The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] [Vol. 7 of 9]

Fr: Romeo arise, stand vp thou wilt be taken,
I heare one knocke, arise and get thee gone.

Nu: Hoe Fryer. 70

Fr: Gods will what wilfulnes is this?

Shee knockes againe.

Nur: Hoe Fryer open the doore,

Fr: By and by I come. Who is there?

Nur: One from Lady Iuliet.

Fr: Then come neare. 75

Nur: Oh holy Fryer, tell mee oh holy Fryer,
Where is my Ladies Lord? Wher's Romeo?

Fr: There on the ground, with his owne teares made
drunke.

Nur: Oh he is euen in my Mistresse case. 80
Iust in her case. Oh wofull simpathy,
Pitteous predicament, euen so lyes shee,
Weeping and blubbring, blubbring and weeping:
Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man.
For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand, 85
Why should you fall into so deep an O.

He rises.

Romeo: Nurse.

Nur: Ah sir, ah sir. Wel death's the end of all.

Rom: Spakest thou of Iuliet, how is it with her?
Doth she not thinke me an olde murderer, 90
Now I haue stainde the childhood of her ioy,
With bloud remou'd but little from her owne?
Where is she? and how doth she? And what sayes
My conceal'd Lady to our canceld loue?

Nur: Oh she saith nothing, but weepes and pules, 95
And now fals on her bed, now on the ground,
And Tybalt cryes, and then on Romeo calles.

Rom: As if that name shot from the deadly leuel of a gun
Did murder her, as that names cursed hand
Murderd her kinsman. Ah tell me holy Fryer 100
In what vile part of this Anatomy
Doth my name lye? Tell me that I may sacke
The hatefull mansion?

He offers to stab himselfe, and Nurse snatches the dagger away.

Nur: Ah?

Fr: Hold, stay thy hand: art thou a man? thy forme 105
Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote
The vnresonable furyes of a beast.
Vnseemely woman in a seeming man,
Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both.
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, 110
I thought thy disposition better temperd,
Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe?
And slay thy Lady too, that liues in thee?
Rouse vp thy spirits, thy Lady Iuliet liues,
For whose sweet sake thou wert but lately dead: 115
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou sluest Tybalt, there art thou happy too.
A packe of blessings lights vpon thy backe,
Happines Courts thee in his best array:
But like a misbehaude and sullen wench 120
Thou frownst vpon thy Fate that smilles on thee.
Take heede, take heede, for such dye miserable.
Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed:
Ascend her Chamber Window, hence and comfort her,
But looke thou stay not till the watch be set: 125
For then thou canst not passe to Mantua.
Nurse prouide all things in a readines,
Comfort thy Mistresse, haste the house to bed,
Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto.

Nur: Good Lord what a thing learning is. 130
I could haue stayde heere all this night
To heare good counsell. Well Sir,
Ile tell my Lady that you will come.

Rom: Doe so and bidde my sweet prepare to childe,
Farwell good Nurse. 135

Nurse offers to goe in and turnes againe.

Nur: Heere is a Ring Sir, that she bad me giue you,

Rom: How well my comfort is reuiud by this.

Exit Nurse.

Fr: Soiorne in Mantua, Ile finde out your man,
And he shall signifie from time to time:
Euery good hap that doth befall thee heere. 140
Farwell.

Rom: But that a ioy, past ioy cryes out on me,
It were a griefe so breefe to part with thee.

[Sc. XIV.]

Enter olde Capolet and his Wife, with County Paris.

Cap: Thinges haue fallen out Sir so vnluckⁱly,
That we haue had no time to moue my daughter.
Looke yee Sir, she lou'd her kinsman dearely,
And so did I. Well, we were borne to dye,
Wife wher's your daughter, is she in her chamber? 5
I thinke she meanes not to come downe to night.

Par: These times of woe affoord no time to wooe,
Maddam farwell, commend me to your daughter.

Paris offers to goe in, and Capolet calles him againe.

Cap: Sir Paris? Ile make a desperate tender of my child.
I thinke she will be rulde in all respectes by mee: 10
But soft what day is this?

Par: Munday my Lord.

Cap: Oh then Wensday is too soone,
On Thursday let it be: you shall be maried.
Wee'le make no great a doe, a frend or two, or so: 15
For looke ye Sir, Tybalt being slaine so lately,
It will be thought we held him care leslye:
If we should reuell much, therefore we will haue
Some halfe a dozen frends and make no more adoe.
But what say you to Thursday. 20

Par: My Lorde I wishe that Thursday were to morrow.

Cap: Wife goe you to your daughter, ere you goe to bed.
Acquaint her with the County Paris loue,
Fare well my Lord till Thursday next.
Wife gette you to your daughter. Light to my Chamber. 25
Afore me it is so very very late,
That we may call it earely by and by.

Exeunt.

[Sc. XV.]

Enter Romeo and Iuliet at the window.

Iul: Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet nere day,
It was the Nightingale and not the Larke
That pierst the fearfull hollow of thine eare:
Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree,
Beleeue me loue, it was the Nightingale. 5

Rom: It was the Larke, the Herald of the Morne,
And not the Nightingale. See Loue what enuious strakes
Doo lace the seuering clowdes in yonder East.
Nights candles are burnt out, and iocond Day
Stands tiptoes on the mystie mountaine tops. 10
I must be gone and liue, or stay and dye.

Jul: Yon light is not day light, I know it I:
It is some Meteor that the Sunne exhales,
To be this night to thee a Torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua. 15
Then stay awhile, thou shalt not goe soone.

Rom: Let me stay here, let me be tane, and dye:
If thou wilt haue it so, I am content.
Ile say yon gray is not the Mornings Eye,
It is the pale reflex of Cynthias brow. 20
Ile say it is the Nightingale that beates
The vaultic heauen so high aboue our heads,
And not the Larke the Messenger of Morne.
Come death and welcome, Iuliet wils it so.
What sayes my Loue? lets talke, tis not yet day. 25

Jul: It is, it is, begone, flye hence away.
It is the Larke that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh Discords and vnpleasing Sharpes.
Some say, the Larke makes sweete Diuision:
This doth not so: for this diuideth vs. 30
Some say the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes,
I would that now they had changd voyces too:
Since arme from arme her voyce doth vs affray,
Hunting thee hence with Huntsvp to the day.
So now be gone, more light and light it growes. 35

Rom: More light and light, more darke and darke our woes.
Farewell my Loue, one kisse and Ile descend.

He goeth downe.

Jul: Art thou gone so, my Lord, my Loue, my Frend?
I must heare from thee euerie day in the hower:
For in an hower there are manie minutes, 40
Minutes are dayes, so will I number them:
Oh, by this count I shall be much in yeares,
Ere I see thee againe.

Rom: Farewell, I will omit no opportunitie
That may conueigh my greetings loue to thee.

Iul: Oh, thinkst thou we shall euer meete againe.

Rom: No doubt, no doubt, and all this woe shall serue
For sweete discourses in the time to come.

Jul: Oh God, I have an ill diuining soule.
Me thinkes I see thee now thou art below 50
Like one dead in the bottome of a Tombe:
Either mine ey-sight failes, or thou lookst pale.

Rom: And trust me Loue, in my eye so doo you,
Drie sorrow drinkes our blood: adieu, adieu. Exit.

Enter Nurse hastely.

Nur: Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, 55
Your Mother's comming to your Chamber, make all sure.

She goeth downe from the window.

Enter Iuliets Mother, Nurse.

Moth: Where are you Daughter?

Nur: What Ladie, Lambe, what Iuliet?

Iul: How now, who calls?

Nur: It is your Mother. 60

Moth: Why how now Juliet?

Iul: Madam, I am not well.

Moth: What euermore weeping for your Cosens death:
I thinke thoult wash him from his graue with teares.

Iul: I cannot chuse, hauing so great a losse. 65

Moth: I cannot blame thee.
But it greeues thee more that Villaine liues.

Iul: What Villaine Madame?

Moth: That Villaine Romeo.

Iul: Villaine and he are manie miles a sunder. 70

Moth: Content thee Girle, if I could finde a man
I soone would send to Mantua where he is,
That should bestow on him so sure a draught,
As he should soone beare Tybalt companie.

Iul: Finde you the meanes, and Ile finde such a man: 75
For whilest he liues, my heart shall nere be light
Till I behold him, dead is my poore heart.
Thus for a Kinsman vext?

Moth: Well let that passe. I come to bring thee ioyfull newes?

Iul: And ioy comes well in such a needfull time. 80

Moth: Well then, thou hast a carefull Father Girle,
And one who pittying thy needfull state,
Hath found thee out a happie day of ioy.

Iul: What day is that I pray you?

Moth: Marry my Childe, 85
The gallant, yong and youthfull Gentleman,
The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church,
Early next Thursday morning must prouide,
To make you there a glad and ioyfull Bride.

Iul: Now by Saint Peters Church and Peter too, 90
He shall not there make mee a ioyfull Bride.
Are these the newes you had to tell me of?
Marrie here are newes indeed. Madame I will not marrie yet.
And when I doo, it shalbe rather Romeo whom I hate,
Than Countie Paris that I cannot loue. 95

Enter olde Capolet.

Moth: Here comes your Father, you may tell him so.

Capo: Why how now, euermore showring?
In one little bodie thou resemblest a sea, a barke, a storme:
For this thy bodie which I tearme a barke,
Still floating in thy euerfalling teares, 100
And tost with sighes arising from thy hart:
Will without succour shipwracke presently.
But heare you Wife, what haue you sounded her, what saies she to it?

Moth: I haue, but she will none she thankes ye:
Would God that she were married to her graue. 105

Capo: What will she not, doth she not thanke vs, doth
she not wexe proud?

Iul: Not proud ye haue, but thankfull that ye haue:
Proud can I neuer be of that I hate,
But thankfull euen for hate that is ment loue. 110

Capo: Proud and I thanke you, and I thanke you not,
And yet not proud. Whats here, chop logicke.
Proud me no prouds, nor thanke me no thankes,
But fettle your fine ioynts on Thursday next
To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church, 115
Or I will drag you on a hurdle thether.
Out you greene sicknes baggage, out you tallow face.

Iu: Good father heare me speake?

She kneeles downe.

Cap: I tell thee what, eyther resolue on thursday next
To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church: 120
Or henceforth neuer looke me in the face.
Speake not, reply not, for my fingers ytch.
Why wife, we thought that we were scarcely blest
That God had sent vs but this onely chyld:
But now I see this one is one too much, 125
And that we haue a crosse in hauing her.

Nur: Mary God in heauen blesse her my Lord,
You are too blame to rate her so.

Cap. And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tung,
Good prudence smatter with your gossips, goe. 130

Nur: Why my Lord I speake no treason.

Cap: Oh goddegodden.
Vtter your grauity ouer a gossips boule,
For heere wee need it not.

Mo: My lord ye are too hotte. 135

Cap: Gods blessed mother wife it mads me,
Day, night, early, late, at home, abroad,
Alone, in company, waking or sleeping,
Still my care hath beene to see her matcht.
And hauing now found out a Gentleman, 140
Of Princely parentage, youthfull, and nobly trainde.
Stuft as they say with honorable parts,
Proportioned as ones heart coulde wish a man:
And then to haue a wretched whyning foole,
A puling mammet in her fortunes tender, 145
To say I cannot loue, I am too young, I pray you pardon mee?
But if you cannot wedde Ile pardon you.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.
Looke to it, thinke out, I doe not vse to iest.
I tell yee what, Thursday is neere, 150
Lay hand on heart, aduise, bethinke your selfe,
If you be mine, Ile giue you to my frend:
If not, hang, drowne, starue, beg,
Dye in the streetes: for by my Soule
Ile neuer more acknowledge thee, 155
Nor what I haue shall euer doe thee good,
Thinke ont, looke toot, I doe not vse to iest. Exit.

Iul: Is there no pitty hanging in the cloudes,
That lookes into the bottom of my woes?
I doe beseech you Madame, cast me not away, 160
Defer this mariage for a day or two,
Or if you cannot, make my mariage bed
In that dimme monument where Tybalt lyes.

Moth: Nay be assured I will not speake a word.
Do what thou wilt for I haue done with thee. Exit. 165

Iul: Ah Nurse what comfort? what counsell canst thou giue me.

Nur: Now trust me Madame, I know not what to say:
Your Romeo he is banisht, and all the world to nothing
He neuer dares returne to challendge you.
Now I thinke good you marry with this County,
Oh he is a gallant Gentleman, Romeo is but a dishclout
In respect of him. I promise you
I thinke you happy in this second match.
As for your husband he is dead:
Or twere as good he were, for you haue no vse of him. 175

Iul: Speakst thou this from thy heart?

Nur: I and from my soule, or els beshrew them both.

Iul: Amen.

Nur: What say you Madame?

Iul: Well, thou hast comforted me wondrous much, 180
I pray thee goe thy waies vnto my mother
Tell her I am gone hauing displeasde my Father.
To Fryer Laurence Cell to confesse me,
And to be absolu'd.

Nur: I will, and this is wisely done. 185

She lookes after Nurse.

Iul: Auncient damnation, O most cursed fiend.
Is it more sinne to wish me thus forsworne,
Or to dispraise him with the selfe same tongue
That thou hast praisde him with aboue compare
So many thousand times? Goe Counsellor, 190
Thou and my bosom henceforth shalbe twaine.
Ile to the Fryer to know his remedy,
If all faile els, I haue the power to dye.

Exit.

[Sc. XVI.]

Enter Fryer and Paris.

Fr: On Thursday say ye: the time is very short,

Par: My Father Capolet will haue it so,
And I am nothing slacke to slow his hast.

Fr: You say you doe not know the Ladies minde?
Vneuen is the course, I like it not. 5

Par: Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death,
And therefore haue I little talkt of loue.
For Venus smiles not in a house of teares,
Now Sir, her father thinkes it daungerous:
That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway. 10
And in his wisedome hasts our mariage,
To stop the inundation of her teares.
Which too much minded by her selfe alone
May be put from her by societie.
Now doe ye know the reason of this hast. 15

Fr: I would I knew not why it should be slowd.

Enter Paris.

Heere comes the lady to my cell,

Par: Welcome my loue, my Lady and my wife:

Iu: That may be sir, when I may be a wife,

Par: That may be, must be loue, on thursday next. 20

Iu: What must be shalbe.

Fr: Thats a certaine text.

Par: What come ye to confession to this Fryer.

Iu: To tell you that were to confesse to you.

Par: Do not deny to him that you loue me. 25

Iul: I will confesse to you that I loue him,

Par: So I am sure you will that you loue me.

Iu: And if I doe, it wilbe of more price,
Being spoke behinde your backe, than to your face.

Par: Poore soule that face is much abus'd with teares. 30

Iu: The teares haue got small victory by that,
For it was bad enough before their spite.

Par: Thou wrongst it more than teares by that report.

Iu: That is no wrong sir, that is a truth:
And what I spake I spake it to my face. 35

Par: Thy face is mine and thou hast slaundred it.

Iu: It may be so, for it is not mine owne.
Are you at leasure holy Father now:
Or shall I come to you at euening Masse?

Fr: My leasure serues me pensive daughter now. 40
My Lord we must entreate the time alone.

Par: God sheild I should disturbe deuotion,
Iuliet farwell, and keep this holy kisse.

Exit Paris.

Iu: Goe shut the doore and when thou hast done so,
Come weepe with me that am past cure, past help, 45

Fr: Ah Iuliet I already know thy griefe,
I heare thou must and nothing may proroge it,
On Thursday next be married to the Countie.

Iul: Tell me not Frier that thou hearst of it,
Vnlesse thou tell me how we may preuent it. 50
Giue me some sudden counsell: els behold
Twixt my extreames and me, this bloodie Knife
Shall play the Vmpeere, arbitrating that
Which the Commission of thy yeares and arte
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 55
Speake not, be briefe: for I desire to die,
If what thou speakst, speake not of remedie.

Fr: Stay Juliet, I doo spie a kinde of hope,
Which craues as desperate an execution,
As that is desperate we would preuent.
If rather than to marrie Countie Paris
Thou hast the strength or will to slay thy selfe,
Tis not vnlike that thou wilt vndertake
A thing like death to chyde away this shame,
Thou coapst with death it selfe to flye from blame. 65
And if thou doost, Ile giue thee remedie.

Jul: Oh bid me leape (rather than marrie Paris)
From off the battlements of yonder tower:
Or chaine me to some steepie mountaines top,
Where roaring Beares and sauage Lions are: 70
Or shut me nightly in a Charnell-house,
With reekie shankes, and yeolow chaples sculls:
Or lay me in tombe with one new dead:
Things that to heare them namde haue made me tremble;
And I will doo it without feare or doubt, 75
To keep my selfe a faithfull vnstaind Wife
To my deere Lord, my deerest Romeo.

Fr: Hold Iuliet, hie thee home, get thee to bed,
Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy Chamber:
And when thou art alone, take thou this Violl, 80
And this distilled Liquor drinke thou off:
When presently through all thy veynes shall run
A dull and heauie slumber, which shall seaze
Each vitall spirit: for no Pulse shall keepe
His naturall progresse, but surcease to beate: 85
No signe of breath shall testifie thou liust.
And in this borrowed likenes of shrunke death,
Thou shall remaine full two and fortie houres.
And when thou art laid in thy Kindreds Vault,
Ile send in hast to Mantua to thy Lord, 90
And he shall come and take thee from thy graue.

Iul: Frier I goe, be sure thou send for my deare Romeo.

Exeunt.

[Sc. XVII.]

Enter olde Capolet, his Wife, Nurse, and Seruingman.

Capo: Where are you sirra?

Ser: Heere forsooth.

Capo: Goe, prouide me twentie cunning Cookes.

Ser: I warrant you Sir, let me alone for that. Ile knowe
them by licking their fingers. 5

Capo: How canst thou know them so?

Ser: Ah sir, tis an ill Cooke cannot licke his owne fingers.

Capo: Well get you gone.

Exit Seruingman.

But wheres this Head-strong?

Moth: Shees gone (my Lord) to Frier Laurence Cell
To be confest.

Capo: Ah, he may hap to doo some good of her,
A headstrong selfewild harlotrie it is.

Enter Iuliet.

Moth: See here she commeth from Confession, 15

Capo: How now my Head-strong, where haue you bin
gadding?

Iul: Where I haue learned to repent the sin
Of froward wilfull opposition
Gainst you and your behests, and am enioynd 20
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
And craue remission of so foule a fact.

She kneeles downe.

Moth: Why thats well said.

Capo: Now before God this holy reuerent Frier
All our whole Citie is much bound vnto. 25
Goe tell the Countie presently of this,
For I will haue this knot knit vp to morrow.

Jul: Nurse, will you go with me to my Closet,
To sort such things as shall be requisite
Against to morrrow, 30

Moth: I pree thee doo, good Nurse goe in with her,
Helpe her to sort Tyres, Rebatoes, Chaines,
And I will come vnto you presently,

Nur: Come sweet hart, shall we goe:

Iul: I pree thee let vs. 35

Exeunt Nurse and Iuliet.

Moth: Me thinks on Thursday would be time enough.

Capo: I say I will haue this dispatcht to morrow,
Goe one and certefie the Count thereof.

Moth: I pray my Lord, let it be Thursday.

Capo: I say to morrow while shees in the mood. 40

Moth: We shall be short in our prouision.

Capo: Let me alone for that, goe get you in,
Now before God my heart is passing light,
To see her thus conformed to our will. Exeunt.

[Sc. XVIII.]

Enter Nurse, Iuliet.

Nur: Come, come, what need you anie thing else?

Iul: Nothing good Nurse, but leaue me to my selfe:
For I doo meane to lye alone to night.

Nur: Well theres a cleane smocke vnder your pillow,
and so good night. Exit.

Enter Mother.

Moth: What are you busie, doo you need my helpe?

Iul: No Madame, I desire to lye alone,
For I haue manie things to thinke vpon.

Moth: Well then good night, be stirring Iuliet,
The Countie will be earlie here to morrow. Exit. 10

Iul: Farewell, God knowes when wee shall meete againe.
Ah, I doo take a fearfull thing in hand.
What if this Potion should not worke at all.
Must I of force be married to the Countie?
This shall forbid it. Knife, lye thou there. 15
What if the Frier should giue me this drinke
To poyson mee, for feare I should disclose
Our former marriage? Ah, I wrong him much,
He is a holy and religious Man:
I will not entertaine so bad a thought. 20
What if I should be stifled in the Toomb?
Awake an houre before the appointed time:
Ah then I feare I shall be lunaticke,
And playing with my dead forefathers bones,
Dash out my franticke braines. Me thinkes I see 25
My Cosin Tybalt weltring in his bloud,
Seeking for Romeo: stay Tybalt stay.
Romeo I come, this doe I drinke to thee.

She fals vpon her bed within the Curtaines.

[Sc. XIX.]

Enter Nurse with hearbs, Mother.

Moth: Thats well said Nurse, set all in redines,
The Countie will be heere immediatly.

Enter Oldeman.

Cap: Make hast, make hast, for it is almost day,
The Curfewe bell hath rung, t'is foure a clocke,
Looke to your bakt meates good Angelica.

Nur: Goe get you to bed you cotqueane. I faith you
will be sicke anone.

Cap: I warrant thee Nurse I haue ere now watcht all
night, and haue taken no harme at all.

Moth: I you haue beene a mouse hunt in your time. 10

Enter Seruingman with Logs & Coales.