
mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants, herbs,
stones, and their true qualities;
For naught so vile that on
the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth
Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice sometime's by
Within the infant rind of this small
Poison hath residence, and medicine power;
this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed
kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs- grace and
And where the worser is predominant,
the canker death eats up that plant.
Rom. Good morrow, father.
tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges
sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
uprous'd with some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I
hit it right-
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
That last is true-the sweeter rest was mine.
pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my
ghostly father? No.
I have forgot that name, and that name's
Friar. That's my good son! But where hast thou been
Rom. I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
been feasting with mine enemy,
Where on a sudden one hath
That's by me wounded. Both our remedies
thy help and holy physic lies.
I bear no hatred, blessed man,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
plain, good son, and homely in thy drift
finds but riddling shrift.
Rom. Then plainly know my heart's
dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;
mine on hers, so hers is set on mine,
And all combin'd, save
what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When, and where, and
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry
Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
forsaken? Young men's love then lies
Not truly in their
hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! What a deal of
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it
doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven
Thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears.
here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is
not wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
thou chang'd? Pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall
when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for
Friar. For doting, not for loving, pupil
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
Friar. Not in a
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee
chide not. She whom I love now
Doth grace for grace and love
for love allow.
The other did not so.
Friar. O, she knew
Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.
come, young waverer, come go with me.
In one respect I'll thy
For this alliance may so happy prove
your households' rancour to pure love.
Rom. O, let us hence!
I stand on sudden haste.
Friar. Wisely, and slow. They
stumble that run fast.
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not
Ben. Not to his father's. I spoke with his
Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that
Torments him so that he will sure run mad.
Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his
Mer. A challenge, on my life.
will answer it.
Mer. Any man that can write may answer a
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he
Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already
dead! stabb'd with a white
wench's black eye; shot through
the ear with a love song; the
very pin of his heart cleft
with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;
and is he a man to
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?
Mer. More than
Prince of Cats, I can tell you. O, he's the
captain of compliments. He fights as you sing
time, distance, and proportion; rests me his
minim rest, one,
two, and the third in your bosom! the very
butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist! a gentleman of
the very first
house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the
passado! the punto reverse! the hay.
Ben. The what?
The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes-
new tuners of accent! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a
man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a
grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted
with these strange
flies, these fashion-mongers, these
pardona-mi's, who stand so
much on the new form that they
cannot sit at ease on the old
bench? O, their bones, their
Ben. Here comes Romeo! here comes Romeo!
Mer. Without his
roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art
fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed
Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench (marry, she had
better love to berhyme her), Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray
eye or so,
but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour!
There's a French
salutation to your French slop. You gave us
fairly last night.
Rom. Good morrow to you
both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer. The slip, sir,
the slip. Can you not conceive?
Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio.
My business was great, and in such a
case as mine a man may
Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case
as yours constrains a
man to bow in the hams.
Meaning, to cursy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
A most courteous exposition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of
Rom. Pink for flower.
then is my pump well-flower'd.
Mer. Well said! Follow me this
jest now till thou hast worn out thy
pump, that, when the
single sole of it is worn, the jest may
remain, after the
wearing, solely singular.
Rom. O single-sold jest, solely
singular for the singleness!
Mer. Come between us, good
Benvolio! My wits faint.
Rom. Swits and spurs, swits and
spurs! or I'll cry a match.
Mer. Nay, if our wits run the
wild-goose chase, I am done; for thou
hast more of the wild
goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I
have in my whole
five. Was I with you there for the goose?
Rom. Thou wast
never with me for anything when thou wast not there
Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Nay, good goose, bite not!
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter
sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
Rom. And is it not, then,
well serv'd in to a sweet goose?
Mer. O, here's a wit of
cheveril, that stretches from an inch
narrow to an ell
Rom. I stretch it out for that word 'broad,' which,
added to the
goose, proves thee far and wide a broad
Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for
love? Now art
thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou
what thou art, by
art as well as by nature. For this
drivelling love is like a
great natural that runs lolling up
and down to hide his bauble in
Ben. Stop there,
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against
Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale
Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd! I would have made it short;
for I was
come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant
indeed to occupy
the argument no longer.
Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter].
Mer. A sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two! a shirt and a
Nurse. My fan,
Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the
fairer face of
Nurse. God ye good morrow,
Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
Is it good-den?
Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy
hand of the dial is now
upon the prick of noon.
upon you! What a man are you!
Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God
hath made for himself to mar.
Nurse. By my troth, it is well
said. 'For himself to mar,' quoth
'a? Gentlemen, can any of
you tell me where I may find the young
Rom. I can
tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have
him than he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of
name, for fault of a worse.
Nurse. You say well.
is the worst well? Very well took, i' faith!
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some
confidence with you.
Ben. She will endite him to some
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What hast
Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a
lenten pie, that is
something stale and hoar ere it be
He walks by them and sings.
An old hare hoar,
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good
meat in Lent;
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, will you come to your father's? We'll to dinner
Rom. I will follow you.
Mer. Farewell, ancient
[sings] lady, lady, lady.
Nurse. Marry, farewell! I Pray you, Sir, what saucy
this that was so full of his ropery?
gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will
more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
'a speak anything against me, I'll take him down, an 'a
lustier than he is, and twenty such jacks; and if I cannot,
find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of
flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must
by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his
Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure. If I
had, my weapon
should quickly have been out, I warrant you. I
dare draw as soon
as another man, if I see occasion in a good
quarrel, and the law
on my side.
Nurse. Now, afore God, I
am so vexed that every part about me
quivers. Scurvy knave!
Pray you, sir, a word; and, as I told you,
my young lady bid
me enquire you out. What she bid me say, I will
myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her
a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind
behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young;
therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it
ill thing to be off'red to any gentlewoman, and very
Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and
mistress. I protest unto
Nurse. Good heart, and I
faith I will tell her as much. Lord,
Lord! she will be a
Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost
not mark me.
Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do
protest, which, as I take
it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
Bid her devise
Some means to come to shrift this
And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell
shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly,
sir; not a penny.
Rom. Go to! I say you shall.
afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
Rom. And stay, good
nurse, behind the abbey wall.
Within this hour my man shall
be with thee
And bring thee cords made like a tackled
Which to the high topgallant of my joy
Must be my
convoy in the secret night.
Farewell. Be trusty, and I'll
quit thy pains.
Farewell. Commend me to thy mistress.
Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
Rom. What say'st
thou, my dear nurse?
Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
warrant thee my man's as true as steel.
Nurse. Well, sir, my
mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord!
when 'twas a
little prating thing- O, there is a nobleman in
Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good
had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger
sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but
warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout
the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with
Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? Both with an R.
Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the- No; I know
begins with some other letter; and she hath the
sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it
would do you good
to hear it.
Rom. Commend me to thy
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo.]
Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go
before, and apace.
Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
half an hour she 'promis'd to return.
Perchance she cannot
meet him. That's not so.
O, she is lame! Love's heralds
should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the
Driving back shadows over low'ring
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw Love,
therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun
upon the highmost hill
Of this day's journey, and from nine
Is three long hours; yet she is not come.
she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would be as swift
in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet
And his to me,
But old folks, many feign as they
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse [and Peter].
O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met
with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the
Jul. Now, good sweet nurse- O Lord,
why look'st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them
If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse. I am aweary,
give me leave awhile.
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce
have I had!
Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy
Nay, come, I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse,
Nurse. Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?
you not see that I am out of breath?
Jul. How art thou out of
breath when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or
bad? Answer to that.
Say either, and I'll stay the
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?
Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to
a man. Romeo? No, not he. Though his face be better than
man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a
and a body, though they be not to be talk'd on, yet they
past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but,
warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench;
What, have you din'd at home?
Jul. No, no. But
all this did I know before.
What says he of our marriage?
What of that?
Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! What a head
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
back o' t' other side,- ah, my back, my back!
heart for sending me about
To catch my death with jauncing up
Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not
Sweet, sweet, Sweet nurse, tell me, what says my
Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a
and a kind, and a handsome; and, I warrant, a
virtuous- Where is
Jul. Where is my mother?
Why, she is within.
Where should she be? How oddly thou
'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
is your mother?"'
Nurse. O God's Lady dear!
so hot? Marry come up, I trow.
Is this the poultice for my
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
Here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?
Nurse. Have you
got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Jul. I have.
hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;
There stays a husband
to make you a wife.
Now comes the wanton blood up in your
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
you to church; I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the
which your love
Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
shall bear the burthen soon at night.
Go; I'll to dinner; hie
you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse,
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo.
Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act
after-hours with sorrow chide us not!
Rom. Amen, amen! But
come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of
That one short minute gives me in her sight.
but close our hands with holy words,
death do what he dare-
It is enough I may but call her
Friar. These violent delights have violent ends
in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they
kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own
And in the taste confounds the
Therefore love moderately: long love doth so;
swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear
out the everlasting flint.
A lover may bestride the
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not
fall; so light is vanity.
Jul. Good even to my ghostly
Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us
Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine,
and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with
This neighbour air, and let rich music's
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
either by this dear encounter.
Jul. Conceit, more rich in
matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of
They are but beggars that can count their
But my true love is grown to such excess
up sum of half my wealth.
Friar. Come, come with me, and we
will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay
Till Holy Church incorporate two in one.
III. Scene I.
A public place.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Men.
Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire.
The day is
hot, the Capulets abroad.
And if we meet, we shall not scape
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood
Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that, when
he enters the
confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon
the table and says
'God send me no need of thee!' and by the
operation of the second
cup draws him on the drawer, when
indeed there is no need.
Ben. Am I like such a fellow?
Come, come, thou art as hot a jack in thy mood as any in
and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to
Ben. And what to?
Mer. Nay, an there were two
such, we should have none shortly, for
one would kill the
other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man
that hath a
hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast.
wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no
reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but
such an eye
would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full
of quarrels as
an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath
been beaten as
addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast
quarrell'd with a man
for coughing in the street, because he
hath wakened thy dog that
hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst
thou not fall out with a
tailor for wearing his new doublet
before Easter, with another
for tying his new shoes with an
old riband? And yet thou wilt
tutor me from quarrelling!
An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy
fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
Mer. The fee
simple? O simple!
Enter Tybalt and others.
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel,
I care not.
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to
Gentlemen, good den. A word with one of you.
And but one word with one of us?
Couple it with something;
make it a word and a blow.
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough
to that, sir, an you will give me
Mer. Could you
not take some occasion without giving
Tyb. Mercutio, thou
consortest with Romeo.
Mer. Consort? What, dost thou make us
minstrels? An thou make
minstrels of us, look to hear nothing
but discords. Here's my
fiddlestick; here's that shall make
you dance. Zounds, consort!
Ben. We talk here in the public
haunt of men.
Either withdraw unto some private place
reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart. Here all
eyes gaze on us.
Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let
I will not budge for no man's pleasure,
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man.
But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery.
before to field, he'll be your follower!
Your worship in that
sense may call him man.
Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can
No better term than this: thou art a villain.
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse
the appertaining rage
To such a greeting. Villain am I
Therefore farewell. I see thou knowest me not.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done
me; therefore turn and draw.
Rom. I do protest I never
But love thee better than thou canst
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love;
good Capulet, which name I tender
As dearly as mine own, be
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
stoccata carries it away. [Draws.]
Tybalt, you ratcatcher,
will you walk?
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me?
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. That
mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me
dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck
your sword out of
his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest
mine be about your ears
ere it be out.
Tyb. I am for you.
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Come, sir, your passado!
Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
Gentlemen, for shame!
forbear this outrage!
Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly
Forbid this bandying in Verona streets.
Tybalt under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio in,
[with his Followers].
Mer. I am hurt.
plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
Is he gone and hath
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
peppered, I warrant, for this
world. A plague o' both your
houses! Zounds, 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 arithmetic! Why the devil
came you between us? I
was hurt under your arm.
Rom. I thought all for the
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!
[supported by Benvolio].
Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's
My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt
behalf- my reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's slander- Tybalt,
that an hour
Hath been my kinsman. O sweet Juliet,
beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper soft'ned
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did
scorn the earth.
Rom. This day's black fate on moe days doth
This but begins the woe others must end.
Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
in triumph, and Mercutio slain?
Away to heaven respective
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!
take the 'villain' back again
That late thou gavest me; for
Is but a little way above our heads,
for thine to keep him company.
Either thou or I, or both,
must go with him.
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort
Shalt with him hence.
Rom. This shall determine
They fight. Tybalt falls.
Ben. Romeo, away, be
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
amaz'd. The Prince will doom thee death
If thou art taken.
Hence, be gone, away!
Rom. O, I am fortune's fool!
Why dost thou stay?
Citizen. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
that murtherer, which way ran he?
Ben. There lies that
Citizen. Up, sir, go with me.
I charge thee in the
Prince's name obey.
Enter Prince [attended], Old Montague, Capulet, their
Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
noble Prince. I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
Cap. Wife. Tybalt, my
cousin! O my brother's child!
O Prince! O husband! O, the
blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art
For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.
Prince. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay.
spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and
Your high displeasure. All this- uttered
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
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside
and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose
Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,
friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue,
agile 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;
by-and-by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell,
did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio
Cap. Wife. He is a kinsman to the Montague;
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
Romeo slew Tybalt; Romeo must not live.
Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio.
Who now the price of his
dear blood doth owe?
Mon. Not Romeo, Prince; he was
His fault concludes but what the law
The life of Tybalt.
Prince. And for that
Immediately we do exile him hence.
I have an
interest in your hate's proceeding,
My blood for your rude
brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
But I'll amerce you with so
strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
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
Bear hence this body, and attend our will.
murders, pardoning those that kill.
Enter Juliet alone.
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Phoebus' lodging! Such a wagoner
As Phaeton would whip you to
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway eyes may
wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk'd of and
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with
night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
Hood my unmann'd blood,
bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle till strange love,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt
lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow upon a
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of
heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with
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
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
Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Now, nurse, what
news? What hast thou there? the cords
That Romeo bid thee
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
[Throws them down.]
Ay me! what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands
weraday! 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,
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo!
Who ever would
have thought it? Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou that dost
torment me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal
Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but 'I,'
bare vowel 'I' shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye
I am not I, if there be such an 'I';
those eyes shut that make thee answer 'I.'
If be be slain,
say 'I'; or if not, 'no.'
Brief sounds determine of my weal
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
save the mark!) here on his manly breast.
A piteous corse, a
bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in
All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.
break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once!
eyes; ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt!
That ever I should live to see thee
Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Romeo slaught'red, and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin,
and my dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general
For who is living, if those two are gone?
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo that kill'd him, he
Jul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's
Nurse. It did, it did! alas the day, it did!
serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon
keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening
Despised substance of divinest show!
to what thou justly seem'st-
A damned saint, an honourable
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell
didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such
Was ever book containing such vile matter
fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous
Nurse. There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in
men; all perjur'd,
All forsworn, all naught, all
Ah, where's my man? Give me some aqua
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me
Shame come to Romeo!
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue
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
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, what a
beast was I to chide at him!
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
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
villain cousin would have kill'd my husband.
tears, back to your native spring!
Your tributary drops
belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
dead, that would have slain my husband.
All this is comfort;
wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than
That murd'red me. I would forget it fain;
O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo- banished.'
'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand
Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why followed not, when she
said 'Tybalt's dead,'
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
a rearward following Tybalt's death,
'Romeo is banished'- to
speak that word
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
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. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse.
you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his
wounds with tears? Mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry,
for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you
Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd.
you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die
Come, cords; come, nurse. I'll to my wedding
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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.
to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O, find him! give
this ring to my true knight
And bid him come to take his last
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar [Laurence].
Friar. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful
Affliction is enanmour'd of thy parts,
And thou art
wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news? What is the Prince's doom
sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand
That I yet know
Friar. Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour
I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.
What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom?
gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips-
Not body's death,
but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say
For exile hath more terror in his look,
than death. Do not say 'banishment.'
Friar. Hence from Verona
art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished is banish'd
from the world,
And world's exile is death. Then
Is death misterm'd. Calling death
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe
smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
Friar. O deadly sin!
O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is dear
mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not
mercy. Heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in
heaven and may look on her;
But Romeo may not. More
More honourable state, more courtship lives
carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize
On the white wonder
of dear Juliet's hand
And steal immortal blessing from her
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not- he is
This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
are free men, but I am banished.
And sayest thou yet that
exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so
But 'banished' to kill me- 'banished'?
O friar, the
damned use that word in hell;
Howling attends it! How hast
thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that
Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art
Rom. Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!
philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a
It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no
Friar. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak
of that thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou speak, then
mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Friar. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heartsick
Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
Friar. Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo,
Thou wilt be taken.- Stay awhile!- Stand up;
Run to my study.- By-and-by!- God's will,
simpleness 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
Friar. Welcome then.
Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar
Where is my
lady's lord, where's Romeo?
Friar. There on the ground, with
his own tears made drunk.
Nurse. O, he is even in my
Just in her case!
Friar. O woeful
Nurse. Even so lies
Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
up, stand up! Stand, an you be a man.
For Juliet's sake, for
her sake, rise and stand!
Why should you fall into so deep an
Rom. (rises) Nurse-
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well,
death's the end of all.
Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet? How is
it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murtherer,
have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but
little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she! and what
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?
she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on
her bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on
And then down falls again.
Rom. As if that
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell
me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[Draws his dagger.]
Friar. Hold thy desperate hand.
thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art;
Thy tears are
womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a
Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
beast in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady
that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon
Why railest thou on thy birth, the heaven, and
Since birth and heaven and earth, all three do meet
thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou
shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit,
Which, like a usurer,
abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
noble shape is but a form of wax
Digressing from the valour
of a man;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy wit, that
ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct of them
Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask,
afire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismemb'red with thine
What, rouse thee, man! Thy Juliet is alive,
whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.
There art thou
happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slewest Tybalt. There
art thou happy too.
The law, that threat'ned death, becomes
And turns it to exile. There art thou happy.
pack of blessings light upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee
in her best array;
But, like a misbhav'd and sullen
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love.
heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go get thee to thy
love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou shalt live
till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile
Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
went'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse. Commend me to
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
To hear good
counsel. O, what learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to
Nurse. Here is a ring she bid me give you, sir.
you, make haste, for it grows very late. Exit.
Rom. How well
my comfort is reviv'd by this!
Friar. Go hence; good night;
and here stands all your state:
Either be gone before the
watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from
Sojourn in Mantua. I'll find out your man,
shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you that
Give me thy hand. 'Tis late. Farewell; good
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
were a grief so brief to part with thee.
Enter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris.
Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily
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
'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night.
promise you, but for your company,
I would have been abed an
Par. These times of woe afford no tune to
Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.
I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
mew'd up to her heaviness.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a
Of my child's love. I think she will be
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son
And bid her (mark you me?) on Wednesday
But, soft! what day is this?
Par. Monday, my
Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too
Thursday let it be- a Thursday, tell her
be married to this noble earl.
Will you be ready? Do you like
We'll keep no great ado- a friend or two;
hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we
held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I
would that Thursday were to-morrow.
Cap. Well, get you gone.
A Thursday be it then.
Go you to Juliet ere you go to
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.
My lord.- Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me, It is so very
That we may call it early by-and-by.
Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft, at the Window.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
It was the
nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful
hollow of thine ear.
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
was the lark, the herald of the morn;
No nightingale. Look,
love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be
gone and live, or stay and die.
Jul. Yond light is not
daylight; I know it, I.
It is some meteor that the sun
To be to thee this night a torchbearer
thee on the way to Mantua.
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st
not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to
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
Nor that is not the lark whose notes do
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
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
Jul. It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away!
the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords
and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet
This doth not so, for she divideth us.
the lark and loathed toad chang'd eyes;
O, now I would they
had chang'd voices too,
Since arm from arm that voice doth us
Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day!
now be gone! More light and light it grows.
Rom. More light
and light- more dark and dark our woes!
Nurse. Your lady mother is
coming to your chamber.
The day is broke; be wary, look
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life
Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll
He goeth down.
Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my
love, my friend?
I must hear from thee every day in the
For in a minute there are many days.
O, by this
count I shall be much in years
Ere I again behold my
I will omit no opportunity
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
Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you.
Dry sorrow drinks
our blood. Adieu, adieu!
Jul. O Fortune, Fortune!
all men call thee fickle.
If thou art fickle, what dost thou
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, Fortune,
then I hope thou wilt not keep him long
But send him
Lady. [within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
is't that calls? It is my lady mother.
Is she not down so
late, or up so early?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her
Lady. Why, how now, Juliet?
Jul. Madam, I am not
Lady. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?
wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
An if thou
couldst, thou couldst not make him live.
Therefore have done.
Some grief shows much of love;
But much of grief shows still
some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling
Lady. So shall you feel the loss, but not the
Which you weep for.
Jul. Feeling so the loss,
cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
Lady. Well, girl,
thou weep'st not so much for his death
As that the villain
lives which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, madam?
That same villain Romeo.
Jul. [aside] Villain and he be many
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
Lady. That is
because the traitor murderer lives.
Jul. Ay, madam, from the
reach of these my hands.
Would none but I might venge my
Lady. We will have vengeance for it, fear
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
give him such an unaccustom'd dram
That he shall soon keep
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.
Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo till I behold
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd.
if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
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
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!
thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
But now I'll tell
thee joyful tidings, girl.
Jul. And joy comes well in such a
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;
One who, to
put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of
That thou expects not nor I look'd not for.
Madam, in happy time! What day is that?
Lady. Marry, my
child, early next Thursday morn
The gallant, young, and noble
The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,
happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Jul. Now by Saint
Peter's Church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a
I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
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,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
than Paris. These are news indeed!
Lady. Here comes your
father. Tell him so yourself,
And see how be will take it at
Enter Capulet and Nurse.
Cap. When the sun sets the air doth drizzle dew,
the sunset of my brother's son
It rains downright.
now? a conduit, girl? What, still in tears?
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,
ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is
Sailing in this
salt flood; the winds, thy sighs,
Who, raging with thy tears
and they with them,
Without a sudden calm will overset
tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?
Have you delivered to her
Lady. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you
I would the fool were married to her grave!
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
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
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
Cap. How, how, how, how, choplogic? What is
'Proud'- and 'I thank you'- and 'I thank you not'-
yet 'not proud'? Mistress minion you,
Thank me no thankings,
nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,
I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness
carrion I out, you baggage!
fie! what, are you mad?
Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee
what- get thee to church a Thursday
Or never after look me in
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me!
fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest
That God had
lent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is one
And that we have a curse in having her.
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,
Nurse. I speak no treason.
Nurse. May not one speak?
Cap. Peace, you
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
here we need it not.
Lady. You are too hot.
bread I it makes me mad. Day, night, late, early,
abroad, alone, in company,
Waking or sleeping, still my care
To have her match'd; and having now provided
gentleman of princely parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful,
and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable
Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man-
then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her
To answer 'I'll not wed, I cannot love;
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
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang,
beg, starve, die in the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er
Nor what is mine shall never do thee
Trust to't. Bethink you. I'll not be forsworn.
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
sees into the bottom of my grief?
O sweet my mother, cast me
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where
Lady. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. Exit.
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
leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that
heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as
What say'st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?
Nurse. Faith, here it is.
banish'd; and all the world to nothing
That he dares ne'er
come back to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be by
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
think it best you married with the County.
O, he's a lovely
Romeo's a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,
not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew
my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second
For it excels your first; or if it did not,
first is dead- or 'twere as good he were
As living here and
you no use of him.
Jul. Speak'st thou this from thy
Nurse. And from my soul too; else beshrew them
Jul. Well, thou hast
comforted me marvellous much.
Go in; and tell my lady I am
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
make confession and to be absolv'd.
Nurse. Marry, I will; and
this is wisely done. Exit.
Jul. Ancient damnation! O most
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath
prais'd him with above compare
So many thousand times? Go,
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
to the friar to know his remedy.
If all else fail, myself
have power to die. Exit.
ACT IV. Scene I.
Enter Friar, [Laurence] and County Paris.
Friar. On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.
father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing slow to
slack his haste.
Friar. You say you do not know the lady's
Uneven is the course; I like it not.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have
I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
do give her sorrow so much sway,
And in his wisdom hastes our
To stop the inundation of her tears,
much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by
Now do you know the reason of this haste.
[aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.-
sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.
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
Jul. What must be shall be.
Friar. That's a
Par. Come you to make confession to this
Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you.
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
Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price,
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
Par. Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that
Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
what I spake, I spake it to my face.
Par. Thy face is mine,
and thou hast sland'red it.
Jul. It may be so, for it is not
Are you at leisure, holy father, now,
Or shall I
come to you at evening mass
Friar. My leisure serves me,
pensive daughter, now.
My lord, we must entreat the time
Par. God shield I should disturb devotion!
on Thursday early will I rouse ye.
Till then, adieu, and keep
this holy kiss. Exit.
Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou
hast done so,
Come weep with me- past hope, past cure, past
Friar. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
strains me past the compass of my wits.
I hear thou must, and
nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this
Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.
If in thy
wisdom thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my
And with this knife I'll help it
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo's seal'd,
be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with
Turn to another, this shall slay them
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time,
some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me
this bloody knife
Shall play the empire, arbitrating
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no
issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak. I long
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as
desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would
If, rather than to marry County Paris
the strength of will to slay thyself,
Then is it likely thou
A thing like death to chide away this
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.
Jul. O, bid me leap,
rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder
Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk
serpents are; chain me with roaring bears,
Or shut me nightly
in a charnel house,
O'ercover'd quite with dead men's
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless
Or bid me go into a new-made grave
And hide me
with a dead man in his shroud-
Things that, to hear them
told, have made me tremble-
And I will do it without fear or
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.
Hold, then. Go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris.
Wednesday is to-morrow.
To-morrow night look that thou lie
Let not the nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.
thou this vial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor
drink thou off;
When presently through all thy veins shall
A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse
Shall keep his
native progress, but surcease;
No warmth, no breath, shall
testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall
To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall
Like death when
he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
shalt continue two-and-forty hours,
And then awake as from a
Now, when the bridegroom in the morning
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.
as the manner of our country is,
In thy best robes uncovered
on the bier
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my
letters know our drift;
And hither shall he come; and he and
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this
If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear
thy valour in the acting it.
Jul. Give me, give me! O, tell
not me of fear!
Friar. Hold! Get you gone, be strong and
In this resolve. I'll send a friar with speed
Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.
Jul. Love give me
strength! and strength shall help afford.
Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and Servingmen,
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can
Cap. How canst thou try them so?
Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own
Therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with
We shall be much unfurnish'd
for this time.
What, is my daughter gone to Friar
Nurse. Ay, forsooth.
Cap. Well, be may chance to
do some good on her.
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.
Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding?
Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
holy Laurence to fall prostrate here
To beg your pardon.
Pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by
Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this.
have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
Jul. I met the
youthful lord at Laurence' cell
And gave him what becomed
love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
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
All our whole city is much bound to him.
Nurse, will you go with me into my closet
To help me sort
such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me
Mother. No, not till Thursday. There is time
Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to church
Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.
Mother. 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
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.
not to bed to-night; let me alone.
I'll play the housewife
for this once. What, ho!
They are all forth; well, I will
To County Paris, to prepare him up
to-morrow. My heart is wondrous light,
Since this same
wayward girl is so reclaim'd.
Enter Juliet and Nurse.
Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
thee leave me to myself to-night;
For I have need of many
To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin.
Mother. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?
madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
As are behooffull for
our state to-morrow.
So please you, let me now be left
And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
am sure you have your hands full all
In this so sudden
Mother. Good night.
Get thee to bed, and rest;
for thou hast need.
Exeunt [Mother and Nurse.]
Farewell! 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.
I'll call them back again to comfort
Nurse!- What should she do here?
My dismal scene I
needs must act alone.
What if this mixture do
not work at all?
Shall I be married then to-morrow
No, No! This shall forbid it. Lie thou there.
down a dagger.
What if it be a poison which the
Subtilly hath minist'red to have me dead,
this marriage he should be dishonour'd
Because he married me
before to Romeo?
I fear it is; and yet methinks it should
For he hath still been tried a holy man.
I will not
entertain so bad a thought.
How if, when I am laid into the
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me?
There's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it
not very like
The horrible conceit of death and
Together with the terror of the place-
As in a
vault, an ancient receptacle
Where for this many hundred
years the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his
shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
early waking- what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like
mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing
them, run mad-
O, if I wake, shall I not be
Environed with all these hideous fears,
madly play with my forefathers' joints,
And pluck the mangled
Tybalt from his shroud.,
And, in this rage, with some great
As with a club dash out my desp'rate
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point.
Stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
She [drinks and] falls upon her bed within the
Enter Lady of the House and Nurse.
Lady. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices,
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
Enter Old Capulet.
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow'd,
curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.
Look to the bak'd
meats, good Angelica;
Spare not for cost.
Nurse. Go, you
Get you to bed! Faith, you'll be sick
For this night's watching.
Cap. No, not a whit.
What, I have watch'd ere now
All night for lesser cause, and
ne'er been sick.
Lady. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your
But I will watch you from such watching now.
Lady and Nurse.
Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood!
Enter three or four [Fellows, with spits and logs and
What is there? Now, fellow,
Fellow. Things for the cook,
sir; but I know not what.
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit
Fellow.] Sirrah, fetch drier
Call Peter; he will
show thee where they are.
Fellow. I have a head, sir, that
will find out logs
And never trouble Peter for the
Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
shalt be loggerhead. [Exit Fellow.] Good faith, 'tis day.
County will be here with music straight,
For so he said he
would. Play music.
I hear him near.
Nurse! Wife! What, ho!
What, nurse, I say!
Go waken Juliet; go and trim her up.
I'll go and chat with
Paris. Hie, make haste,
Make haste! The bridegroom he is come
Make haste, I say.
Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her,
Why, lamb! why, lady! Fie, you slug-abed!
I say! madam! sweetheart! 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
you shall rest but little. God forgive me!
Marry, and amen.
How sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her. Madam, madam,
Ay, let the County take you in your bed!
fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?
[Draws aside the
What, dress'd, and in your clothes, and down
I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady!
alas! Help, help! My lady's dead!
O weraday that ever I was
Some aqua-vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!
Mother. What noise is here?
Nurse. O lamentable
Mother. What is the matter?
Nurse. Look, look! O
Mother. O me, O me! My child, my only
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
help! Call help.
Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is
Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! Alack the
Mother. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's
Cap. Ha! let me see her. Out alas! she's cold,
blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these
lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an
Upon the sweetest flower of all the
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Mother. O woful time!
Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my
tongue and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar [Laurence] and the County [Paris], with
Friar. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Ready to go, but never to return.
O son, the night before thy
Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, there she
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my
son-in-law, Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded. I
And leave him all. Life, living, all is
Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour
that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to
rejoice and solace in,
And cruel Death hath catch'd it from
Nurse. O woe? O woful, woful, woful day!
lamentable day, most woful day
That ever ever I did yet
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen
so black a day as this.
O woful day! O woful day!
Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel cruel thee quite
O love! O life! not life, but love in death
Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
time, why cam'st thou now
To murther, murther our
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
art thou, dead! alack, my child is dead,
And with my child my
joys are buried!
Friar. Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's
cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
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
The most you sought was her promotion,
your heaven she should be advanc'd;
And weep ye now, seeing
she is advanc'd
Above the clouds, as high as heaven
O, in this love, you love your child so ill
you run mad, seeing that she is well.
She's not well married
that lives married long,
But she's best married that dies
Dry up your tears and stick your rosemary
this fair corse, and, as the custom is,
In all her best array
bear her to church;
For though fond nature bids us all
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
All things that we ordained festival
Turn from their office
to black funeral-
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to
sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried
And all things change them to the contrary.
Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris.
Every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her
The heavens do low'r upon you for some ill;
them no more by crossing their high will.
Musicians [and Nurse].
1. Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes
and be gone.
Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put
For well you know this is a pitiful case. [Exit.]
Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's
O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'
Mus. Why 'Heart's ease'',
Pet. O, musicians, because my heart
itself plays 'My heart is full
of woe.' O, play me some merry
dump to comfort me.
1. Mus. Not a dump we! 'Tis no time to
Pet. You will not then?
1. Mus. No.
will then give it you soundly.
1. Mus. What will you give
Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give
1. Mus. Then will I give you the
Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's
dagger on your pate.
I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you,
I'll fa you. Do you note
1. Mus. An you re us and fa
us, you note us.
2. Mus. Pray you put up your dagger, and put
out your wit.
Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will
dry-beat you with an iron
wit, and put up my iron dagger.
Answer me like men.
'When griping grief the heart doth wound,
dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound'-
Why 'silver sound'? Why 'music with her silver sound'?
say you, Simon Catling?
1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver
hath a sweet sound.
Pet. Pretty! What say You, Hugh
2. Mus. I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound
Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James
3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.
I cry you mercy! you are the singer. I will say for you. It
'music with her silver sound' because musicians have no gold
'Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth
lend redress.' [Exit.
1. Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same?
2. Mus. Hang
him, Jack! Come, we'll in here, tarry for the
ACT V. Scene I.
Mantua. A street.
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep
dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
My bosom's lord sits
lightly in his throne,
And all this day an unaccustom'd
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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.
me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's
shadows are so rich in joy!
Enter Romeo's Man Balthasar, booted.
News from Verona! How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring
me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again,
can be ill if she be well.
Man. Then she is well, and nothing
can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her
And presently took post to tell it you.
pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it
for my office, sir.
Rom. Is it e'en so? Then I defy you,
Thou knowest my lodging. Get me ink and paper
hire posthorses. I will hence to-night.
Man. I do beseech
you, sir, have patience.
Your looks are pale and wild and do
Rom. Tush, thou art
Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.
thou no letters to me from the friar?
Man. No, my good
Rom. No matter. Get thee gone
And hire those horses.
I'll be with thee straight.
Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means. O
mischief, thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of
I do remember an apothecary,
'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with
Culling of simples. Meagre were his
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his
needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots,
bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old
cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a
Noting this penury, to myself I said,
'An if a man
did need a poison now
Whose sale is present death in
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.'
this same thought did but forerun my need,
And this same
needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho!
Apoth. Who calls so loud?
Rom. Come hither, man. I see
that thou art poor.
Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary
taker mall fall dead,
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of
As violently as hasty powder fir'd
Doth hurry from
the fatal cannon's womb.
Apoth. Such mortal drugs I have; but
Is death to any he that utters them.
thou so bare and full of wretchedness
And fearest to die?
Famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back:
world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break
it and take this.
Apoth. My poverty but not my will
Rom. I pay thy poverty and not thy will.
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
Rom. There is thy gold- worse poison to men's
Doing more murther in this loathsome world,
these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
I sell thee
poison; thou hast sold me none.
Farewell. Buy food and get
thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me
Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.
Verona. Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence.
John. Holy Franciscan friar, brother, ho!
Enter Friar Laurence.
Laur. This same should be the voice of Friar John.
from Mantua. What says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give
me his letter.
John. Going to find a barefoot brother
One of our order, to associate me
Here in this city
visiting the sick,
And finding him, the searchers of the
Suspecting that we both were in a house
infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and
would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua there was
Laur. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
could not send it- here it is again-
Nor get a messenger to
bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.
Unhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice,
but full of charge,
Of dear import; and the neglecting it
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.
Laur. Now, must I to the monument
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake.
will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her
at my cell till Romeo come-
Poor living corse, clos'd in a
dead man's tomb! Exit.
Verona. A churchyard; in
it the monument of the Capulets.
Enter Paris and his Page with flowers and [a torch].
Par. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof.
put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yond yew tree lay
thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread
loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear
it. Whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
[aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the
churchyard; yet I will adventure. [Retires.]
flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew
(O woe! thy
canopy is dust and stones)
Which with sweet water nightly I
Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
shall be to strew, thy grave and weep.
boy gives warning something doth approach.
What cursed foot
wanders this way to-night
To cross my obsequies and true
What, with a torch? Muffle me, night, awhile.
Enter Romeo, and Balthasar with a torch, a mattock,
crow of iron.
Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
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
Whate'er thou hearest or seest, stand all aloof
do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed
Is partly to behold my lady's face,
to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring- a ring
that I must use
In dear employment. Therefore hence, be
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I
farther shall intend to do,
By heaven, I will tear thee joint
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.
time and my intents are savage-wild,
More fierce and more
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Rom. So shalt thou
show me friendship. Take thou that.
Live, and be prosperous;
and farewell, good fellow.
Bal. [aside] For all this same,
I'll hide me hereabout.
His looks I fear, and his intents I
Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth,
enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
And in despite I'll cram
thee with more food.
Romeo opens the tomb.
Par. This is
that banish'd haughty Montague
That murd'red my love's
cousin- with which grief
It is supposed the fair creature
And here is come to do some villanous shame
dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallowed toil,
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.
go with me; for thou must die.
Rom. I must indeed; and
therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a
Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
not another sin upon my head
By urging me to fury. O, be
By heaven, I love thee better than myself,
come hither arm'd against myself.
Stay not, be gone. Live,
and hereafter say
A madman's mercy bid thee run away.
I do defy thy, conjuration
And apprehend thee for a felon
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the
[Exit. Paris falls.]
Par. O, I am slain! If thou be
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.]
In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.
kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man when my
Did not attend him as we rode? I think
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
think it was so? O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in
sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant
A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth,
here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting
presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man
[Lays him in the tomb.]
How oft when men are at
the point of death
Have they been merry! which their keepers
A lightning before death. O, how may I
Call this a
lightning? O my love! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the
honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy
Thou art not conquer'd. Beauty's ensign yet
crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag
is not advanced there.
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody
O, what more favour can I do to thee
Than with that
hand that cut thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine
Forgive me, cousin.' Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou
yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial Death is
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that I still
will stay with thee
And never from this palace of dim
Depart again. Here, here will I remain
that are thy chambermaids. O, here
Will I set up my
And shake the yoke of inauspicious
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct; come,
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark!
Here's to my love!
[Drinks.] O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a
kiss I die. Falls.
Enter Friar [Laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade.
Friar. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there?
Bal. Here's one, a
friend, and one that knows you well.
Friar. Bliss be upon
you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond that vainly
lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,
burneth in the Capels' monument.
Bal. It doth so, holy sir;
and there's my master,
One that you love.
Friar. Who is
Friar. How long hath he been there?
Full half an hour.
Friar. Go with me to the vault.
dare not, sir.
My master knows not but I am gone hence,
fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on
Friar. Stay then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon
O, much I fear some ill unthrifty thing.
Bal. As I did
sleep under this yew tree here,
I dreamt my master and
And that my master slew him.
Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains
stony entrance of this sepulchre?
What mean these masterless
and gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?
[Enters the tomb.]
Romeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris
And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour
guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs.
Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord?
remember well where I should be,
And there I am. Where is my
Friar. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest
death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.
A greater power than
we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.
Jul. Go, get thee
hence, for I will not away.
What's here? A
cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been
his timeless end.
O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.
poison yet doth hang on them
To make me die with a
restorative. [Kisses him.]
Thy lips are warm!
[within] Lead, boy. Which way?
Yea, noise? Then I'll be
brief. O happy dagger!
[Snatches Romeo's dagger.]
thy sheath; there rest, and let me die.
She stabs herself and
falls [on Romeo's body].
Enter [Paris's] Boy and Watch.
Boy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth
Chief Watch. 'the ground is bloody. Search about the
Go, some of you; whoe'er you find attach.
some of the Watch.]
Pitiful sight! here lies the County
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
hath lain this two days buried.
Go, tell the Prince; run to
Raise up the Montagues; some others
[Exeunt others of the Watch.]
We see the ground
whereon these woes do lie,
But the true ground of all these
We cannot without circumstance descry.
Enter [some of the Watch,] with Romeo's Man [Balthasar].
2. Watch. Here's Romeo's man. We found him in the
Chief Watch. Hold him in safety till the Prince
Enter Friar [Laurence] and another Watchman.
3. Watch. Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.
took this mattock and this spade from him
As he was coming
from this churchyard side.
Chief Watch. A great suspicion!
Stay the friar too.
Enter the Prince [and Attendants].
Prince. What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our
person from our morning rest?
Enter Capulet and his Wife [with others].
Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
The people in the street cry 'Romeo,'
Some 'Juliet,' and some
'Paris'; and all run,
With open outcry, toward our
Prince. What fear is this which startles in our
Chief Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris
And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before,
Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul
Chief Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd
With instruments upon them fit to open
dead men's tombs.
Cap. O heavens! O wife, look how our
This dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his
Is empty on the back of Montague,
And it missheathed
in my daughter's bosom!
Wife. O me! this sight of death is as
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
Enter Montague [and others].
Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up
To see thy
son and heir more early down.
Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is
Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her
What further woe conspires against mine age?
Look, and thou shalt see.
Mon. O thou untaught! what manners
is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave?
Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear
And know their spring, their head, their
And then will I be general of your woes
lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,
And let mischance
be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties of
Friar. I am the greatest, able to do least,
most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me,
of this direful murther;
And here I stand, both to impeach
Myself condemned and myself excus'd.
Then say it once what thou dost know in this.
Friar. I will
be brief, for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife.
married them; and their stol'n marriage day
doomsday, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-made
bridegroom from this city;
For whom, and not for Tybalt,
You, to remove that siege of grief from
Betroth'd and would have married her perforce
County Paris. Then comes she to me
And with wild looks bid me
devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage,
in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her (so
tutored by my art)
A sleeping potion; which so took effect
I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death. Meantime
I writ to Romeo
That he should hither come as this dire
To help to take her from her borrowed grave,
the time the potion's force should cease.
But he which bore
my letter, Friar John,
Was stay'd by accident, and
Return'd my letter back. Then all alone
prefixed hour of her waking
Came I to take her from her
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell
I conveniently could send to Romeo.
But when I came, some
minute ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely lay
noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
She wakes; and I entreated
her come forth
And bear this work of heaven with
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb,
she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But, as it seems,
did violence on herself.
All this I know, and to the
Her nurse is privy; and if aught in this
by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, some hour before
Unto the rigour of severest law.
still have known thee for a holy man.
Where's Romeo's man?
What can he say in this?
Bal. I brought my master news of
And then in post he came from Mantua
this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early
bid me give his father,
And threat'ned me with death, going
in the vault,
If I departed not and left him there.
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
Boy. He came with flowers to strew his lady's
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did.
one with light to ope the tomb;
And by-and-by my master drew
And then I ran away to call the watch.
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
to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.
Where be these
enemies? Capulet, Montage,
See what a scourge is laid upon
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with
And I, for winking at you, discords too,
Have lost a
brace of kinsmen. All are punish'd.
Cap. O brother Montague,
give me thy hand.
This is my daughter's jointure, for no
Can I demand.
Mon. But I can give thee more;
will raise her Statue in pure gold,
That whiles Verona by
that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be
As that of true and faithful Juliet.
Cap. As rich
shall Romeo's by his lady's lie-
Poor sacrifices of our
Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it
The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be
pardon'd, and some punished;
For never was a story of more
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.