Capulet. So many guests invite as here are writ.— [Exit Servant.
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
2 Servant. You shall have none ill, sir, for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.
Capulet. How canst thou try them so?
2 Servant. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.
Capulet. Go, be gone.— [Exit Servant.
10
We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?
Nurse. Ay, forsooth.
Capulet. Well, he 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.
Enter Juliet
Capulet. How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding?
Juliet. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
20
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here
And beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.
Capulet. Send for the county; go tell him of this.
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
Juliet. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell,
And gave him what becomed love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
Capulet. Why, I am glad on 't; this is well,—stand up.
This is as 't should be.—Let me see the county;
30
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.—
Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar,
All our whole city is much bound to him.
Juliet. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?
Lady Capulet. No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.
Capulet. Go, nurse, go with her; we'll to church to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.
Lady Capulet. We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.
Capulet. Tush, I will stir about,
40
And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife.
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.
I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone,
I'll play the housewife for this once.—What, ho!—
They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself
To County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morrow. My heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exeunt.
Scene III.
Juliet's Chamber
Enter Juliet and Nurse
Juliet. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night,
For I have need of many orisons
To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin.
Lady Capulet. What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?
Juliet. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow.
So please you, let me now be left alone,
10
And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all
In this so sudden business.
Lady Capulet. Good night;
Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need. [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.
Juliet. 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 me.—
Nurse!—What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.—
20
Come, vial.—
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd
I fear it is; and yet, methinks, it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man.
30
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,—
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
40
Where for these many hundred years the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;—
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals hearing them run mad;—
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
50
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?—
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point.—Stay, Tybalt, stay!—
Scene IV.
Hall in Capulet's House
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse
Lady Capulet. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
Enter Capulet
Capulet. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd,
The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.—
Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica;
Spare not for cost.
Nurse.Go, you cot-quean, go,
Get you to bed; faith, you'll be sick to-morrow
For this night's watching.
Capulet. No, not a whit. What! I have watch' ere now
10
All night for lesser cause and ne'er been sick.
Lady Capulet. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time,
But I will watch you from such watching now. [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.
Capulet. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!—
Now, fellow,
What's there?
1 Servant. Things for the cook, sir, but I know not what.
Capulet. Make haste, make haste.—[Exit Servant.]
Sirrah, fetch drier logs;
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.
2 Servant. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,
And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.
Capulet. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
21
Thou shalt be logger-head.—Good faith, 'tis day;
The county will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would. I hear him near.— [Music within.
Nurse!—Wife!—What, ho!—What, nurse, I say!
Re-enter Nurse
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 already;
Make haste, I say. [Exeunt.
Scene V.
Juliet's Chamber
Enter Nurse
Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.—
Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride!
What, not a word?—How sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her.—Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith.—Will it not be? [Undraws the curtains.
What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady!—
10
Alas, alas!—Help, help! my lady's dead!—
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!—
Some aqua vitæ, ho!—My lord! my lady!
Enter Lady Capulet
Lady Capulet. What noise is here?
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet. What is the matter?
Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day!
Lady Capulet. O me, O me! My child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!—
Help, help! Call help.
Enter Capulet
Capulet. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the day!
Capulet. Ha! let me see her. Out, alas! she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet.O woful time!
Capulet. 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 Paris with Musicians
Friar Laurence. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
30
Capulet. Ready to go, but never to return.—
O son! the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die,
And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.
Paris. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Lady Capulet. Accurst, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
40
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight!
Nurse. O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day, most woful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this!
50
O woful day, O woful day!
Paris. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
O love! O life! not life, but love in death!
Capulet. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now
To murther, murther our solemnity?—
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
60
And with my child my joys are buried.
Friar Laurence. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid.
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion,
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanc'd;
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd
70
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love you love your child so ill
That you run mad seeing that she is well;
She's not well married that lives married long,
But she's best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse, and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church;
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
80
Capulet. All things that we ordained festival
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Friar Laurence. Sir, go you in,—and, madam, go with him;—
And go, Sir Paris;—every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
90
The heavens do lower upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.
1 Musician. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.
Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up;
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit.
1 Musician. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Peter. Musicians, O musicians, 'Heart's ease,
Heart's ease'; O, an you will have me live, play
'Heart's ease.'
1 Musician. Why 'Heart's ease'?
100
Peter. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays
'My heart is full of woe.' O, play me some merry
dump, to comfort me.
1 Musician. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to
play now.
Peter. You will not, then?
1 Musician. No.
Peter. I will then give it you soundly.
1 Musician. What will you give us?
1 Musician. Then will I give you the
serving-creature.
Peter. Then will I lay the serving-creature's
dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets; I'll
re you, I'll fa you; do you note me?
1 Musician. An you re us and fa us, you note
us.
2 Musician. Pray you, put up your dagger, and
put out your wit.
120
Peter. Then have at you with my wit! I will
drybeat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron
dagger. Answer me like men:
'When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound'—
why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver
sound'?—What say you, Simon Catling?
1 Musician. Marry, sir, because silver hath a
sweet sound.
130
Peter. Pretty!—What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
2 Musician. I say 'silver sound,' because musicians
sound for silver.
Peter. Pretty too!—What say you, James Soundpost?
3 Musician. Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter. O, I cry you mercy, you are the singer; I
will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,'
because musicians have no gold for sounding.
'Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.' [Exit.
141
1 Musician. What a pestilent knave is this same!
2 Musician. Hang him, Jack!—Come, we'll in
here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.
Tomb of the Scaligers, Verona
ACT V
Scene I.
Mantua. A Street
Enter Romeo
Romeo. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,
And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead—
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!—
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips
That I reviv'd and was an emperor.
10
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!—
Enter Balthasar
News from Verona!—How now, Balthasar!
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet? that I ask again,
For nothing can be ill if she be well.
Balthasar. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument
And her immortal part with angels lives.
20
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault
And presently took post to tell it you.
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Romeo. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!—
Thou know'st my lodging; get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.
Romeo.Tush, thou art deceiv'd;
30
Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Romeo. No matter; get thee gone
And hire those horses. I'll be with thee straight.— [Exit Balthasar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means.—O mischief, thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,—
And hereabouts he dwells,—which late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
40
Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said,
50
An if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
O, this same thought did but forerun my need,
And this same needy man must sell it me!
As I remember, this should be the house.
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.—
What, ho! apothecary!
Apothecary.Who calls so loud?
Romeo. Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor.
Hold, there is forty ducats; let me have
60
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker may fall dead,
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath
As violently as hasty powder fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
Apothecary. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.
Romeo. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
70
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back,
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it and take this.
Apothecary. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Romeo. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Apothecary. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.
80
Romeo. There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murthers in this loathsome world
Than 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
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt.
Scene II.
Friar Laurence's Cell
Enter Friar John
Friar John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!
Enter Friar Laurence
Friar Laurence. This same should be the voice of Friar John.—
Welcome from Mantua; what says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.
Friar John. Going to find a barefoot brother out,
One of our order, to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick,
And finding him, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
10
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors and would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
Friar Laurence. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
Friar John. I could not send it,—here it is again,—
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.
Friar Laurence. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge
Of dear import, and the neglecting it
20
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow and bring it straight
Unto my cell.
Friar John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit.
Friar Laurence. Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake.
She will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents;
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come.
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit.
Scene III.
A Churchyard; in it a Tomb belonging to the Capulets
Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch