Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)

Author: William Shakespeare

Editor: Roger Apfelbaum

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THE

MOST EX

ellent and lamentable

Tragedie, of Romeo

and Iuliet

Newly corrected, augmented, and

amended:

As it hath bene sundry times publiquely acted, by the

right Honourable the Lord Chamberlaine

his Seruants

LONDON

Printed by Thomas Creede, for Cuthbert Burby, and are to

be sold at his shop neare the Exchange

1599

0.1

The Prologue.

Corus.

¶Two housholds both alike in dignitie,

¶(In faire Verona where we lay our Scene)

.5From auncient grudge, breake to new mutinie,

¶Where ciuill bloud makes ciuill hands vncleane:

¶From forth the fatall loynes of these two foes,

¶A paire of starre-crost louers, take their life:

.10Whose misaduentur'd pittious ouerthrowes,

¶Doth with their death burie their Parents strife.

¶The fearfull passage of their death-markt loue,

¶And the continuance of their Parents rage:

¶Which but their childrens end nought could remoue:

.15Is now the two houres trafficque of our Stage.

¶The which if you with patient eares attend,

¶What heare shall misse, our toyle shall striue to mend.

THE MOST EX-

cellent and lamentable

.20

Tragedie, of Romeo and Iuliet.

Enter Sampson and Gregorie, with Swords and Bucklers, of the

¶_house of Capulet.

¶Samp. Gregorie, on my word weele not carrie Coles.

¶Greg. No, for then we should beCollyers.

¶Samp. I meane, and we be in choller, weele draw.

¶Greg. I while you liue, draw your necke out of choller.

10Samp. I strike quickly being moued.

¶Greg. But thou art not quickly moued to strike.

¶Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague moues me.

¶Grego. To moue is to stirre, and to be valiant, is to stand:

¶Therefore if thou art moued thou runst away.

15Samp. A dog of that houseshall moue me to stand:

¶I will take the wall of any man or maide of Mounta-

16.1gues.

¶ Grego. That shewes thee a weake slaue, for the weakest goes

¶to the wall.

¶ Samp. Tis true, & therfore women being the weaker vessels

20are euer thrust to the wall: therfore I wil push Mountagues men

¶from the wall, and thrust his maides to the wall.

¶ Greg. The quarell is betweene our maisters, and vs their

23.1men.

¶ Samp. Tis all one, I will shew my selfe a tyrant, when I haue

25fought with the men, I will be ciuil with the maides, I will cut

¶off their heads.

¶Grego. The heads of the maids.

¶ Samp. I the heads of the maides, or their maiden heads, take it

¶in what sense thou wilt.

30Greg. They must take it sense that feele it.

¶ Samp. Me they shall feele while I am able to stand, and tis

¶knowne I am a pretie peece of flesh.

¶ Greg. Tis well thou art not fish, if thou hadst, thou hadst bin

¶poore Iohn: draw thy toole, here comes of the house of Moun-

35tagues.

Enter two other seruing men.

¶ Samp. My naked weapon is out, quarell, I will back thee.

¶ Greg. How, turne thy backe and runne?

¶ Samp. Feare me not.

40 Greg. No marrie, I feare thee.

¶ Sam. Let vs take the law of our sides, let them begin.

¶ Gre. I will frown as I passe by, and let them take it as they list.

¶Samp. Nay as they dare, I wil bite my thumb at them, which

¶is disgrace to them if they beare it.

45Abram. Do you bite your thumbe at vs sir?

¶Samp. I do bite my thumbe sir.

¶Abra. Do you bite your thumb at vs sir?

¶Samp. Is the law of our side if I say I?

48.1 Greg. No.

¶ Samp. No sir, I do not bite my thumbe at you sir, but I bite

50my thumbe sir.

¶Greg. Do you quarell sir?

¶Abra. Quarell sir, no sir.

¶ Sā. But if you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a mā as_you.

¶Abra. No better.

55Samp. Well sir._Enter Benuolio.

¶Greg. Say better, here comes one of my maisters kinsmen.

¶Sam. Yes better sir.

¶Abra. You lie.

¶ Samp. Draw if you be men, Gregorie, remember thy washing

60blowe._

They fight.

¶ Benuo. Part fooles, put vp your swords, you know not what

¶you do.

Enter Tibalt.

¶ Tibalt. What art thou drawne among these hartlesse hindes?

65turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death.

¶Benuo. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy sword,

¶or manage it to part these men with me.

¶Tib. What drawne and talke of peace? I hate the word,

¶as I hate hell, all Mountagues and thee:

70Haue at thee coward.

Enter three of foure Citizens with Clubs or partysons.

¶Offi. Clubs, Bils and Partisons, strike, beate them downe,

¶Downe with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues.

Enter old Capulet in his gowne, and his wife.

75Capu. What noyse is this? giue me my long sword hoe.

¶Wife. A crowch, a crowch, why call you for a sword?

¶Cap. My sword I say, old Mountague is come,

¶And florishes his blade in spight of me.

Enter old Mountague and his wife.

80Mount. Thou villaine Capulet, hold me not, let me go.

¶M. Wife. 2. Thou shalt not stir one foote to seeke a foe.

Enter Prince Eskales, with his traine.

¶Prince. Rebellious subiects enemies to peace,

¶Prophaners of this neighbour-stayned steele,

85Will they not heare? what ho, you men, you beasts:

¶That quench the fire of your pernicious rage,

¶With purple fountaines issuing from your veines:

¶On paine of torture from those bloudie hands,

¶Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground,

90And heare the sentence of your moued Prince.

¶Three ciuill brawles bred of an ayrie word,

¶By thee old Capulet and Mountague,

¶Haue thrice disturbd the quiet of our streets,

¶And made Neronas auncient Citizens,

95Cast by their graue beseeming ornaments,

¶To wield old partizans, in hands as old,

¶Cancred with peace, to part your cancred hate,

¶If euer you disturbe our streets againe,

¶Your liues shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

100For this time all the rest depart away:

¶You Capulet shall go along with me,

¶And Mountague come you this afternoone,

¶To know our farther pleasure in this case:

¶To old Free-towne, our common iudgement place:

105Once more on paine of death, all men depart.

105.1

Exeunt.

¶Mounta. Who set this auncient quarell new abroach?

¶Speake Nephew, were you by when it began?

¶Ben. Here were the seruants of your aduersarie

¶And yours, close fighting ere I did approach,

110I drew to part them, in the instant came

¶The fierie Tybalt, with his sword preparde,

¶Which as he breath'd defiance to my eares,

¶He swoong about his head and cut the windes,

¶Who nothing hurt withall, hist him inscorne:

115While we were enterchaunging thrusts and blowes,

¶Came more and more, and fought on part and part,

¶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.

120Benuo. Madam, an houre before the worshipt Sun,

¶Peerde forth the golden window of the East,

¶A troubled minde driue me to walke abroad,

¶Where vnderneath the groue of Syramour,

¶That Westward rooteth from this Citie side:

125So early walking did I see your sonne,

¶Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,

¶And stole into the couert of the wood,

¶I measuring his affections by my owne,

¶Which then most sought, where most might not be_

(found:

130Being one too many by my wearie selfe,

¶Pursued my humor, not pursuing his,

¶And gladly shunned, who gladly fled from me.

¶Mounta. Many a morning hath he there bin seene,

¶With teares augmenting the fresh mornings deawe,

135Adding to cloudes, more clowdes with his deepe sighes,

¶But all so soone, as the alcheering Sunne,

¶Should in the farthest East begin to draw,

¶The shadie curtaines from Auroras bed,

¶Away from light steales home my heauie sonne,

140And priuate in his Chamber pennes himselfe,

¶Shuts vp his windowes, locks faire day-light out,

¶And makes himselfe an artificiall night:

¶Blacke and portendous must this humor proue,

¶Vnlesse good counsell may the cause remoue.

145Ben. My Noble Vncle do you know the cause?

¶Moun. I neither know it, nor can learne of him.

¶Ben. Haue you importunde him by any meanes?

¶Moun. Both by my selfe and many other friends,

¶But he is owne affections counseller,

150Is to himselfe (I will not say how true)

¶But to himselfe so secret and so close,

¶So farre from sounding and discouerie,

¶As is the bud bit with an enuious worme,

¶Ere he can spread his sweete leaues to the ayre,

155Or dedicate his bewtie to the same.

¶Could we but learne from whence his sorrows grow,

¶We would as willingly giue cure as know.

Enter Romeo.

¶Benu. See where he comes, so please you step aside,

160Ile know his greeuance or be much denide.

¶Moun. I would thou wert so happie by thy stay,

¶To heare true shrift, come Madam lets away.

162.1

Exeunt.

¶Benuol. Good morrow Cousin.

¶Romeo. Is the day so young?

165Ben. But new strooke nine.

¶Romeo. Ay me, sad houres seeme long:

¶Was that my father that went hence so fast?

¶Ben. It was: what sadnesse lengthens Romeos houres?

¶ Ro. Not hauing that, which hauing, makes thē short.

170Ben. In loue.

¶Rom. Out.

¶Ben. Of loue.

¶Rom. Out of her fauour where I am in love.

¶Ben. Alas that loue so gentle in his view,

175Should be so tirannous and rough in proofe.

¶ Romeo. Alas that loue, whose view is muffled still,

¶Should without eyes, see pathwaies to his will:

¶Where shall we dine? ô me! what fray was here?

¶Yet tell me not, for I haue heard it all:

180Heres much to do with hate, but more with loue:

¶Why then ô brawling loue, ô louing hate,

¶O any thing of nothing first created:

¶O heauie lightnesse, serious vanitie,

¶Mishapen Chaos of welseeming formes,

185Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fier, sicke health,

¶Still waking sleepe that is not what it is.

¶This loue feele I, that feele no loue in this,

¶Doest thou not laugh?

¶Benu. No Coze, I rather weepe.

190Rom. Good hart at what?

¶Benu. At thy good harts oppression.

¶Romeo. Why such is loues transgression:

¶Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,

¶Which thou wilt propogate to haue it preast,

195With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,

¶Doth ad more griefe, too too much of mine owne.

¶Loue is a smoke made with the fume of sighes,

¶Being purgd, a fire sparkling in louers eies,

¶Being vext, a sea nourisht with louing teares,

200What is it else? a madnesse, most discreete,

¶A choking gall, and a preseruing sweete:

¶Farewell my Coze.

¶Ben. Soft I will go along:

¶And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong.

205Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here,

¶This is not Romeo, hees some other where.

¶Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue?

¶Ro. What shall I grone and tell thee?

¶Ben. Grone, why no: but sadly tell me who?

210Ro. A sicke man in sadnesse makes his will:

¶A word ill vrgd to one that is so ill:

¶In sadnesse Cozin, I do loue a woman.

¶ Ben. I aymde so neare, when I supposde you lou'd.

¶Ro. A right good mark man, and shees faire I loue.

215Ben. A right faire marke faire Coze is soonest hit.

¶Romeo. Well in that hit you misse, sheel not be hit

¶With Cupids arrow, she hath Dians wit:

¶And in strong proofe of chastitie well armd,

¶From loues weak childish bow she liues vncharmd.

220Shee will not stay the siege of louing tearmes,

¶Nor bide th'incounter of assailing eies.

¶Nor ope her lap to sainct seducing gold,

¶O she is rich, in bewtie onely poore,

¶That when she dies, with bewtie dies her store.

225 Ben. Thē she hath sworn, that she wil stil liue chaste?

¶Ro. She hath, and in that sparing, make huge waste:

¶For bewtie steru'd with her seueritie,

¶Cuts bewtie off from all posteritie.

¶She is too faire, too wise, wisely too faire,

230To merit blisse by making me dispaire:

¶Shee hath forsworne to loue, and in that vow,

¶Do I liue dead, that liue to tell it now.

¶Ben. Be rulde by me, forget to thinke of her.

¶Ro. O teach me how I should forget to thinke.

235Ben. By giuing libertie vnto thine eyes,

¶Examine other bewties.

¶Ro. Tis the way to call hers (exquisit) in question more,

¶These happie maskes that kis faire Ladies browes,

¶Being black, puts vs in mind they hide the faire:

240He that is strooken blind, cannot forget

¶The precious treasure of his eye-sight lost,

¶Shew me a mistresse that is passing faire,

¶What doth her bewtie serue but as a note,

¶Where I may reade who past that passing faire:

245Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget,

¶Ben. Ile pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

Exeunt.

Enter Capulet, Countie Paris, and the Clowne.

¶Capu. But Mountague is bound as well as I,

¶In penaltie alike, and tis not hard I thinke,

250For men so old as we to keepe the peace.

¶Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,

¶And pittie tis, you liu'd at ods so long:

¶But now my Lord, what say you to my sute?

¶Capu. But saying ore what I hauesaid before,

255My child is yet a straunger in the world,

¶Shee hath not seene the chaunge of fourteen yeares,

¶Let two more Sommers wither in their pride,

¶Ere we may thinke her ripe to be a bride.

¶ Pari. Younger then she, are happie mothers made.

260Capu. And too soone mard are those so early made:

¶Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,

¶Shees the hopefull Lady of my earth:

¶But wooe her gentle Paris, get her hart,

¶My will to her consent, is but a part.

265And shee agreed, within her scope of choise

¶Lyes my consent, and faire according voyce:

¶This night I hold, an old accustomd feast,

¶Whereto I haue inuited many a guest:

¶Such as I loue, and you among the store,

270One more, most welcome makes my number more:

¶At my poore house, looke to behold this night,

¶Earthtreading starres, that make darke heauen light:

¶Such comfort as do lustie young men feele,

¶When well appareld Aprill on the heele,

275Of limping winter treads, euen such delight

¶Among fresh fennell buds shall you this night

¶Inherit at my house, heare all, all see:

¶And like her most, whose merit most shall bee:

¶Which one more view, of many, mine being one,

280May stand in number, though in reckning none.

¶Come go with me, go sirrah trudge about,

¶Through faire Verona, find those persons out,

¶Whose names are written there, and to themsay,

¶My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay.

284.1

Exit.

285 Seru. Find them out whose names are written. Here it is writ-

¶ten, that the shoo-maker should meddle with his yard, and the

¶tayler with his last, the fisher with his pensill, & the painter with

¶his nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are

¶here writ, and can neuer find what names the writing person

290hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time.

Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.

¶Ben. Tut man, one fire burnes out, an others burning,

¶On paine is lesned by an others anguish,

295Turne giddie, and be holpe by backward turning:

¶One desperate greefe, cures with an others languish:

¶Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

¶And the rancke poyson of the old will dye.

¶Romeo. Your Plantan leafe is excellent for that.

300Ben. For what I pray thee?

¶Romeo. For your broken shin.

¶Ben. Why Romeo, art thou mad?

¶Rom. Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is:

¶Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode,

305Whipt and tormented, and Godden good fellow.

¶Ser. Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read?

¶Rom. I mine owne fortune in my miserie.

¶Ser. Perhaps you haue learned it without booke:

¶But I pray can you read any thing you see?

310Rom. I if I know the letters and the language.

¶Ser. Yee say honestly, rest you merrie.

¶Rom. Stay fellow, I can read.

He reades the Letter.

¶ SEigneur Martino, & his wife and daughters: Countie Anselme

315and his bewtious sisters: the Lady widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur

¶Placentio, and his louely Neeces: Mercutio and his brother Va-

¶lentine: mine Uncle Capulet his wife and daughters: my faire Neece

¶Rosaline, Liuia, Seigneur Valentio, and his Cosen Tybalt: Lucio

¶and the liuely Hellena.

320A faire assemblie, whither should they come?

¶Ser. Vp.

¶Ro. Whither to supper?

¶Ser. To our house.

¶Ro. Whose house?

325Ser. My Maisters.

¶Ro. Indeed I should haue askt you that before.

¶ Ser. Now ile tell you without asking. My maister is the great

¶rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues, I

¶pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merrie.

¶Ben. At this same auncient feast of Capulets,

¶Sups the faire Rosaline whom thou so loues:

¶With all the admired beauties of Verona,

¶Go thither, and with vnattainted eye,

335Compare her face with some that I shall show,

¶And I will make thee thinke thy swan a crow.

¶Ro. When the deuout religion of mine eye.

¶Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fier:

¶And these who often drownde, could neuer die,

340Transparent Hereticques be burnt for liers.

¶One fairer then my loue, the all seeing Sun,

¶Nere saw her match, since first the world begun.

¶Ben. Tut you saw her faire none else being by,

¶Her selfe poysd with her selfe in either eye:

345But in that Christall scales let there be waide,

¶Your Ladies loue against some other maide:

¶That I will shew you shining at this feast,

¶And she shall scant shew well that now seemes best.

¶Ro. Ile go along no such sight to be showne,

350But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne.

Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse.

¶Wife. Nurse wher's my daughter? call her forth to me.

¶ Nurse. Now by my maidenhead, at twelue yeare old I bad her

¶come, what Lamb, what Ladie-bird, God forbid,

355Wheres this Girle? what Iuliet.

Enter Iuliet.

¶Iuliet. How now who calls?

¶Nur. Your mother.

¶Iuli. Madam I am here, what is your will?

360 Wife. This is the matter. Nurse giue leaue a while, we must talk

¶in secret. Nurse come backe againe, I haue remembred mee.

¶thou'se heare our counsel. Thou knowest my daughters of a pre-

¶tie age.

¶Nurse. Faith I can tell her age vnto an houre.

365Wife. Shee's not fourteene.

¶ Nurse. Ile lay fourteene of my teeth, and yet to my teene be it

¶spoken, I haue but foure, shees not fourteene.

¶How long is it now to Lammas tide?

370Wife. A fortnight and odde dayes.

¶ Nurse. Euen or odde, of all daies in the yeare come Lammas Eue at

¶night stal she be fourteen. Susan and she, God rest all Christian soules,

¶were of an age. Well Susan is with God, she was too good for me: But

¶as I said, on Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall

375shee marrie, I remember it well. Tis since the Earth-quake now

¶eleuen yeares, and she was weand I neuer shall forget it, of all the daies

¶of the yeare vpon that day: for I had then laide worme-wood to my

¶dug, sitting in the sun vnder the Doue-house wall. My Lord and

380you were then at Mantua, nay I doo beare a braine. But as I said,

¶when it did taste the worme-wood on the nipple of my dug, and

¶felt it bitter, pretie foole, to see it teachie and fall out with the Dugge.

¶Shake quoth the Doue-house, twas no need I trow to bid me trudge:

385and since that time it is a leuen yeares, for then she could stand hylone,

¶nay byth roode she could haue run and wadled all about: for euen

¶the day before she broke her brow, and then my husband, God be with

¶ his soule, a was a merrie man, tooke vp the child, yea quoth he, doest

390thou fall vpon thy face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more

¶wit, wilt thou not Iule? And by my holydam, the pretie wretch left

¶crying, and said I: to see now how a ieast shall come about: I warrant,

¶and I should liue a thousand yeares, I neuer should forget it: wilt thou

395not Iule quoth he? and pretie foole it stinted, and said I.

¶Old La. Inough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace.

¶ Nurse. Yes Madam, yet I can not chuse but laugh, to thinke it

¶should leaue crying, and say I: and yet I warrant it had vpon it brow, a

400bump as big as a young Cockrels stone: a perillous knock, and it cryed

¶bitterly. Yea quoth my husband, fallst vpon thy face, thou wilt fall

¶backward when thou commest to age: wilt thou not Iule? It stinted,

¶and said I.

405Iuli. And stint thou too, I pray thee Nurse, say I.

¶ Nurse. Peace I haue done: God marke thee too his grace, thou

¶wast the prettiest babe that ere I nurst, and I might liue to see thee

¶married once, I haue my wish.

¶Old La. Marrie, that marrie is the very theame

410I came to talke of, tell me daughter Iuliet,

¶How stands your dispositions to be married?

¶Iuliet. It is an houre that I dreame not of.

¶ Nurse. An houre, were not I thine onely Nurse, I would say thou

¶hadst suckt wisedome from thy teate.

415Old La. Well thinke of marriage now, yonger then you

¶Here in Verona, Ladies of esteeme,

¶Are made alreadie mothers by my count.

¶I was your mother, much vpon these yeares

¶That you are now a maide, thus then in briefe:

420The valiant Paris seekes you for his loue.

¶Nurse. A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as all the world.

¶Why hees a man of waxe.

¶OldLa. Veronas Sommer hath not such a flower.

¶Nurse. Nay hees a flower, in faith a very flower.

425Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman?

¶This night you shall behold him at our feast,

¶Reade ore the volume of young Paris face,

¶And find delight, writ there with bewties pen,

¶Examine euery married liniament,

430And see how one an other lends content:

¶And what obscurde in this faire volume lies,

¶Finde written in the margeant of his eyes.

¶This precious booke of loue, this vnbound louer,

¶To bewtifie him, onely lacks a Couer.

435The fish liues in the sea, and tis much pride

¶For faire without the faire, within to hide:

¶That booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie

¶That in gold claspes locks in the golden storie:

¶So shall you share all that he doth possesse,

440By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse.

¶Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger women grow by men.

¶OldLa. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue?

¶Iuli. Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue.

¶But no more deepe will I endart mine eye,

445Then your consent giues strength to make flie.

Enter Serving.

¶ Ser. Madam the guests are come, supper seru'd vp, you cald,

¶my young Lady askt for, the Nurse curst in the Pantrie, and e-

¶uerie thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I beseech you

450follow straight.

¶Mo. We follow thee, Iuliet the Countie staies.

¶Nur. Go gyrle, seeke happie nights to happie dayes.

Exeunt._

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other

455_Maskers, torchbearers.

¶Romeo. What shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?

¶Or shall we on without appologie?

¶Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie,

¶Weele haue no Cupid, hudwinckt with a skarfe,

460Bearing a Tartars painted bow of lath,

¶Skaring the Ladies like a Crowkeeper.

¶But let them measure vs by what they will,

¶Weele measure them a measure and be gone.

¶Rom. Giue me a torch, I am not for this ambling,

465Being but heauie I will beare the light.

¶ Mercu. Nay gētle Romeo,we must haue you dance.

¶Ro. Not I beleeue me, you haue dancing shooes

¶With nimble soles, I haue a soule of Leade

¶So stakes me to the ground I cannot moue.

470Mer. You are a Louer, borrow Cupids wings,

¶And sore with them aboue a common bound.

¶Rom. I am too sore enpearced with his shaft,

¶To sore with his light feathers, and so bound,

¶I cannot bound a pitch aboue dull woe,

475Vnder loues heauie birthen do I sincke.

¶ Horatio. And to sink in it should you burthen loue,

¶Too great oppression for a tender thing.

¶Rom. Is loue a tender thing? it is too rough,

¶Too rude, too boystrous, and it pricks like thorne.

480 Mer. If loue be rough with you, be rough with loue

¶Prick loue for pricking, and you beate loue downe,

¶Giue me a case to put my visage in,

¶_ visor for a visor, what care I

¶What curious eye doth cote deformities:

485Here are the beetle browes shall blush for me.

¶Benu. Come knock and enter, and no sooner in,

¶But euery man betake him to his legs.

¶Ro. A torch for me, let wantons light of heart

¶Tickle the sencelesse rushes with their heeles:

490For I am prouerbd with a graunsire phrase,

¶Ile be a candle-holder and looke on,

¶The game was nere so faire, and I am dum.

¶ Mer. Tut, duns the mouse, the Constables own word:

¶If thou art dun, weele draw thee from the mire

495Or saue you reuerence loue, wherein thou stickest

¶Vp to the eares, come we burne daylight ho.

¶Ro. Nay thats not so.

¶Mer. I meane sir in delay

¶We waste our lights in vaine, lights lights by day:

500Take our good meaning, for our iudgement sits,

¶Fiue times in that, ere once in our fine wits.

¶Ro. And we meane well in going to this Mask,

¶But tis no wit to go.

¶Mer. Why, may one aske?

505Rom. I dreampt a dreame to night.

¶Mer. And so did I.

¶Ro. Well what was yours?

¶Mer. That dreamers often lie.

¶Ro. In bed asleep while they do dream things true.

510Mer. O then I see Queene Mab hath bin with you:

¶She is the Fairies midwife, and she comes in shape no bigger thē

¶an Agot stone, on the forefinger of an Alderman, drawne with

¶a teeme of little ottamie, ouer mens noses as they lie asleep: her

¶waggō spokes made of lōg spinners legs: the couer, of the wings

515of Grashoppers, her traces of the smallest spider web, her collors

¶of the moonshines watry beams, her whip of Crickets bone, the

¶lash of Philome, her waggoner, a small grey coated Gnat, not

¶half so big as a round litle worme, prickt from the lazie finger of

520a man. Her Charriot is an emptie Hasel nut, Made by the Ioyner

¶squirrel or old Grub, time out a mind, the Fairie Coatchmakers:

¶and in this state she gallops night by night, throgh louers brains,

¶and then they dreame of loue. On Courtiers knees, that dreame

525on Cursies strait ore Lawyers fingers who strait dreame on fees,

¶ore Ladies lips who strait one kisses dream, which oft the angrie

¶Mab with blisters plagues, because their breath with sweete

¶meates tainted are. Sometime she gallops ore a Courtiers nose,

¶and then dreames he of smelling out a sute: and sometime comes

530she with a tithpigs tale, tickling a Persons nose as a lies asleepe,

¶then he dreams of an other Benefice. Sometime she driueth ore

¶a souldiers neck, and then dreames he of cutting forrain throates,

¶of breaches, ambuscados, spanish blades: Of healths fiue fadome

535deepe, and then anon drums in his eare, at which he starts and

¶wakes, and being thus frighted, sweares a praier or two, & sleeps

¶againe: this is that very Mab that plats the manes of horses in the

¶night: and bakes the Elklocks in foule sluttish haires, which

¶once vntangled, much misfortune bodes.

¶This is the hag, when maides lie on their backs,

¶That presses them and learnes them first to beare,

¶Making them women of good carriage:

¶This is she.

545Romeo. Peace, peace, Mercutio peace,

¶Thou talkst of nothing.

¶Mer. True, I talke of dreames:

¶Which are the children of an idle braine,

¶Begot of nothing but vaine phantasie:

550Which is as thin of substance as the ayre,

¶And more inconstant then the wind who wooes?

¶Euen now the frozen bosome of the North:

¶And being angerd puffes away from thence,

¶Turning his side to the dewe dropping South.

555 Ben. This wind you talk of, blows vs from our selues,

¶Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

¶Ro. I feare too earlie, for my mind misgiues,

¶Some consequence yet hanging in the starres,

¶Shall bitterly begin his fearfull date,

560With this nights reuels, and expire the terme

¶Of a despised life closde in my brest:

¶By some vile fofreit of vntimely death.

¶But he that hath the stirrage of my course,

¶Direct my sute, on lustie Gentlemen.

565Ben. Strike drum.

They march about the Stage, and Seruing men come forth with

¶_Napkins.

Enter Romeo.

¶Ser. Wheres Potpan that he helpes not to take away?

570He shift a trencher, he scrape a trencher?

¶ 1. When good manners shall lie all in one or two mens hands

¶And they vnwasht too, tis a foule thing.

¶Ser. Away with the ioynstooles, remoue the Courtcubbert,

¶looke to the plate, good thou, saue me a peece of March-pane,

575and as thou loues me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and

¶Nell, Anthonie and Potpan.

¶2. I boy readie.

¶ Ser. You are lookt for, and cald for, askt for, and sought for in

¶the great chamber.

5803. We cannot be here and there too, chearely boyes,

¶Be brisk a while, and the longer liuer take all.

Exeunt._

Enter all the guests and gentlewomen to the

¶_Maskers._

585 1. Capu. Welcome gentlemen, Ladies that haue their toes

¶Vnplagued with Cornes, will walke about with you:

¶Ah my mistesses, which of you all

¶Will now denie to daunce, she that makes daintie,

590She Ile swear hath Corns: am I come neare ye now?

¶Welcome gentlemen, I haue seene the day

¶That I haue worne a visor and could tell

¶A whispering tale in a faire Ladies eare:

¶Such as would please: tis gone, tis gone, tis gone,

595You are welcome, gentlemen come, Musitions play.

Musick playes and they dance.

¶A hall, a hall, giue roome, and foote it gyrles,

¶More light you knaues, and turne the tables vp:

¶And quench the fire, the roome is growne too hot.

600Ah sirrah, this vnlookt for sport comes well:

¶Nay sit, nay sit, good Cozin Capulet,

¶For you and I are past our dauncing dayes:

¶How long ist now since last your selfe and I

¶Were in a maske?

6052. Capu. Berlady thirtie yeares.

¶1. Capu. What man tis not so much, tis not so much,

¶Tis since the nuptiall of Lucientio:

¶Come Pentycost as quickly as it will,

¶Some fiue and twentie yeares, and then we maskt.

6102. Capu. Tis more, tis more, his sonne is elder sir:

¶His sonne is thirtie.

¶1. Capu. Will you tell me that?

¶His sonne was but a ward 2. yeares ago.

¶Ro. What Ladies that which doth enrich the hand

615Of yonder Knight?

¶Ser. I know not sir.

¶ Ro. O she doth teach the torches to burn bright:

¶It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night:

¶As a rich Iewel in an Ethiops eare,

620Bewtie too rich for vse, for earth too deare:

¶So showes a snowie Doue trooping with Crowes,

¶As yonder Lady ore her fellowes showes:

¶The measure done, Ile watch her place of stand,

¶And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

625Did my hart loue till now, forsweare it sight,

¶For I nere saw true bewtie till this night.

¶Tibal. This by his voyce, should be a Mountague.

¶Fetch me my Rapier boy, what dares the slaue

¶Come hither couerd with an anticque face,

630To fleere and scorne at our solemnitie?

¶Now by the stocke and honor of my kin,

¶To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

¶ Capu. Why how now kinsman, wherefore storme

(you so?

635Tib. Vncle, this is a Mountague our foe:

¶A villaine that is hither come in spight,

¶To scorne at our solemnitie this night.

¶Cap. Young Romeo is it.

¶Tib. Tis he, that villaine Romeo.

640Capu. Content thee gentle Coze, let him alone,

¶A beares him like a portly Gentleman:

¶And to say truth, Verona brags of him,

¶To be a vertuous and welgouernd youth,

¶I would not for the wealth of all this Towne,

645Here in my house do him disparagement:

¶Therefore be patient, take no note of him,

¶It is my will, the which if thou respect,

¶Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes,

¶An illbeseeming semblance for a feast.

650Tib. It fits when such a villaine is a guest,

¶Ile not endure him.

¶Capu. He shall be endured.

¶What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too,

¶Am I the master here or you? go too,

655Youle not endure him, god shall mend my soule,

¶Youle make a mutinie among my guests:

¶You wil set cock a hoope, youle be the man.

¶Ti. Why Vncle, tis a shame.

¶Capu. Go too, go too,

660You are a sawcie boy, ist so indeed?

¶This trick may chance to scath you I know what,

¶You must contrarie me, marrie tis time,

¶Well said my hearts, you are a princox, go,

¶Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame,

665Ile make you quiet (what) chearely my hearts.

¶ Ti. Patience perforce, with wilfull choller meeting,

¶Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting:

¶I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall

¶Now seeming sweet, conuert to bittrest gall.

Exit.

670Ro. If I prophane with my vnworthiest hand,

¶This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,

¶My lips two blushing Pylgrims did readie stand,

¶To smoothe that rough touch with a tender kis.

¶ Iu. Good Pilgrim you do wrōg your hād too much

¶Which mannerly deuocion showes in this,

¶For saints haue hands, that Pilgrims hands do tuch,

¶And palme to palme is holy Palmers kis.

¶Ro. Haue not Saints lips and holy Palmers too?

680Iuli. I Pilgrim, lips that they must vse in praire.

¶ Rom. O then deare Saint, let lips do what hands do,

¶They pray (grant thou) least faith turne to dispaire.

¶ Iu. Saints do not moue, thogh grant for praiers sake.

685Ro. Then moue not while my praiers effect I take,

¶Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purgd.

¶ Iu. Thē haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke.

¶Ro. Sin from my lips, ô trespas sweetly vrgd:

¶Giue me my sin againe.

690Iuli. Youe kisse bith booke.

¶ Nur. Madam your mother craues a word with you.

¶Ro. What is her mother?

¶Nurs. Marrie Batcheler,

¶Her mother is the Lady of the house,

695And a good Ladie, and a wise and vertuous,

¶I Nurst her daughter that you talkt withall:

¶I tell you, he that can lay hold of her

¶Shall haue the chincks.

¶Ro. Is she a Capulet?

700O deare account! my life is my foes debt.

¶Ben. Away begon, the sport is at the best.

¶Ro. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest.

¶Capu. Nay gentlemen prepare not to be gone,

¶We haue a trifling foolish banquet towards:

705Is it ene so? why then I thanke you all.

¶I thanke you honest gentlemen, good night:

¶More torches here, come on, then lets to bed.

¶Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,

¶Ile to my rest.

710 Iuli. Come hither Nurse, what is yond gentleman?

¶Nurs. The sonne and heire of old Tyberio.

¶Iuli. Whats he that now is going out of doore?

¶Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio.

715 Iu. Whats he that follows here that wold not dāce?

¶Nur. I know not.

¶Iuli. Go aske his name, if he be married,

¶My graue is like to be my wedding bed.

¶Nurs. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,

720The onely sonne of your great enemie.

¶Iuli. My onely loue sprung from my onely hate,

¶Too earlie seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,

¶Prodigious birth of loue it is to mee,

¶That I must loue a loathed enemie.

725Nurs. Whats tis? whats tis

¶Iu. A rime I learnt euen now

¶Of one I danct withall.

One cals within Iuliet.

¶Nurs. Anon, anon:

730Come lets away, the strangers all are gone.

Exeunt.

Chorus.

¶Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,

¶And young affection gapes to be his heire,

735That faire for which loue gronde for and would die,

¶With tender Iuliet match, is now not faire.

¶Now Romeo is beloued, and loues againe,

¶Alike bewitched by the charme of lookes:

¶But to his foe supposd he must complaine,

740And she steale loues sweete bait from fearful hookes:

¶Being held a foe, he may not haue accesse

¶To breathe such vowes as louers vse to sweare,

¶And she as much in loue, her meanes much lesse,

¶To meete her new beloued any where:

745But passion lends them power, time meanes to meete,

¶Tempring extremities with extreeme sweete.

Enter Romeo alone.

¶Ro. Can I go forward when my heart is here,

¶Turne backe dull earth and find thy Center out.

750

Enter Benuolio with Mercutio.

¶Ben. Romeo, my Cosen Romeo, Romeo.

¶ Mer. He is wise, and on my life hath stolne him home to bed.

¶Ben. He ran this way and leapt this Orchard wall.

755Call good Mercutio:

¶Nay Ile coniure too.

¶Mer. Romeo, humours, madman, passion louer,

¶Appeare thou in the likenesse of asigh,

¶Speake but on rime and I am satisfied:

760Crie but ay me, prouaunt, but loue and day,

¶Speake to my goship Venus one faire word,

¶One nickname for her purblind sonne and her,

¶Young Abraham: Cupid he that shot so true,

¶When King Cophetua lou'd the begger mayd.

765He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moueth not,

¶The Ape is dead, and I must coniure him.

¶I coniure thee by Rosalines bright eyes,

¶By her high forehead, and her Scarlet lip,

¶By her fine foot, straight leg, and quiuering thigh,

770And the demeanes, that there adiacent lie,

¶That in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs.

¶Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him.

¶Mer. This cannot anger him, twould anger him

¶To raise a spirit in his mistresse circle,

775Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

¶Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe,

¶That were some spight.

¶My inuocation is faire & honest, in his mistres name,

¶I coniure onely but to raise vp him.

780 Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these trees

¶To be consorted with the humerous night:

¶Blind is his loue, and best befits the darke.

¶ Mer. If loue be blind, loue cannot hit the marke,

¶Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree,

785And wish his mistresse were that kind of fruite,

¶As maides call Medlers, when they laugh alone.

¶O Romeo that she were, ô that she were

¶An open, or thou a Poprin Peare.

¶Romeo goodnight, ile to my truckle bed,

790This field-bed is too cold for me to sleepe,

¶Come shall we go?

¶Ben. Go then, for tis in vaine toseeke him here

¶That meanes not to be found.

Exit.

¶Ro. He ieasts at scarres that neuer felt a wound,

795But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

¶It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sun.

¶Arise faire Sun and kill the enuious Moone,

¶Who is alreadie sicke and pale with greefe,

¶That thou her maide art far more faire then she:

800Be not her maide since she is enuious,

¶Her vestall liuery is but sicke and greene,

¶And none but fooles do weare it, cast itoff:

¶It is my Lady, ô it is my loue, ô that she knew she wer,

¶She speakes, yet she saies nothing, what of that?

805Her eye discourses, I will answere it:

¶I am too bold, tis not to me she speakes:

¶Two of the fairest starres in all the heauen,

¶Hauing some busines to entreate her eyes,

¶To twinckle in their spheres till they returne.

810What if her eyes were there, they in her head,

¶The brightnesse of her cheek wold shame those stars,

¶As day-light doth a lampe, her eye in heauen,

¶Would through the ayrie region streame so bright,

¶That birds would sing, and thinke it were not night:

815See how she leanes her cheeke vpon her hand.

¶O that I were a gloue vpon that hand,

¶That I might touch that cheeke.

¶Iu. Ay me.

¶Ro. She speakes.

820Oh speake againe bright Angel, for thou art

¶As glorious to this night being ore my head,

¶As is a winged messenger of heauen

¶Vnto the white vpturned wondring eyes,

¶Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him,

825When he bestrides the lazie puffing Cloudes,

¶And sayles vpon the bosome of the ayre.

¶Iuli. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

¶Denie thy father and refuse thy name:

¶Or if thou wilt not, be but sworne my loue,

830And ile no longer be a Capulet.

¶Ro. Shall I heare more, orshall I speake at this?

¶Iu. Tis but thy name that is my enemie:

¶Thou art thy selfe, though not a Mountague,

¶Whats Mountague? it is nor hand nor foote,

835Nor arme nor face, ô be some other name

¶Belonging to a man.

¶Whats in a name that which we call a rose,

¶By any other word would smell as sweete,

¶So Romeo would wene he not Romeo cald,

840Retaine that deare perfection which he owes,

¶Without that tytle, Romeo doffe thy name,

¶And for thy name which is no part of thee,

¶Take all my selfe.

¶Ro. I take thee at thy word:

845Call me but loue, and Ile be new baptizde,

¶Henceforth I neuer will be Romeo.

¶ Iuli. What man art thou, that thus beschreend in

(night

¶So stumblest on my counsell?

¶ Ro. By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I

(am:

¶My name deare saint, is hatefull to my selfe,

¶Because it is an enemie to thee,

¶Had I it written, I would teare the word.

¶ Iuli. My eares haue yet not drunk a hundred words

855Of thy tongus vttering, yet I know the sound.

¶Art thou not Romeo, and a Mountague?

¶Ro. Neither faire maide, if either thee dislike.

¶ Iuli. How camest thou hither, tel me, and wherfore?

860The Orchard walls are high and hard to climbe,

¶And the place death, considering who thou art,

¶If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

¶ Ro. With loues light wings did I orepearch these

(walls,

865For stonie limits cannot hold loue out,

¶And what loue can do, that dares loue attempt:

¶Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

¶Iu. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.

¶Ro. Alack there lies more perill in thine eye,

870Then twentie of their swords, looke thou but sweete,

¶And I am proofe against their enmitie.

¶ Iuli. I would not for the world they saw thee here.

¶ Ro. I haue nights cloake to hide me frō their eies,

¶And but thou loue me, let them finde me here,

875My life were better ended by their hate,

¶Then death proroged wanting of thy loue.

¶ Iu. By whose direction foundst thou out this place?

¶Ro. By loue that first did promp me to enquire,

¶He lent me counsell, and I lent him eyes:

880I am no Pylat, yet wert thou as farre

¶As that vast shore washeth with the farthest sea,

¶I should aduenture for such marchandise.

¶ Iu. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,

¶Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheeke,

885For that which thou hast heard me speake tonight,

¶Faine would I dwell on forme, faine, faine, denie

¶What I haue spoke, but farwell complement.

¶Doest thou loue me? I know thou wilt say I:

¶And I will take thy word, yet if thou swearst,

890Thou maiest proue false at louers periuries.

¶They say Ioue laughes, oh gentle Romeo,

¶If thou dost loue, pronounce it faithfully:

¶Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly wonne,

¶Ile frowne and be peruerse, and say thee nay,

895So thou wilt wooe, but else not for the world,

¶In truth faire Montague I am too fond:

¶And therefore thou maiest think my behauior light,

¶But trust me gentleman, ile proue more true,

¶Then those that haue coying to be strange,

900I should haue bene more strange, I must confesse,

¶But that thou ouerheardst ere I was ware,

¶My truloue passion, therefore pardon me,

¶And not impute this yeelding to light loue,

¶Which the darke night hath so discouered.

905Ro. Lady, by yonder blessed Moone I vow,

¶That tips with siluer all these frute tree tops.

¶ Iu. O swear not by the moone th'inconstant moone,

¶That monethly changes in her circle orbe,

¶Least that thy loue proue likewise variable.

910Ro. What shall I sweare by?

¶Iu. Do not sweare at all:

¶Or if thou wilt, sweare by thy gracious selfe,

¶Which is the god of my Idolatrie,

¶And Ile beleeue thee.

915Ro. If my hearts deare loue.

¶Iu. Well do not sweare, although I ioy in thee:

¶I haue no ioy of this contract to night,

¶It is too rash, too vnaduisd, toosudden,

¶Too like the lightning which doth cease to bee,

920Ere one can say, it lightens, sweete goodnight:

¶This bud of loue by Sommers ripening breath,

¶May proue a bewtious floure when next we meete,

¶Goodnight, goodnight, as sweete repose and rest,

¶Come to thy heart, as that within my brest.

925Ro. O wilt thou leaue me so vnsatisfied?

¶Iuli. What satisfaction canst thou haue to night?

¶ Ro. Th'exchange of thy loues faithful vow for mine.

¶Iu. I_gaue thee mine before thou didst request it:

¶And yet I would it were to giue againe.

930 Ro. Woldst thou withdraw it, for what purpose loue?

¶Iu. But to be franke and giue it thee againe,

¶And yet I wish but for the thing I haue,

¶My bountie is as boundlesse as the sea,

935My loue as deepe, the more I giue to thee

¶The more I haue, for both are infinite:

¶I heare some noyse within, deare loue adue:

¶Anon good nurse, sweete Mountague be true:

940Stay but a little, I will come againe.

¶Ro. O blessed blessed night, I am afeard

¶Being in night, all this is but a dreame,

¶Too flattering sweete to be substantiall.

¶ Iu. Three words deare Romeo, & goodnight indeed,

¶If that thy bent of loue be honourable,

¶Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow,

¶By one that ile procure to come to thee,

¶Where and what time thou wilt performe the right,

950And all my fortunes at thy foote ile lay,

¶And follow thee my L. throughout the world.

Madam.

¶I come, anon: but if thou meanest not well,

¶I do beseech thee (by and by I come)

Madam.

¶To cease thy strife, and leaue me to my griefe,

¶To morrow will I send.

¶Ro. So thriue my soule.

¶Iu. A thousand times goodnight.

960Ro. A thousand times the worse to want thy light,

¶Loue goes toward loue as schooleboyes from their bookes,

¶But loue from loue, toward schoole with heauie lookes.

Enter Iuliet againe.

¶Iuli. Hist Romeo hist, ô for a falkners voyce,

965To lure this Tassel gentle back againe,

¶Bondage is hoarse, and may not speake aloude,

¶Else would I teare the Caue where Eccho lies,

¶And make her ayrie tongue more hoarse, then

¶With repetition of my Romeo.

970Ro. It is my soule that calls vpon my name.

¶How siluer sweete, sound louers tongues by night,

¶Like softest musicke to attending eares.

¶Iu. Romeo.

¶Ro. My Neece.

975Iu. What a clocke to morrow

¶Shall I send to thee?

¶Ro. By the houre of nine.

¶Iu. I will not faile, tis twentie yeare till then,

¶I haue forgot why I did call thee backe.

980Ro. Let me stand here till thou remember it.

¶Iu. I shall forget to haue thee still stand there,

¶Remembring how I loue thy companie.

¶Ro. And Ile still stay, to haue thee still forget,

¶Forgetting any other home but this.

985Iu. Tis almost morning, I would haue thee gone,

¶And yet no farther then a wantons bird,

¶That lets it hop a litle from his hand,

¶Like a poore prisoner in his twisted giues,

¶And with a silken threed, plucks it backe againe,

990So louing Iealous of his libertie.

¶Ro. I would I were thy bird.

¶Iu. Sweete so would I,

¶Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing:

¶Good night, good night.

995Parting is such sweete sorrow,

¶That I shall say good night, till it be morrow.

¶ Iu. Sleep dwel vpon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.

¶Ro. Would I were sleepe and peace so sweet to rest

¶The grey eyde morne smiles on the frowning night,

1000Checkring the Easterne Clouds with streaks of light,

¶And darknesse fleckted like a drunkard reeles,

¶From forth daies pathway, made by Tytans wheeles.

¶Hence will I to my ghostly Friers close cell,

¶His helpe to craue, and my deare hap to tell.

1004.1

Exit.

1005

Enter Frier alone with a basket.

¶ Fri. The grey-eyed morne smiles on the frowning

(night,

¶Checking the Easterne clowdes with streaks of light:

¶And fleckeld darknesse like a drunkard reeles,

¶From forth daies path, and Titans burning wheeles:

1010Now ere the sun aduance his burning eie,

¶The day to cheere, and nights dancke dewe to drie,

¶I must vpfill this osier cage of ours,

¶With balefull weedes, and precious iuyced flowers,

¶The earth that's natures mother is her tombe,

1015What is her burying graue, that is her wombe:

¶And from her wombe children of diuers kinde,

¶We sucking on her naturall bosome finde:

¶Many for many, vertues excellent:

¶None but for some, and yet all different.

1020O mickle is the powerfull grace that lies

¶In Plants, hearbes, stones, and their true quallities:

¶For nought so vile, that on the earth doth liue,

¶But to the earth some speciall good doth giue:

¶Nor ought so good but straind from that faire vse,

1025Reuolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

¶Vertue it selfe turnes vice being misapplied,

¶And vice sometime by action dignified.

Enter Romeo.

¶Within the infant rinde of this weake flower

1030Poyson hath residence, and medicine power:

¶For this being smelt with that part, cheares each part,

¶Being tasted, staies all sences with the hart.

¶Two such opposed Kings encamp them still,

¶In man as well as hearbes, grace and rude will:

1035And where the worser is predominant,

¶Full soone the Canker death eates vp that Plant.

¶Ro. Goodmorrow father.

¶Fri. Benedicitie.

¶What early tongue so sweete saluteth me?

1040Young sonne, it argues a distempered hed,

¶So soone to bid goodmorrow to thy bed:

¶Care keepes his watch in euery old mans eye,

¶And where care lodges, sleepe will neuer lye:

¶But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braine

1045Doth couch his lims, there golden sleepe doth raigne.

¶Therefore thy earlinesse doth me assure,

¶Thou art vprousd with some distemprature:

¶Or if not so, then here I hit it right,

¶Our Romeo hath not bene in bed to night.

1050Ro. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.

¶Fri. God pardon sin, wast thou with Rosaline?

¶Ro. With Rosaline, my ghostly father no,

¶I haue forgot that name, and that names wo.

¶ Fri. Thats my good son, but wher hast thou bin thē?

1055Ro. Ile tell thee ere thou aske it me agen:

¶I haue bene feasting with mine enemie,

¶Where on a sudden one hath wounded me:

¶Thats by me wounded both, our remedies

¶Within thy helpe and holy phisicke lies:

1060I beare no hatred blessed man: for loe

¶My intercession likewise steads my foe.

¶ Fri. Be plaine good sonne and homely in thy drift,

¶Ridling confession, findes but ridling shrift.

¶ Ro. Then plainly know my harts deare loue is set

1065On the faire daughter of rich Capulet:

¶As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine,

¶And all combind, saue what thou must combine

¶By holy marriage, when and where, and how,

¶We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow:

1070Ile tell thee as we passe, but this I pray,

¶That thou consent to marrie vs to day.

¶Fri. Holy S. Frauncis what a change is here?

¶Is Rosaline that thou didst loue so deare,

¶So soone forsaken? young mens loue then lies

1075Not truly in their hearts, but in their eies.

¶Iesu Maria, what a deale of brine

¶Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for Rosaline?

¶How much salt water throwne away in waste,

¶To season loue, that of it doth not taste.

1080The Sun not yet thy sighes, from heauen cleares

¶Thy old grones yet ringing in mine auncient eares:

¶Lo here vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit,

¶Of an old teare that is not washt off yet.

¶If ere thou wast thy selfe, and these woes thine,

1085Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.

¶And art thou chang'd, pronounce this sentence then,

¶Women may fall, when theres no strength in men.

¶Ro. Thou chidst me oft for louing Rosaline.

¶Fri. For doting, not for louing pupill mine.

1090Ro. And badst me burie loue.

¶Fri. Not in a graue,

¶To lay one in an other out to haue.

¶Ro. I pray thee chide me not, her I loue now.

¶Doth grace for grace, and loue for loue allow:

1095The other did not so.

¶Fri. O she knew well,

¶Thy loue did reade by rote, that could not spell:

¶But come young wauerer, come go with me,

¶In one respect ile thy assistant be:

1100For this alliance may so happie proue,

¶To turne your housholds rancor to pure loue.

¶Ro. O let vs hence, I stand on sudden hast.

¶Fri. Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast.

Exeunt.

1105

Enter Benuolio and Mercutio.

¶ Mer. Where the deule should this Romeo be? came hee not

¶home to night?

¶Ben. Not to his fathers, I spoke with his man.

¶ Mer. Why that same pale hard hearted wench, that Rosaline,

1110Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

¶ Ben. Tibalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a leter to his

¶fathers house.

¶Mer. A challenge on my life.

¶Ben. Romeo will answere it.

1115Mer. Any man that can write may answere a letter.

¶ Ben. Nay, he wil answere the letters maister how he dares, be-

¶ing dared.

¶ Mercu. Alas pooreRomeo, he is alreadie dead, stabd with a

¶white wenches blacke eye, runne through the eare with a loue

1120song, the very pinne of his heart, cleft with the blinde

¶bowe-boyes but-shaft, and is hee a man to encounter Ty-

¶balt?

¶Ro. Why what is Tybalt?

¶ Mer. More then Prince of Cats. Oh hees the couragious

1125captain of Complements: he fights as you sing pricksong, keeps

¶time, distance & proportion, he rests, his minum rests, one two,

¶and the third in your bosome: the very butcher of a silke but-

¶ton, a dualist a dualist, a gentleman of the very first house of the

¶first and second cause, ah the immortall Passado, the Punto re-

1130uerso, the Hay.

¶Ben. The what?

¶ Mer. The Pox of such antique lisping affecting phantacies,

¶these new tuners of accent: by Iesu a very good blade, a very

¶tall man, a very good whore. Why is not this a lamētable thing

1135graundsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these straunge

¶flies: these fashion-mongers, these pardons mees, who stand so

¶much on the new forme, that they cannot sit at ease on the old

¶bench. O their bones, their bones.

1140

Enter Romeo.

¶Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

¶ Mer. Without his Roe, like a dried Hering, O flesh, flesh,

¶how art thou fishified? now is he for the numbers that Petrach

¶flowed in: Laura to his Lady, was a kitchin wench, marrie

1145she had a better loue to berime her: Dido a dowdie, Cleopatra

¶a Gipsie, Hellen and Hero, hildings and harlots: Thisbie a grey

¶eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, Bonieur, theres

¶a French salutation to your French slop: you gaue vs the coun-

¶terfeit fairly last night.

¶ Ro. Goodmorrow to you both, what counterfeit did I giue

¶you?

¶Mer. The slip sir, the slip, can you not conceiue?

¶ Ro. Pardon good Mercutio,my businesse was great, and in

1155such a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie.

¶ Mer. Thats as much as to say, such a case as yours, constrains

¶a man to bow in the hams.

¶Ro. Meaning to cursie.

¶Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

1160Ro. A most curtuous exposition.

¶Mer. Nay I am the very pinck of curtesie.

¶Ro. Pinck for flower.

¶Mer. Right.

¶Ro. Why then is my pump well flowerd.

1165 Mer. Sure wit follow me this ieast, now till thou hast worne

¶out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worne, the ieast

¶may remaine after the wearing, soly singular.

¶Ro. O single solde ieast, solie singular for thesinglenesse.

¶Mer. Come betweene vs good Benuolio, my wits faints.

¶Ro. Swits and spurs, swits and spurres, or ile crie a match.

¶ Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wildgoose chase, I am done:

1175For thou hast more of the wildgoose in one of thy wits, then I

¶am sure I haue in my whole fiue. Was I with you there for the

¶goose?

¶ Ro. Thou wast neuer with me for any thing, when thou wast

¶not there for the goose.

1180Mer. I will bite thee by the eare for that ieast.

¶Rom. Nay good goose bite not.

¶ Mer. Thy wit is very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sawce.

¶Rom. And is it not then well seru'd in to a sweete goose?

1185 Mer. Oh heres a wit of Cheuerell, that stretches from an

¶ynch narrow, to an ell broad.

¶ Ro. I stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the

¶goose, proues thee farre and wide a broad goose.

¶ Mer. Why is not this better now then groning for loue, now

1190art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo: now art thou what thou

¶art, by art as well as by nature, for this driueling loue is like a

¶great naturall that runs lolling vp and downe to hide his bable

¶in a hole.

¶Ben. Stop there, stop there.

1195 Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the haire.

¶Ben. Thou wouldst else haue made thy tale large.

¶ Mer. O thou art deceiu'd; I would haue made it short, for I

¶was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to

¶occupie the argument no longer.

¶Ro. Heeres goodly geare.

Enter Nurse and her man._

¶A sayle, a sayle.

¶Mer. Two two, a shert and a smocke.

¶Nur. Peter:

1205Peter. Anon.

¶Nur. My fan Peter.

¶ Mer. Good Peter to hide her face, for her fans the fairer face.

¶Nur. God ye goodmorrow Gentlemen.

1210Mer. God ye goodden faire gentlewoman.

¶Nur. Is it good den?

¶ Mer. Tis no lesse I tell yee, for the bawdie hand of the dyal,

¶is now vpon the prick of noone.

¶Nur. Out vpon you, what a man are you?

1215 Ro. One gentlewoman, that Godhath made, himself to mar.

¶Nur. By my troth it is well said, for himselfe to mar quoth a?

¶Gētlemē cā any of you tel me wher I may find the yong Romeo?

1220Ro. I can tell you, but young Romeo will be older when you

¶haue found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the

¶youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.

¶Nur. You say well.

¶ Mer. Yea is the worst wel, very wel took, ifaith, wisely, wisely.

¶Nur. If you be he sir, I desire some confidence with you.

¶Ben. She will endite him to some supper.

¶Mer. A baud, a baud, a baud. So ho.

1230Ro. What hast thou found?

¶ Mer. No hare sir, vnlesse a hare sir in a lenten pie, that is some-

¶thing stale and hoare ere it be spent.

¶An old hare hoare, and an old hare hoare is very good meate in

¶lent.

1235But a hare that is hore, is too much for a score, when it hores ere

¶it be spent.

¶Romeo, will you come to your fathers? weele to dinner thither.

¶Ro. I will follow you.

1240 Mer. Farewell auncient Lady, farewell Lady, Lady, Lady.

Exeunt.

¶ Nur. I pray you sir, what sawcie merchant was this that was

¶so full of his roperie?

1245 Ro. A gentleman Nurse, that loues to heare himselfe talke,

¶and will speake more in a minute, then hee will stand too in a

¶moneth.

¶ Nur. And a speake any thing against me, Ile take him downe,

¶and a were lustier then he is, and twentie such Iacks: and if I

1250cannot, ile finde those that shall: scuruie knaue, I am none

¶of his flurt gills, I am none of his skaines mates, and thou must

¶stand by too and suffer euery knaue to vse me at his plea-

¶sure.

¶ Pet. I saw no man vse you at his pleasure: if I had, my weapon

1255shuld quickly haue bin out: I warrant you, I dare draw assoone

¶as an other man, if I see occasion in a good_quarel, & the law on

¶my side.

¶ Nur. Now afore God, I am so vext, that euery part about me

¶quiuers, skuruie knaue: pray you sir a word: and as I told you,

1260my young Lady bid me enquire you out, what she bid me say, I

¶will keepe to my selfe: but first let me tell ye, if ye should leade

¶her in a fooles paradise, as they say, it were a very grosse kind of

¶behauior as they say: for the Gentlewoman is yong: and there-

¶fore, if you should deale double with her, truly it were an ill

1265thing to be offred to any Gentlewoman, and very weake dea-

¶ling.

¶ Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy Lady and Mistresse, I pro-

¶test unto thee.

¶ Nur. Good heart, and yfaith I wil tel her as much: Lord, Lord,

1270she will be a ioyfull woman.

¶ Ro. What wilt thou tell her Nurse? thou dooest not marke

¶me?

¶ Nur. I will tell her sir, that you do protest, which as I take it,

¶is a gentlemanlike offer.

1275 _Ro. Bid her deuise some means to come to shrift this afternoon,

¶And there she shall at Frier Lawrence Cell

¶Be shrieued and married: here is for thy paines.

¶Nur. No truly sir not a penny.

¶Ro. Go too, I say you shall.

1280Nur. This afternoone sir, well she shall be there.

¶Ro. And stay good Nurse behinde the Abbey wall,

¶Within this houre my man shall be with thee,

¶And bring thee cordes made like a tackled stayre,

¶Which to the high topgallant of my ioy,

1285Must be my conuoy in the secret night.

¶Farewell be trustie, and ile quit thy paines:

¶Farewel, commend me to thy Mistresse.

¶Nur. Now God in heauen blesse thee, harke you sir.

¶Ro. What saist thou my deare Nurse?

1290 Nur. Is your man secret, did you nere here say, two may keep

¶counsell putting one away.

¶Ro. Warrant thee my mans as true as steele.

¶ Nur. Well sir, my Mistresse is the sweetest Lady, Lord, Lord,

¶when twas a litle prating thing. O there is a Noble man in town

1295one Paris, that would faine lay knife aboord: but she good soule

¶had as leeue see a tode, a very tode as see him: I anger her some-

¶times, and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but ile warrant

¶you, when I say so, she lookes as pale as any clout in the versall

¶world, doth not Rosemarie and Romeo begin both with a let-

1300ter?

¶Ro. I Nurse, what of that?_Both with an R.

¶ Nur. A mocker thats the dog, name R. is for the no, I know

¶it begins with some other letter, and she hath the pretiest sen-

¶tentious of it, of you and Rosemarie, that it would do you good

1305to heare it.

¶Ro. Commend me to thy Lady.

¶Nur. I a thousand times Peter.

¶Pet. Anon.

¶Nur. Before and apace.

1309.1

Exit.

1310

Enter Iuliet.

¶Iu. The clocke strooke nine when I did send the Nurse,

¶In halfe an houre she promised to returne,

¶Perchance she cannot meete him, thats notso:

¶Oh she is lame, loues heraulds should be thoughts,

1315Which ten times faster glides then the Suns beames,

¶Driuing backe shadowes ouer lowring hills.

¶Therefore do nimble piniond doues draw loue,

¶And therefore hath the wind swift Cupid wings:

¶Now is the Sun vpon the highmost hill,

1320Of this dayes iourney, and from nine till twelue,

¶Is there long houres, yet she is not come,

¶Had she affections and warme youthfull bloud,

¶She would be as swift in motion as a ball,

¶My words would bandie her to my sweete loue.

1325_M. And his to me, but old folks, many fain as they wer dead,

¶Vnwieldie, slowe, heauie, and pale as lead.

Enter Nurse.

¶O God she comes, ô hony Nurse what newes?

1330Hast thou met with him? send thy man away.

¶Nur. Peter stay at the gate.

¶ Iu. Now good sweete Nurse, O Lord, why lookest thou sad?

¶Though newes be sad, yet tell them merily.

1335If good, thou shamest the musicke of sweete newes,

¶By playing it to me, with so sower a face.

¶Nur. I am a wearie, giue me leaue a while,

¶Fie how my bones ake, what a iaunce haue I?

¶Iu. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy newes:

1340Nay come I pray thee speake, good good Nurse speake.

¶Nur. Iesu what haste, can you not stay a while?

¶Do you not see that I am out of breath?

¶Iu. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath

¶To say to me, that thou art out of breath?

1345The excuse that thou doest make in this delay,

¶Is longer then the tale thou doest excuse.

¶Is thy newes good or bad? answere to that,

¶Say either, and ile stay the circumstance:

¶Let me be satisfied, ist good or bad?

1350 Nur. Well, you haue made a simple choyse, you know not

¶how to chuse a man: Romeo, no not he though his face be bet-

¶ter then any mans, yet his leg excels all mens, and for a hand

¶and a foote and a body, though they be not to be talkt on, yet

¶they are past compare: he is not the flower of curtesie, but ile

1355warrant him, as gentle as a lamme: go thy wayes wench, serue

¶God. What haue you dinde at home?

¶Iu. No, no. But all this did I know before.

¶What sayes he of our marriage, what of that?

¶Nur. Lord how my head akes, what a head haue I?

1360It beates as it would fall in twentie peeces.

¶My back a tother side, a my backe, my backe:

¶Beshrewe your heart for sending me about

¶To catch my death with iaunsing vp and downe.

¶Iu. Ifaith I am sorrie that thou art not well.

1365Sweete, sweete, sweete Nurse, tell me what sayes my loue?

¶Nur. Your loue sayes like an honest gentleman,

¶And a Courteous, and a kinde, and a handsome,

¶And I warrant a vertuous, where is your mother?

¶ Iu. Where is my mother, why she is within, wher shuld she be?

¶How odly thou repliest:

¶Your loue sayes like an honest gentleman,

¶Where is your mother?

¶Nur. O Gods lady deare,

1375Are you so hot, marrie come vp I trow,

¶Is this the poultis for my aking bones:

¶Henceforward do your messages your selfe.

¶Iu. Heres such a coyle, come what saies Romeo?

¶Nur. Haue you got leaue to go to shrift to day?

1380Iu. I haue.

¶Nur. Then high you hence to Frier Lawrence Cell,

¶There stayes a husband to make you a wife:

¶Now comes the wanton bloud vp in your cheekes,

¶Theile be in scarlet straight at any newes:

1385Hie you to Church, I must an other way,

¶To fetch a Ladder by the which your loue

¶Must climbe a birds neast soone when it isdarke,

¶I am the drudge, and toyle in your delight:

¶But you shall beare the burthen soone at night.

1390Go ile to dinner, hie you to the Cell.

¶Iuli. Hie to high fortune,honest Nurse farewell.

1391.1

Exeunt._

Enter Frier and Romeo.

¶Fri. So smile the heauens vpon this holy act,

¶That after houres, with sorrow chide vs not.

1395Ro. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can,

¶It cannot counteruaile the exchange of ioy

¶That one short minute giues me in her sight:

¶Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

¶Then loue-deuouring death do what he dare,

1400It is inough I may but call her mine.

¶Fri. These violent delights haue violent endes,

¶And in their triumph die like fier and powder:

¶Which as they kisse consume. The sweetest honey

¶Is loathsome in his owne deliciousnesse,

1405And in the taste confoundes the appetite.

¶Therefore loue moderately, long loue doth so,

¶Too swift arriues, as tardie as too slowe.

Enter Iuliet.

¶Here comes the Lady, Oh so light a foote

1410Will nere weare out the euerlasting flint,

¶A louer may bestride the gossamours,

¶That ydeles in the wanton sommer ayre,

¶And yet not fall, so light is vanitie.

¶Iu. Good euen to my ghostly confessor.

1415 Fri. Romeo shall thanke thee daughter for vs both.

¶Iu. As much to him, else is his thankes too much.

¶Ro. Ah Iuliet, if the measure of thy ioy

¶Be heapt like mine, and that thy skill be more

¶To blason it, then sweeten with thy breath

1420This neighbour ayre and let rich musicke tongue,

¶Vnfold the imagind happines that both

¶Receiue in either, by this deare encounter.

¶Iu. Conceit more rich in matter then in words,

¶Brags of his substance, not of ornament,

1425They are but beggers that can count their worth,

¶But my true loue is growne to such excesse,

¶I cannot sum vp sum of halfe my wealth.

¶ Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short

(worke.

¶For by your leaues, you shall not stay alone,

1430Till holy Church incorporate two in one.

Enter Mercutio, Benuolio, and men.

¶Ben. I pray thee good Mercutio lets retire,

¶The day is hot, the Capels abroad:

¶And if we meete we shall not scape a brawle, for now these hot

1435daies, is the mad blood_stirring.

¶ Mer. Thou art like one of these fellowes, that when he enters

¶the confines of a Tauerne, claps me his sword vpon the table,

¶and sayes, God send me no need of thee: and by the operation

¶of the second cup, draws him on the drawer, when indeed there

1440is no need.

¶Ben. Am I like such a fellow?

¶ Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Iacke in thy moode as

¶any in Italie: and assoone moued to be moodie, and assoone

¶moodie to be moued.

1445Ben. And what too?

¶ Mer. Nay and there were two such, we should haue none

¶shortly, for one would kill the other: thou, why thou wilt

¶quarell with a man that hath a haire more, or a haire lesse in his

¶beard, then thou hast: thou wilt quarell with a man for cracking

1450Nuts, hauing no other reason, but because thou hast hasel eyes:

¶what eye, but such an eye wold spie out such a quarrel? thy head

¶is as full of quarelles, as an egge is full of meate, and yet thy

¶head hath bene beaten as addle as an egge for quarelling: thou

¶hast quareld with a man for coffing in the streete, because hee

1455hath wakened thy dogge that hath laine asleep in the sun. Didst

¶thou not fall out with a taylor for wearing his new doublet be-

¶fore Easter, with an other for tying his new shooes with olde ri-

¶band, and yet thou wilt tuter me from quarelling?

¶ Ben. And I were so apt to quarell as thou art, any man should

¶buy the fee-simple of my life for an houre and a quarter.

¶Mer. The fee-simple, ô simple.

1465

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.

¶Ben. By my head here comes the Capulets.

¶Mer. By my heele I care not.

¶Tybalt. Follow me close, for I will speake to them.

¶Gentlemen, Good den, a word with one of you.

1470 Mer. And but one word with one of vs, couple it with some-

¶thing, make it a word and a blowe.

¶ Tib. You shall find me apt inough to that sir, and you wil giue

¶me occasion.

¶ Mercu. Could you not take some occasion without gi-

1475uing?

¶Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.

¶ Mer. Consort, what doest thou make vs Minstrels? and thou

¶make Minstrels of vs, looke to hear nothing but discords: heeres

¶my fiddlesticke, heeres that shall make you daunce: zounds con-

1480sort.

¶Ben. We talke here in the publike haunt of men:

¶Either withdraw vnto some priuate place,

¶Or reason coldly of your greeuances:

¶Or else depart, here all eyes gaze on vs.

1485Mer. Mens eyes were made to looke, and let them gaze.

¶I will not budge for no mans pleasure I.

Enter Romeo.

¶Tyb. Well peace be with you sir, here comes my man.

¶Mer. But ile be hangd sir if he weare your liuerie:

1490Marrie go before to field, heele be your follower,

¶Your worship in that sense may call him man.

¶Tyb. Romeo, the loue I beare thee, can affoord

¶No better terme then this: thou art a villaine.

¶Ro. Tybalt, the reason that I haue to loue thee,

1495Doth much excuse the appertaining rage

¶To such a greeting: villaine am I none.

¶Therefore farewell, I see thou knowest me not.

¶Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the iniuries

¶That thou hast done me, therefore turne and draw.

1500Ro. I do protest I neuer iniuried thee,

¶But loue thee better then thou canst deuise:

¶Till thou shalt know the reason of my loue,

¶And so good Capulet, which name I tender

¶As dearely as mine owne, be satisfied.

1505Mer. O calme, dishonourable, vile submission:

¶Alla stucatho carries it away,

¶Tibalt, you ratcatcher, will you walke?

¶Tib. What wouldst thou haue with me?

¶ M. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine liues,

1510that I meane to make bold withall, and as you shall vse mee

¶hereafter drie beate the rest of the eight. Will you plucke your

¶sword out of his pilcher by the eares? Make haste, least mine be

¶about your eares ere it be out.

¶Tib. I am for you.

1515Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier vp.

¶Mer. Come sir, your Passado.

¶Rom. Draw Benuolio, beate downe their weapons,

¶Gentlemen, for shame forbeare this outrage,

¶Tibalt,Mercutio, the Prince expresly hath

1520Forbid this bandying in Verona streetes,

¶Hold Tybalt, good Mercutio.

Away Tybalt.

¶Mer. I am hurt.

¶A plague a both houses, I am sped,

1525Is he gone and hath nothing.

¶Ben. What art thou hurt?

¶Mer. I, I, a scratch, a scratch, marrie tis inough,

¶Where is my Page? go villaine, fetch a Surgion.

¶Ro. Courage man, the hurt cannot be much.

1530 Mer. No tis not so deepe as a well, nor so wide as a Church

¶doore, but tis inough, twill serue: aske for me to morrow, and you

¶shall finde me a graue man. I am peppered I warrant, for this

¶world, a plague a both your houses, sounds a dog, a rat, a mouse,

¶a cat, to scratch a man to death: a braggart, a rogue, a villaine,

1535that fights by the booke of arithmatick, why the deule came you

¶betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme.

¶Ro. I thought all for the best.

¶Mer. Helpe me into some house Benuolio,

1540Or I shall faint, a plague a both your houses.

¶They haue made wormes meate of me,

¶I haue it, and soundly, to your houses.

1542.1

Exit.

¶Ro. This Gentleman the Princes neare alie,

¶My very friend hath got this mortall hurt

1545In my behalfe, my reputation staind

¶With Tybalts slaunder, Tybalt that an houre

¶Hath bene my Cozen, O sweete Iuliet,

¶Thy bewtie hath made me effeminate,

¶And in my temper softned valours steele.

1550

Enter Benuolio.

¶Ben. O Romeo,Romeo, braue Mercutio is dead,

¶That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the Clowdes,

¶Which too vntimely here did scorne the earth.

¶ Ro. This dayes blacke fate, on mo daies doth depēd,

1555This but begins, the wo others must end.

¶Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt backe againe.

¶Ro. He gan in triumph and Mercutio slaine,

¶Away to heauen, respectiue lenitie,

1560And fier and furie, be my conduct now,

¶Now Tybalt take the villaine backe againe,

¶That late thou gauest me, for Mercutios soule

¶Is but a little way aboue our heads,

¶Staying for thine to keepe him companie:

1565Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.

¶ Ty. Thou wretched boy that didst cōsort him here,

¶Shalt with him hence.

¶Ro. This shall determine that.

They Fight. Tibalt falles.

1570Ben. Romeo, away be gone:

¶The Citizens are vp, and Tybalt slaine,

¶Stand not amazed, the Prince wil doome thee death,

¶If thou art taken, hence be gone away.

¶Ro. O I am fortunes foole.

1575Ben. Why dost thou stay?

Exit Romeo.

Enter Citizens.

¶Citti. Which way ran he that kild Mercutio?

¶Tybalt that murtherer, which way ran he?

1580Ben. There lies that Tybalt.

¶Citi. Vp sir, go with me:

¶I charge thee in the Princes name obey.

Enter Prince, olde Mountague, Capulet,

¶their wiues and all.

1585Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

¶Ben. O Noble Prince, I can discouer all:

¶The vnluckie mannage of this fatall brall,

¶There lies the man slaine by young Romeo,

¶That slew thy kinsman, braue Mercutio.

1590 Capu.Wi. Tybalt, my Cozin, O my brothers child,

¶O Prince, O Cozen, husband, O the bloud is spild

¶Of my deare kinsman, Prince as thou art true,

¶For bloud of ours, shead bloud of Mountague.

¶O Cozin, Cozin.

1595Prin. Benuolio, who began this bloudie fray?

¶ Ben. Tybalt here slain, whom Romeos hand did slay,

¶Romeo that spoke him faire, bid him bethinke

¶How nice the quarell was, and vrgd withall

¶Your high displeasure all this vttered,

1600With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bowed

¶Could not take truce with the vnruly spleene

¶Of Tybalt deafe to peace, but that he tilts

¶With piercing steele at bold Mercutios breast,

¶Who all as hot, turnes deadly poynt to poynt,

1605And with a Martiall scorne, with one hand beates

¶Cold death aside, and with the other sends

¶It backe to Tybalt, whose dexteritie

¶Retorts it, Romeo he cries aloud,

¶Hold friends, friends part, and swifter then his tongue,

1610His aged arme beates downe their fatall poynts,

¶And twixt them rushes, vnderneath whose arme,

¶An enuious thrust from Tybalt, hit the life

¶Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled,

¶But by and by comes backe to Romeo,

1615Who had but newly entertaind reuenge,

¶And toote they go like lightning, for ere I

¶Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slaine:

¶And as he fell, did Romeo turne and flie,

¶This is the truth, or let Benuolio die.

1620Ca.Wi. He is a kinsman to the Mountague,

¶Affection makes him false, he speakes not true:

¶Some twentie of them fought in this blacke strife,

¶And all those twentie could but kill one life.

¶I beg for Iustice which thou Prince must giue:

1625Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not liue.

¶Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio,

¶Who now the price of his deare bloud doth owe.

¶ Capu. Not Romeo Prince, he was Mercutios friend,

¶His fault concludes, but what the law should end,

1630The life of Tybalt.

¶Prin. And for that offence,

¶Immediately we do exile him hence:

¶I haue an interest in your hearts proceeding:

¶My bloud for your rude brawles doth lie a bleeding.

1635But ile amerce you with so strong a fine,

¶That you shall all repent the losse of mine.

¶It will be deafe to pleading and excuses,

¶Nor teares, nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.

¶Therefore vse none, let Romeo hence in hast,

1640Else when he is found, that houre is his last.

¶Beare hence this body, and attend our will,

¶Mercie but murders, pardoning those that kill.

Exit.

Enter Iuliet alone.

1645Gallop apace, you fierie footed steedes,

¶Towards Phoebus lodging, such a wagoner

¶As Phaetan would whip you to the west,

¶And bring in clowdie night immediately.

¶Spread thy close curtaine loue-performing night,

1650That runnawayes eyes may wincke, and Romeo

¶Leape to these armes, vntalkt of and vnseene,

¶Louers can see to do their amorous rights,

¶And by their owne bewties, or if loue be blind,

¶It best agrees with night, come ciuill night,

1655Thou sober suted matron all in blacke,

¶And learne me how to loose a winning match,

¶Plaide for a paire of stainlesse maydenhoods.

¶Hood my vnmand bloud bayting in my cheekes,

¶With thy blacke mantle, till strange loue grow bold,

1660Thinke true loue acted simple modestie:

¶Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night,

¶For thou wilt lie vpon the winges of night,

¶Whiter then new snow vpon a Rauens backe:

¶Come gentle night, come louing black browd night,

1665Giue me my Romeo, and when I shall die,

¶Take him and cut him out in little starres,

¶And he will make the face of heauen so fine,

¶That all the world will be in loue with night,

¶And pay no worship to the garish Sun.

1670O I haue bought the mansion of a loue,

¶But not possest it, and though I am sold,

¶Not yet enioyd, so tedious is this day,

¶As is the night before some festiuall,

¶To an impatient child that hath new robes

1675And may not weare them. O here comes my Nurse:

Enter Nurse with cords.

¶And she brings newes, and euery tongue that speaks

¶But Romeos name, speakes heauenly eloquence:

¶Now Nurse, what newes? what hast thou there,

1680The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?

¶Nur. I, I, the cords.

¶ Iu. Ay me what news? Why dost thou wring thy hāds?

¶Nur. A weraday, hees dead, hees dead, hees dead,

1685We are vndone Lady, we are vndone.

¶Alack the day, hees gone, hees kild, hees dead.

¶Iu. Can heauen be so enuious?

¶Nur. Romeo can,

¶Though heauen cannot. O Romeo, Romeo,

1690Who euer would haue thought it Romeo?

¶ Iu. What diuell art thou that dost torment me thus?

¶This torture should be rored in dismall hell,

¶Hath Romeo slaine himselfe? say thou but I,

1695And that bare vowell I shall poyson more

¶Then the death arting eye of Cockatrice,

¶I am not I, if there be such an I.

¶Or those eyes shot, that makes thee answere I:

¶If he be slaine say I, or if not, no.

1700Briefe, sounds, determine my weale or wo.

¶Nur. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,

¶God saue the marke, here on his manly brest,

¶A piteous coarse, a bloudie piteous coarse,

¶Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawbde in bloud,

1705All in goare bloud, I sounded at the sight.

¶ Iu. O break my hart, poore banckrout break at once,

¶To prison eyes, nere looke on libertie.

¶Vile earth too earth resigne, end motion here.

1710And thou and Romeo presse on heauie beare.

¶Nur. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had,

¶O curteous Tybalt, honest Gentleman,

¶That euer I should liue to see thee dead.

¶Iu. What storme is this that blowes so contrarie?

1715Is Romeo slaughtred? and is Tybalt dead?

¶My dearest Cozen, and my dearer Lord,

¶Then dreadfull Trumpet sound the generall doome,

¶For who is liuing, if those two are gone?

¶Nur. Tybalt is gone and Romeo banished,

1720Romeo that kild him he is banished.

¶ Iuli. O God, did Romeos hand shead Tibalts bloud?

¶It did, it did, alas the day, it did.

¶Nur. O serpent heart, hid with a flowring face.

1725Iu. Did euer draggon keepe so faire a Caue?

¶Bewtifull tirant, fiend angelicall:

¶Rauenous douefeatherd rauē, woluishrauening lamb,

¶Despised substance of diuinest showe:

1730Iust opposite to what thou iustly seem'st,

¶A dimme saint, an honourable villaine:

¶O nature what hadst thou to do in hell

¶When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend,

¶In mortall paradise of such sweete flesh?

1735Was euer booke containing such vile matter

¶So fairely bound? ô that deceit should dwell

¶In such a gorgious Pallace.

¶ Nur. Theres no trust, no faith, no honestie in men,

¶All periurde, all forsworne, all naught, all dissemblers.

1740Ah wheres my man? giue me some Aqua-vitae:

¶These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old,

¶Shame come to Romeo.

¶Iu. Blisterd be thy tongue

¶For such a wish, he was not borne to shame:

1745Vpon his brow shame is asham'd to sit:

¶For tis a throane where honour may be crownd

¶Sole Monarch of the vniuersal earth.

¶O what a beast was I to chide at him?

¶ Nur. Wil you speak wel of him that kild your cozin?

¶Iu. Shall I speake ill of him that is my husband?

¶Ah poor my lord, what tongue shal smooth thy name,

¶When I thy three houres wife haue mangled it?

¶But wherefore villaine didst thou kill my Cozin?

1755That villaine Cozin would haue kild my husband:

¶Backe foolish teares, backe to your natiue spring,

¶Your tributarie drops belong to woe,

¶Which you mistaking offer vp to ioy,

¶My husband liues that Tybalt would haue slaine,

1760And Tybalts dead that would haue slain my husband:

¶All this is comfort, wherefore weepe I then?

¶Some word there was, worser then Tybalts death

¶That murdred me, I would forget it faine,

¶But oh it presses to my memorie,

1765Like damned guiltie deeds to sinners mindes,

¶Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished:

¶That banished, that one word banished,

¶Hath slaine ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalts death

¶Was woe inough if it had ended there:

1770Or if sower woe delights in fellowship,

¶And needly will be ranckt with other griefes,

¶Why followed not when she said Tybalts dead,

¶Thy father or thy mother, nay or both,

¶Which moderne lamentation might haue moued,

1775But with a reareward following Tybalts death,

¶Romeo is banished: to speake that word,

¶Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Iuliet,

¶All slaine, all dead: Romeo is banished,

¶There is no end, no limit, measure bound,

1780In that words death, no words can that woe sound.

¶Where is my father and my mother Nurse?

¶Nur. Weeping and wayling ouer Tybalts course,

¶Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

¶ Iu. Wash they his wounds with teares? mine shall be

(spent,

1785When theirs are drie, for Romeos banishment.

¶Take vp those cordes, poore ropes you are beguilde,

¶Both you and I for Romeo is exilde:

¶He made you for a highway to my bed,

¶But I a maide, die maiden widowed.

1790Come cordes, come Nurse, ile to my wedding bed,

¶And death not Romeo, take my maiden head.

¶Nur. Hie to your chamber, Ile finde Romeo

¶To comfort you, I wot well where he is:

¶Harke ye, your Romeo will be here at night,

1795Ile to him, he is hid at Lawrence Cell.

¶Iu. O find him, giue this ring to my true Knight,

¶And bid him come, to take his last farewell.

Exit.

Enter Frier and Romeo.

1800Fri. Romeo come forth, come forth thou fearefull man,

¶Affliction is enamourd of thy parts:

¶And thou art wedded to calamitie.

¶Ro. Father what newes? what is the Princes doome?

¶What sorrow craues acquaintance at my hand,

¶That I yet know not?

¶Fri. Too familiar

¶Is my deare sonne with such sowre companie?

1810I bring thee tidings of the Princes doome.

¶Ro. What lesse then doomesday is the Princes doome?

¶Fri. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips,

¶Not bodies death, but bodies banishment.

1815Rom. Ha, banishment? Be mercifull, say death:

¶For exile hath more terror in his looke,

¶Much more then death, do not say banishment.

¶Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:

¶Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

1820Ro. There is no world without Verona walls,

¶But purgatorie, torture, hell it selfe:

¶Hence banished, is banisht from the world.

¶And worlds exile is death. Then banished,

¶Is death, mistermd, calling death banished,

1825Thou cutst my head off with a golden axe,

¶And smilest vpon the stroke that murders me.

¶Fri. O deadly sin, ô rude vnthankfulnes,

¶Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince

¶Taking thy part, hath rusht aside the law,

1830And turnd that blacke word death to banishment.

¶This is deare mercie, and thou seest it not.

¶Ro. Tis torture and not mercie, heauen is here

¶Where Iuliet liues, and euery cat and dog,

¶And litle mouse, euery vnworthy thing

1835Liue here in heauen, and may looke on her,

¶But Romeo may not. More validitie,

¶More honourable state, more courtship liues

¶In carrion flies, then Romeo: they may seaze

¶On the white wonder of deare Iuliets hand,

1840And steale immortall blessing from her lips,

¶Who euen in pure and vestall modestie

¶Still blush, as thinking their owne kisses sin.

¶This may flyes do, when I from this must flie,

¶And sayest thou yet, that exile is not death?

1845But Romeo may not, he is banished.

1845.1Flies may do this, but I from this must flie:

¶They are freemen, but I am banished.

¶Hadst thou no poyson mixt, no sharpe ground knife,

¶No sudden meane of death, though nere so meane,

¶But banished to kill me: Banished?

¶O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell:

1850Howling attends it, how hast thou the heart

¶Being a Diuine, a ghostly Confessor,

¶A sin obsoluer, and my friend profest,

¶To mangle me with that word banished?

¶Fri. Then fond mad man, heare me a little speake.

1855Ro. O thou wilt speake againe of banishment.

¶Fri. Ile giue thee armour to keepe off that word,

¶Aduersities sweete milke, Philosophie,

¶To comfort thee though thou art banished.

¶Ro. Yet banished? hang vp philosophie,

1860Vnlesse Philosophie can make a Iuliet,

¶Displant a towne, reuerse a Princes doome,

¶It helpes not, it preuailes not, talke no more.

¶Fri. O then I see, that mad man haue no eares.

¶Ro. How should they when that wise men haue no eyes.

¶Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

¶Ro. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feele,

¶Wert thou as young as I, Iuliet thy loue,

¶An houre but married, Tybalt murdered,

1870Doting like me, and like me banished,

¶Then mightest thou speake,

¶Then mightst thou teare thy hayre,

¶And fall vpon the ground as I do now,

¶Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.

1875

Enter Nurse, and knocke.

¶Fri. Arise one knocks, good Romeo hide thy selfe.

¶Ro. Not I, vnlesse the breath of hartsicke grones,

1880Myst-like infold me from the search of eyes.

They knocke.

¶Fri. Hark how they knock (whose there) Romeo arise,

¶Thou wilt be taken, stay a while, stand vp.

1885

Slud knock.

¶Run to my studie by and by, Gods will

¶What simplenes is this? I come, I come.

Knocke.

¶Who knocks so hard? whēce come you? whats your will?

Enter Nurse.

¶Nur. Let me come in, and you shal know my errant:

¶I come from Lady Iuliet.

1895Fri. Welcome then.

¶Nur. O holy Frier, O tell me holy Frier,

¶Wheres my Ladyes Lord? wheres Romeo?

¶Fri. There on the ground,

¶With his owne teares made drunke.

1900Nur. O he is euen in my mistresse case,

¶Iust in her case. O wofull simpathy:

¶Pitious prediccament, euen so lies she,

¶Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring,

¶Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man,

1905For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand:

¶Why should you fall into so deepe an O?

¶Rom. Nurse.

¶Nur. Ah sir, ah sir, deaths the end of all.

¶Ro. Spakest thou of Iuliet? how is it with her?

1910Doth not she thinke me an old murtherer,

¶Now I haue staind the childhood of our ioy,

¶With bloud remoued, but little from her owne?

¶Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayes

¶My conceald Lady to our canceld loue?

1915 Nur. Oh she sayes nothing sir, but weeps and weeps,

¶And now falls on her bed, and then starts vp,

¶And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,

¶And then downe falls againe.

¶ Ro. As if that name shot from the deadly leuell of a gun,

1920Did murther her, as that names cursed hand

¶Murderd her kinsman. Oh tell me Frier, tell me,

¶In what vile part of this Anatomie

¶Doth my name lodge? Tell me that I may sacke

¶The hatefull mansion.

1925Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:

¶Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art:

¶Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts deuote

¶The vnreasonable furie of a beast.

¶Vnseemely woman in a seeming man,

1930And ilbeseeming beast in seeming both,

¶Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order,

¶I thought thy disposition better temperd.

¶Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou sley thy selfe?

¶And sley thy Lady, that in thy life lies,

1935By doing damned hate vpon thy selfe?

¶Why raylest thou on thy birth? the heauen and earth?

¶Since birth, and heauen, and earth all three do meet,

¶In thee at once, which thou at once wouldst loose.

¶Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy loue, thy wit,

1940Which like a Vsurer aboundst in all:

¶And vsest none in that true vse indeed,

¶Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit:

¶Thy Noble shape is but a forme of waxe,

¶Digressing from the valour of a man,

1945Thy deare loue sworne but hollow periurie,

¶Killing that loue which thou hast vowd to cherish,

¶Thy wit, that ornament, to shape and loue,

¶Mishapen in the conduct of them both:

¶Like powder in a skillesse souldiers flaske,

1950Is set a fier by thine owne ignorance,

¶And thou dismembred with thine owne defence.

¶What rowse thee man, thy Iuliet is aliue,

¶For whose deare sake thou wast but lately dead.

¶There art thou happie, Tybalt would kill thee,

1955But thou slewest Tibalt, there art thou happie.

¶The law that threatned death becomes thy friend,

¶And turnes it to exile, there art thou happie.

¶A packe of blessings light vpon thy backe,

¶Happines courts thee in her best array,

1960But like a mishaued and sullen wench,

¶Thou puts vp thy fortune and thy loue:

¶Take heede, take heede, for such die miserable.

¶Go get thee to thy loue as was decreed,

¶Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:

1965But looke thou stay not till the watch be set,

¶For then thou canst not passe to Mantua,

¶Where thou shalt liue till we can find a time

¶To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,

¶Beg pardon of the Prince and call thee backe,

1970With twentie hundred thousand times more ioy

¶Then thou wentst forth in lamentation.

¶Go before Nurse, commend me to thy Lady,

¶And bid her hasten all the house to bed,

¶Which heauie sorrow makes them apt vnto,

1975Romeo is comming.

¶Nur. O Lord, I could haue staid here all the night,

¶To heare good counsell, oh what learning is:

¶My Lord, ile tell my Lady you will come.

¶Ro. Do so, and bid my sweete prepare to chide.

1980Nur. Here sir, a Ring she bid me giue you sir:

¶Hie you, make hast, for it growes very late.

¶Ro. How well my comfort is reuiu'd by this.

¶ Fri. Go hēce, goodnight, & here stands al your state:

1985Either be gone before the watch be set,

¶Or by the breake of day disguise from hence,

¶Soiourne in Mantua, ile find out your man,

¶And he shall signifie from time to time,

¶Euery good hap to you, that chaunces here:

1990Giue me thy hand, tis late, farewell, goodnight.

¶Ro. But that a ioy past ioy calls out on me,

¶It were a griefe, so briefe to part with thee:

¶Farewell.

1993.1

Exeunt.

Enter old Capulet, his wife and Paris.

1995Ca. Things haue falne out sir so vnluckily,

¶That we haue had no time to moue our daughter,

¶Looke you, she lou'd her kinsman Tybalt dearely

¶And so did I. Well we were borne to die.

¶Tis very late, sheele not come downe to night:

2000I promise you, but for your companie,

¶I would haue bene a bed an houre ago.

¶ Paris. These times of wo affoord no times to wooe:

¶Madam goodnight, commend me to your daughter.

¶La. I will, and know her mind early to morrow,

2005To night shees mewed vp to her heauines.

¶Ca. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender

¶Of my childes loue: I thinke she will me rulde

¶In all respects by me: nay more, I doubt it not.

¶Wife go you to her ere you go to bed,

2010Acquaint her here, of my sonne Paris loue,

¶And bid her, marke you me? on wendsday next.

¶But soft, what day is this?

¶Pa. Monday my Lord.

¶Ca. Monday, ha ha, well wendsday is too soone,

2015A thursday let it be, a thursday tell her

¶She shall be married to this noble Earle:

¶Will you be ready? do you like this haste?

¶Well, keepe no great ado, a friend or two,

¶For harke you, Tybalt being slaine so late,

2020It may be thought we held him carelesly

¶Being our kinsman, if we reuell much:

¶Therefore weele haue some halfe a doozen friends,

¶And there an end, but what say you to Thursday?

¶Paris. My Lord, I would that thursday were to morrow.

¶Ca. Well get you gone, a Thursday be it then:

¶Go you to Iuliet ere you go to bed,

¶Prepare her wife, against this wedding day.

¶Farewell my Lord, light to my chamber ho,

2030Afore mee, it is so very late that wee may call it early by and by,

¶Goodnight.

2031.1

Exeunt._

Enter Romeo and Iuliet aloft.

¶Iu. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet neare day:

¶It was the Nightingale, and not the Larke,

2035That pierst the fearefull hollow of thine eare,

¶Nightly she sings on yond Pomgranet tree,

¶Beleeue me loue, it was the Nightingale.

¶Rom. It was the Larke the herauld of the morne,

¶No Nightingale, looke loue what enuious streakes

2040Do lace the seuering cloudes in yonder East:

¶Nights candles are burnt out, and iocand day

¶Stands tipto on the mystie Mountaine tops,

¶I must be gone and liue, or stay and die.

¶Iu. Yond light is not daylight, I know it I:

2045It is some Meteor that the Sun exhale,

¶To be to thee this night a Torch-bearer,

¶And light thee on thy way to Mantua.

¶Therefore stay yet, thou needst not to be gone.

¶Ro. Let me be tane, let me be put to death,

2050I am content, so thou wilt haue it so.

¶Ile say yon gray is not the the morning: eye,

¶Tis but the pale reflex of Cinthias brow.

¶Nor that is not the Larke whose noates do beate

¶The vaultie heauen so high aboue our heads,

2055I haue more care to stay then will to go:

¶Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it so.

¶How ist my soule? lets talke it is not day.

¶Iu. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away:

¶It is the Larke that sings so out of tune,

2060Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes.

¶Some say, the Larke makes sweete Diuision:

¶This doth not so: for she diuideth vs.

¶Some say the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes,

¶O now I would they had changd voyces too:

2065Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray,

¶Hunting thee hence, with Hunts up to the day.

¶O now be gone, more light and light it growes.

¶ Romeo. More light and light, more darke and darke our

2068.1_woes.

Enter Madame and Nurse.

2070Nur. Madam.

¶Iu. Nurse.

¶ Nur. Your Lady Mother is cūming to your chāber,

¶The day is broke, be wary, looke about.

¶Iuli. Then window let day in, and let life out.

2075Ro. Farewell, farewell, one kisse and Ile descend.

¶ Iu. Art thou gone so loue, Lord, ay husband, friend,

¶I must heare from thee euery day in the houre,

¶For in a minute there are many dayes,

¶O by this count I shall be much in yeares,

2080Ere I againe behold my Romeo.

¶Rom. Farewell:

¶I will omit no opportunitie,

¶That may conuey my greetings loue to thee.

¶Iu. O thinkst thou we shall euer meete againe?

2085Rom. I doubt it not, and allthese woes shall serue

¶For sweete discourses in our times to come.

¶Ro. O God I haue an ill diuining soule,

¶Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe,

¶As one dead in the bottome of a tombe,

2090Either my eye-sight failes, or thou lookestpale.

¶Rom. And trust me loue, in my eye so do you:

¶Drie sorrow drinkes our bloud. Adue, adue.

2092.1

Exit.

¶Iu. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle,

¶If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him

2095That is renowmd for faith? be fickle Fortune:

¶For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long,

¶But send him backe.

Enter Mother.

¶La. Ho daughter, are you vp?

2100Iu. Who ist that calls? It is my Lady mother.

¶Is she not downe so late or vp so early?

¶What vnaccustomd cause procures her hither?

¶La. Why how now Iuliet?

¶Iu. Madam I am not well.

2105La. Euermore weeping for your Cozens death?

¶What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares?

¶And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him liue:

¶Therfore haue done, some griefe shews much of loue,

¶But much of greefe, shewes still some want of wit.

2110Iu. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling losse.

¶La. So shall you feele the losse, but not the friend

¶Which you weepe for.

¶Iu. Feeling so the losse,

¶I cannot chuse but euer weepe the friend.

2115 La. Wel gyrle, thou weepst not so much for his death,

¶As that the villaine liues which slaughterd him.

¶Iu. What villaine Madam?

¶ La. That same villaine Romeo.

¶Iu. Villaine and he be many miles a sunder:

2120God pardon, I do with all my heart:

¶And yet no man like he, doth greeue my heart.

¶La. That is because the Traytor murderer liues.

¶Iu. I Madam from the reach of these my hands:

¶Would none but I might venge my Cozens death.

2125 La. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not.

¶Then weepe no more, Ile send to one in Mantua,

¶Where that same bannisht runnagate doth liue,

¶Shall giue him such an vnaccustomd dram,

¶That he shall soone keepe Tybalt companie:

2130And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.

¶Iu. Indeed I neuer shall be satisfied

¶With Romeo, till I behold him. Dead

¶Is my poore heart so for a kinsman vext:

¶Madam if you could find out but a man

2135To beare a poyson, I would temper it:

¶That Romeo should vpon receit thereof,

¶Soone sleepe in quiet. O how my heart abhors

¶To heare him namde and cannot come to him,

¶To wreake the loue I bore my Cozen,

2140Vpon his body that hath slaughterd him.

¶ Mo. Find thou the means, and Ile find such a man,

¶But now ile tell thee ioyfull tidings Gyrle.

¶Iu. And ioy comes well in such a needie time,

¶What are they, beseech your Ladyship?

2145M. Well, well, thou hast a carefull father child,

¶One who to put thee from thy heauines,

¶Hath sorted out a sudden day of ioy,

¶That thou expects not, nor I lookt not for.

¶Iu. Madam in happie time, what day is that?

2150 M. Marrie my child, early next Thursday morne,

¶The gallant, young, and Noble Gentleman,

¶The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church,

¶Shall happily make thee there a ioyfull Bride.

¶Iu. Now by S. Peters Church, and Peter too,

2155He shall not make me there a ioyfull Bride.

¶I wonder at this haste, that I must wed

¶Ere he that should be husband comes to wooe:

¶I pray you tell my Lord and father Madam,

¶I will not marrie yet, and when I do, I sweare

2160It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate

¶Rather then Paris, these are newes indeed.

¶ M. Here comes your father, tell him so your selfe:

¶And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter Capulet and Nurse.

2165Ca. When the Sun sets, the earth doth drisle deaw,

¶But for the Sunset of my brothers sonne,

¶It rains downright. How now a Conduit girle, what still in tears

¶Euermore showring in one litle body?

2170Thou countefaits. A Barke, a Sea, a Wind:

¶For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,

¶Do ebbe and flowe with teares, the Barke thy body is:

¶Sayling in this salt floud, the windes thy sighes,

¶Who raging with thy teares and they with them,

2175Without a sudden calme will ouerset

¶Thy tempest tossed body. How now wife,

¶Haue you deliuered to her our decree?

¶La. I sir, but she will none, she giues you thankes,

2180I would the foole were married to her graue.

¶ Ca. Soft take me with you, take me with you wife,

¶How will she none? doth she not giue vs thanks?

¶Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest,

¶Vnworthy as she is, that we haue wrought

2185So worthy a Gentleman to be her Bride?

¶ Iu. Not proud you haue, but thankful that you haue:

¶Proud can I neuer be of what I hate,

¶But thankfull euen for hate, that is meant loue.

2190 Ca. How, how, how how, chopt lodgick, what is this?

¶Proud and I thanke you, and I thanke you not,

¶And yet not proud mistresse minion you?

Thanke me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,

¶But fettle your fine Ioynts gainst Thursday next,

2195To go with Paris to Saint Peters Church:

¶Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

¶Out you greene sicknesse carrion, out you baggage,

¶You tallow face.

¶La. Fie, fie, what are you mad?

2200Iu. Good Father, I beseech you on my knees,

¶Heare me with patience, but to speake a word.

¶ Fa. Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch,

¶I tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thursday,

¶Or neuer after looke me in the face.

2205Speake not, replie not, do not answere me.

¶My fingers itch, wife, we scarce thought vs blest

¶That God had lent vs but this onely childe,

¶But now I see this one is one too much,

¶And that we haue a curse in hauing her:

2210Out on her hilding.

¶Nur. God in heauen blesse her:

¶You are to blame my Lord to rate her so.

¶ Fa. And why my Lady wisdome, hold your tongue,

¶Good Prudence smatter, with your gossips go.

2215Nur. I speake no treason,

¶Father, ô Godigeden,

¶May not one speake?

¶Fa. Peace you mumbling foole,

¶Vtter your grauitie ore a Goships bowle,

2220For here we need it not.

¶Wi. You are too hot.

¶Fa. Gods bread, it makes me mad,

¶Day, night, houre, tide, time, worke, play,

¶Alone in companie, still my care hath bene

2225To haue her matcht, and hauing now prouided

¶A Gentleman of noble parentage,

¶Of faire demeanes, youthfull and nobly liand,

¶Stuft as they say, with honourable parts,

¶Proportiond as ones thought would wish a man,

2230And then to haue a wretched puling foole,

¶A whining mammet, in her fortunes tender,

¶To answere, ile not wed, I cannot loue:

¶I am too young, I pray you pardon me.

¶But and you will not wed, ile pardon you.

2235Graze where you will, you shall not house with me,

¶Looke too't, thinke on't, I do not vse to iest.

¶Thursday is neare, lay hand on hart, aduise,

¶And you be mine, ile giue you to my friend,

¶And you be not, hang, beg, starue, dye in the streets.

2240For by my soule ile nere acknowledge thee,

¶Nor what is mine shall neuer do thee good:

¶Trust too't, bethinke you, ile not be forsworne.

2242.1

Exit.

¶Iu. Is there no pittie sitting in the cloudes

¶That sees into the bottome of my greefe?

2245O sweet my Mother cast me not away,

¶Delay this marriage for a month, a weeke,

¶Or if you do not, make the Bridall bed

¶In that dim Monument where Tibalt lies.

¶Mo. Talke not to me, for ile not speake a word,

2250Do as thou wilt, for I haue done with thee.

2250.1

Exit.

¶Iu. O God, ô Nurse, how shall this be preuented?

¶My husband is on earth, my faith in heauen,

¶How shall that faith returne againe to earth,

2255Vnlesse that husband send it me from heauen,

¶By leauing earth? comfort me, counsaile me:

¶Alack, alack, that heauen should practise stratagems

¶Vpon so soft a subiect as my selfe.

¶What sayst thou, hast thou not a word of ioy?

2260Some comfort Nurse.

¶Nur. Faith here it is, Romeo is banished and all the world to

(nothing,

¶That he dares nere come back to challenge you:

¶Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.

2265Then since the case so stands as now it doth,

¶I thinke it best you married with the Countie,

¶O hees a louely Gentleman:

¶Romios a dishclout to him, an Eagle Madam

¶Hath not so greene, so quick, so faire an eye

2270As Paris hath, beshrow my very hart,

¶I thinke you are happie in this second match,

¶For it excels your first, or if it did not,

¶Your first is dead, or twere as good he were,

¶As liuing here, and you no vse of him.

2275Iu. Speakst thou from thy heart?

¶Nur. And from my soule too, else beshrew them both.

¶Iu. Amen.

¶Nur. What?

2280Iu. Well thou hast comforted me maruellous much,

¶Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone,

¶Hauing displeas'd my father, to Laurence Cell,

¶To make confession, and to be obsolu'd.

¶Nur. Marrie I will, and this is wisely done.

2285Iu. Auncient damnation, ô most wicked fiend,

¶Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworne,

¶Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongue,

¶Which she hath praisde him with aboue compare,

¶So many thousand times? Go Counsellor,

2290Thou and my bosome henceforth shall be twaine:

¶Ile to the Frier to know his remedie,

¶If all else faile, my selfe haue power to die.

2292.1

Exit.

Enter Frier and Countie Paris.

¶Fri. On Thursday sir: the time is very short.

2295Par. My Father Capulet will haue it so,

¶And I am nothing slow to slacke his haste.

¶Fri. You say you do not know the Ladies minde?

¶Vneuen is the course, I like it not.

¶Par. Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death,

2300And therefore haue I little talke of loue,

¶For Venus smiles not in a house of teares.

¶Now sir, her father counts it daungerous

¶That she do giue her sorrow so much sway:

¶And in his wisedome hastes our marriage,

2305To stop the inundation of her teares.

¶Which too much minded by her selfe alone

¶May be put from her by societie.

¶Now do you know the reason of this haste.

¶Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slowed.

2310Looke sir, here comes the Lady toward my Cell.

Enter Iuliet.

¶Pa. Happily met my Lady and my wife.

¶Iu. That maybe sir, when I may be a wife.

¶Pa. That may be, must be loue, on Thursday next.

2315Iu. What must be shall be.

¶Fri. Thats a certaine text.

¶Par. Come you to make confession to this Father?

¶Iu. To aunswere that, I should confesse to you.

¶Pa. Do not denie to him, that you loue me.

2320Iu. I will confesse to you that I loue him.

¶Par. So will ye, I am sure that you loue me.

¶Iu. If I do so, it will be of more price,

¶Being spoke behind your backe, then to your face.

¶Par. Poor soule thy face is much abusde with tears.

2325Iu. The teares haue got small victorie by that,

¶For it was bad inough before their spight.

¶Pa. Thou wrongst it more then tears with that report.

¶Iu. That is no slaunder sir, which is a truth,

¶And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

2330Pa. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slandred it.

¶Iu. It may be so, for it is not mine owne.

¶Are you at leisure, holy Father now,

¶Or shall I come to you at euening Masse?

¶Fri. My leisure serues me pensiue daughter now,

2335My Lord we must entreate the time alone.

¶Par. God_shield, I should disturbe deuotion,

¶Iuliet, on Thursday early will I rowse yee,

¶Till then adue, and keepe this holy kisse.

2338.1

Exit._

¶Iu. O shut the doore, and when thou hast done so,

2340Come weepe with me, past hope, past care, past help.

¶Fri. O Iuliet I already know thy greefe,

¶It straines me past the compasse of my wits,

¶I heare thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,

¶On Thursday next be married to this Countie.

2345Iu. Tell me not Frier, that thou hearest of this,

¶Vnlesse thou tell me, how I may preuent it:

¶If in thy wisedome thou canst giue no helpe,

¶Do thou but call my resolution wise,

¶And with this knife ile helpe it presently.

2350God ioynd my heart, and Romeos thou our hands

¶And ere this hand by thee to Romeos seald:

¶Shall be the Labell to an other deed,

¶Or my true heart with trecherous reuolt,

¶Turne to an other, this shall sley them both:

2355Therefore out of thy long experienst time,

¶Giue me some present counsell, or behold

¶Twixt my extreames and me, this bloudie knife

¶Shall play the vmpeere, arbitrating that,

¶Which the commission of thy yeares and art,

2360Could to no issue of true honour bring:

¶Be not so long to speake, I long to die,

¶If what thou speakst, speake not of remedie.

¶Fri. Hold daughter, I do spie a kind of hope,

¶Which craues as desperate an execution,

2365As that is desperate which we would preuent.

¶If rather then to marrie Countie Paris

¶Thou hast the strength of will to slay_thy selfe,

¶Then is it likely thou wilt vndertake

¶A thing like death to chide away this shame,

2370That coapst with death, himselfe to scape from it:

¶And if thou darest, Ile giue thee remedie.

¶Iu. Oh bid me leape, rather then marrie Paris,

¶From of the battlements of any Tower,

¶Or walke in theeuish wayes, or bid me lurke

2375Where Serpents are: chaine me with roaring Beares,

¶Or hide me nightly in a Charnel house,

¶Orecouerd quite with dead mens ratling bones,

¶With reekie shanks and yealow chaples sculls:

¶Or bid me go into a new made graue,

2380And hide me with a dead man in his,

¶Things that to heare them told, haue made me tremble,

¶And I will do it without feare or doubt,

¶To liue an vnstaind wife to my sweete loue.

¶Fri. Hold then, go home, be merrie, giue consent,

2385To marrie Paris: wendsday is to morrow,

¶To morrow night looke that thou lie alone,

¶Let not the Nurse lie with thee in thy Chamber:

¶Take thou this Violl being then in bed,

¶And this distilling liquor drinke thou off,

2390When presently through all thy veinesshall run,

¶A cold and drowzie humour: for no pulse

¶Shall keepe his natiue progresse but surcease,

¶No warmth, no breast shall testifie thou liuest,

¶The roses in thy lips and cheekes shall fade:

2395Too many ashes, thy eyes windowes fall:

¶Like death when he shuts vp the day of life.

¶Each part depriu'd of supple gouernment,

¶Shall stiffe and starke, and cold appeare like death,

¶And in this borrowed likenesse of shrunke death

2400Thou shalt continue two and fortie houres,

¶And then awake as from a pleasant sleepe.

¶Now when the Bridegroome in the morning comes,

¶To rowse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:

¶Then as the manner of our countrie is,

2405Is thy best robes vncouered on the Beere,

¶Be borne to buriall in thy kindreds graue:

¶Thou shall be borne to that same auncient vault,

¶Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie,

¶In the meane time against thou shalt awake,

2410Shall Romeo by my Letters know our drift,

¶And hither shall he come, an he and I

2411.1Will watch thy walking, and that very night

¶Shall Romeo beare thee hence to Mantua.

¶And this shall free thee from this present shame,

¶If no inconstant toy nor womanish feare,

2415Abate thy valour in the acting it.

¶Iu. Giue me, giue me, O tell not me of feare

¶Fri. Hold get you gone, be strong and prosperous

¶In this resolue, ile send a Frier with speed

¶To Mantua, with my Letters to thy Lord.

2420Iu. Loue giue me strength, and strength shall helpe afford:

¶Farewell deare father.

(Exit.

Enter Father Capulet, Mother, Nurse, and

¶Seruing men, two or three.

2425Ca. So many guests inuite as here are writ,

¶Sirrah, go hire me twentie cunning Cookes.

¶ Ser. You shall haue none ill sir, for ile trie if they can lick their

¶fingers.

¶Capu. How canst thou trie them so?

2430 Ser. Marrie sir, tis an ill Cooke that cannot lick his owne fin-

¶gers: therefore hee that cannot lick his fingers goes not with

¶me.

¶Ca. Go be gone, we shall be much vnfurnisht for this time:

¶What is my daughter gone to Frier Lawrence?

2435Nur. I forsooth.

¶Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her,

¶A peeuish selfewieldhar lottry it is.

Enter Iuliet.

¶Nur. See where she comes from shrift with merie looke.

¶ Ca. How now my headstrong, where haue you bin gadding?

¶Iu. Where I haue learnt me to repent the sin

¶Of disobedient opposition,

2445To you and your behests, and am enioynd

¶By holy Lawrence, to fall prostrate here,

¶To beg your pardon, pardon I beseech you,

¶Henceforward I am euer rulde by you.

¶Ca. Send for the Countie, go tell him of this,

2450Ile haue this knot knit vp to morrow morning.

¶Iu. I met the youthfull Lord at Lawrence Cell,

¶And gaue him what becomd loue I might,

¶Not stepping ore the bounds of modestie.

¶Cap. Why I am glad ont, this is wel, stand vp,

2455This is ast should be, let me see the Countie:

¶I marrie go I say and fetch him hither.

¶Now afore God, this reuerend holy Frier,

¶All our whole Citie is much bound to him.

¶Iu. Nurse, will you go with me into my Closet,

2460To helpe me sort such needfull ornaments,

¶As you thinke fit to furnish me to morrow?

¶Mo. No not till Thursday, there is time inough.

¶Fa. Go Nurse, go with her, weele to Church to morrow.

2465

Exeunt.

¶Mo. We shall be short in our prouision,

¶Tis now neare night.

¶Fa. Tush, I will stirre about,

¶And all things shall be well, I warrant thee wife:

2470Go thou to Iuliet, helpe to decke vp her,

¶Ile not to bed to night, let me alone:

¶Ile play the huswife for this once, what ho?

¶They are all forth, well I will walke my selfe

¶To Countie Paris, to prepare vp him

2475Against to morrow, my heart is wondrous light,

¶Since this same wayward Gyrle is so reclaymd.

Exit._

Enter Iuliet and Nurse.

¶Iu. I those attires are best, but gentle Nurse

2480I pray thee leaue me to my selfe to night:

¶For I haue need of many orysons,

¶To moue the heauens to smile vpon my state,

¶Which well thou knowest, is crosse and full of sin.

Enter Mother.

2485Mo. What are you busie ho? need you my helpe?

¶Iu. No Madam, we haue culd such necessaries

¶As are behoofefull for our state to morrow:

¶So please you, let me now be left alone,

¶And let the Nurse this night sit vp with you,

2490For I am sure you haue your hands full all,

¶In this so sudden businesse.

¶Mo. Good night.

¶Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.

2493.1

Exeunt._

¶Iu. Farewell, God knowes when we shall meete againe,

¶I haue a faint cold feare thrills through my veines,

¶That almost freezes vp the heate of life:

¶Ile call them backe againe to comfort me.

¶Nurse, what should she do here?

2500My dismall sceane I needs must act alone.

¶Come Violl, what if this mixture do not worke at all?

¶Shall I be married then to morrow morning?

¶No, no, this shall forbid it, lie thou there,

¶What if it be a poyson which the Frier

2505Subtilly hath ministred to haue me dead,

¶Least in this marriage he should be dishonourd,

¶Because he married me before to Romeo?

¶I feare it is, and yet me thinks it should not,

¶For he hath still bene tried a holy man.

2510How if when I am laid into the Tombe,

¶I wake before the time that Romeo

¶Come to redeeme me, theres a fearfull poynt:

¶Shall I not then be stiffled in the Vault?

¶To whose foule mouth no healthsome ayre breaths in,

2515And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes.

¶Or if I liue, is it not very like,

¶The horrible conceit of death and night,

¶Togither with the terror of the place,

¶As in a Vaulte, an auncient receptacle,

2520Where for this many hundred yeares the bones

¶Of all my buried auncestors are packt,

¶Where bloudie Tybalt yet but greene in earth,

¶Lies festring in his shroude, where as they say,

¶At some houres in the night, spirits resort:

2525Alack, alack, is it not like that I

¶So early waking, what with loathsome smels,

¶And shrikes like mandrakes torne out of the earth,

¶That liuing mortalls hearing them run mad:

¶O if I walke, shall I not be distraught,

2530Inuironed with all these hidious feares,

¶And madly play with my forefathers ioynts?

¶And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shrowde,

¶And in this rage with some great kinsmans bone,

¶As with a club dash out my desprate braines.

2535O looke, me thinks I see my Cozins Ghost,

¶Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body

¶Vpon a Rapiers poynt: stay Tybalt, stay?

¶Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, heeres drinke, I drinke to thee.

Enter Lady of the house and Nurse.

2540La. Hold take these keies & fetch more spices Nurse.

¶Nur. They call for dates and quinces in the Pastrie.

Enter old Capulet.

¶Ca. Come, stir, stir, stir, the second Cock hath crowed.

¶The Curphew bell hath roong, tis three a clock:

¶Looke to the bakte meates, good Angelica,

¶Spare not for cost.

¶Nur. Go you cot-queane go,

2550Get you to bed, faith youle be sicke tomorrow

¶For this nights watching.

¶Ca. No not a whit, what I haue watcht ere now,

¶All night for lesser cause, and nere bene sicke.

¶La. I you haue bene a mouse-hunt in your time,

2555But I will watch you from such watching now.

Exit Lady and Nurse._

¶ Ca. A iealous hood, a iealous hood, now fellow, what is there?

Enter three or foure with spits and logs,

2559.1and Baskets.

2560Fel. Things for the Cooke sir, but I know not what.

¶Ca. Make haste, make haste sirra, fetch drier logs.

¶Call Peter, he will shew thee where they are.

¶Fel. I haue a head sir, that will find out logs,

¶And neuer trouble Peter for the matter.

2565Ca. Masse and well said, a merrie horson, ha,

¶Twou shalt be loggerhead, good father tis day.

Play Musicke.

¶The Countie will be here with musicke straight,

¶For so he said he would, I heare him neare.

2570Nurse, wife, what ho, what Nurse I say?

Enter Nurse.

¶Go waken Iuliet, go and trim her vp,

¶Ile go and chat with Paris, hie, make haste,

¶Make hast, the bridgroome, he is come already, make hast I say.

¶Nur. Mistris, what mistris, Iuliet, fast I warrant her she,

¶Why Lambe, why Lady, fie you sluggabed,

¶Why Loue I say, Madam, sweete heart, why Bride:

¶What not a word, you take your penniworths now,

2580Sleepe for a weeke, for the next night I warrant

¶The Countie Paris hath set vp his rest,

¶That you shall rest but little, God forgiue me.

¶Marrie and Amen: how sound is she a sleepe:

¶I needs must wake her: Madam, Madam, Madam,

2585I, let the Countie take you in your bed,

¶Heele fright you vp yfaith, will it not be?

¶What drest, and in your clothes, and downe againe?

¶I must needs wake you, Lady, Lady, Lady.

¶Alas, alas, helpe, helpe, my Ladyes dead.

2590Oh wereaday that euer I was borne,

¶Some Aqua-vitæ ho, my Lord my Lady.

¶Mo. What noise is here?

¶Nur. O lamentable day.

¶Mo. What is the matter?

2595Nur. Looke, looke, oh heauie day!

¶Mo. O me, O me, my child, my onely life.

¶Reuiue, looke vp, or I will die with thee:

¶Helpe, helpe, call helpe.

Enter Father.

2600 Fa. For shame bring Iuliet forth, her Lord is come.

¶Nur. Shees dead: deceast, shees dead, alack the day.

¶M. Alack the day, shees dead, shees dead, shees dead.

¶Fa. Hah let me see her, out alas shees cold,

¶Her bloud is setled, and her ioynts are stiffe:

2605Life and these lips haue long bene separated,

¶Death lies on her like an vntimely frost,

¶Vpon the sweetest flower of all thefield.

¶Nur. O lamentable day!

¶Mo. O wofull time!

2610 Fa. Death that hath tane her hēce to make me waile

¶Ties vp my tongue and will not let me speake.

Enter Frier and the Countie.

¶Fri. Come, is the Bride ready to go to Church?

¶Fa. Ready to go but neuer to returne.

2615O sonne, the night before thy wedding day

¶Hath death laine with thy wife, there she lies,

¶Flower as she was, deflowred by him,

¶Death is my sonne in law, death is my heire,

¶My daughter he hath wedded. I will die,

2620And leaue him all life liuing, all is deaths.

¶ Par. Haue I thought loue to see this mornings face,

¶And doth it giue me such a sight as this?

¶Mo. Accurst, vnhappie, wretched hatefull day,

¶Most miserable houre that ere time saw,

2625In lasting labour of his Pilgrimage,

¶But one poore one, one poore and louing child,

¶But one thing to reioyce and solace in,

¶And cruell death hath catcht it from my sight.

¶Nur. O wo, O wofull, wofull, wofull day,

2630Most lamentable day, most wofull day

¶That euer, euer, I did yet bedold.

¶O day, O day, O day, O hatefull day,

¶Neuer was seene so blacke a day as this,

¶O wofull day, O wofull day.

2635 Par. Beguild, diuorced, wronged, spighted, slaine,

¶Most detestable death, by thee beguild,

¶By cruell, cruell, thee quite ouerthrowne,

¶O loue, O life, not life, but loue in death.

¶Fat. Despisde, distressed, hated, martird, kild,

2640Vncomfortable time, why camst thou now,

¶To murther, murther, our solemnitie?

¶O childe, O childe, my soule and not my childe,

¶Dead art thou, alacke my child is dead,

¶And with my child my ioyes are buried.

2645 Fri. Peace ho for shame, confusions care liues not,

¶In these confusions heauen and your selfe

¶Had part in this faire maide, now heauen hath all,

¶And all the better is it for the maid:

¶Your part in her, you could not keepe from death.

2650But heauen keepes his part in eternall life,

¶The most you sought was her promotion,

¶For twas your heauen she should be aduanst,

¶And weepe ye now, seeing she is aduanst

¶Aboue the Cloudes, as high as heauen it selfe.

2655O in this loue, you loue your child so ill,

¶That you run mad, seeing that she is well:

¶Shees not well married, that liues married long,

¶But shees best married, that dies married young.

¶Drie vp your teares, and stick your Rosemarie

2660On this faire Coarse, and as the custome is,

¶And in her best array beare her to Church:

¶For though some nature bids vs all lament,

¶Yet natures teares are reasons merriment.

¶Fa. All things that we ordained festiuall,

2665Turne from their office to black Funerall:

¶Our instruments to melancholy bells,

¶Our wedding cheare to a sad buriall feast:

¶Our solemne himnes to sullen dyrges change:

¶Our Bridall flowers serue for a buried Coarse:

2670And all things change them to the contrarie.

¶Fri. Sir go you in, and Madam go with him,

¶And go sir Paris, euery one prepare

¶To follow this faire Coarse vnto her graue:

¶The heauens do lowre vpon you for some ill:

2675Moue them no more, by crossing their high wil.

2675.1

Fxeunt manet.

¶Musi. Faith we may put vp our pipes and be gone.

¶Nur. Honest good fellowes, ah put vp, put vp,

¶For well you know, this is a pitifull case.

¶Fid. I my my troath, the case may be amended.

2679.1

Exit omnes.

2680

Enter Will Kemp.

¶Peter. Musitions, oh Musitions, harts ease, harts ease,

¶O, and you will haue me liue, play harts ease.

¶Fidler. Why harts ease?

2685 Peter. O Musitions, because my hart it selfe plaies my hart is

(full:

2686.1O play me some merie dump to comfort me.

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

¶Peter. You will not then?

¶Minst. No.

2690Peter. I will then giue it you soundly.

¶Minst. What will you giue vs?

¶Peter. No money on my faith, but the gleeke.

¶I will giue you the Minstrell.

¶Minstrel. Then will I giue you the Seruing-creature.

2695 Peter. Then will I lay the seruing-creatures dagger on your

(pate.

¶I will cary no Crochets, ile re you, Ile fa

¶You, do you note me?

¶Minst. And you re vs, and fa vs, you note vs.

¶2. M. Pray you put vp your dagger, and put out your wit.

¶Then haue at you with my wit.

¶ Peter. I will dry-beate you with an yron wit, and put vp my

(yron dagger.

¶Answere me like men.

2705When griping griefes the hart doth wound, then musique with

¶_her siluer sound.

¶Why siluer sound, why musique, with her siluer sound, what say

¶_you Simon Catling?

¶Minst. Mary sir, because siluer hath a sweet sound.

2710Peter. Prates, what say you Hugh Rebick?

¶ 2. M. I say siluer sound, because Musitions sound for siluer.

¶Peter. Prates to, what say you Iames sound post?

¶3. M. Faith I know not what to say.

¶Peter. O I cry you mercy, you are the singer.

2715I will say for you, it is musique with her siluer sound,

¶Because Musitions haue no gold for sounding:

¶Then Musique with her siluer sound with speedy help doth

¶_lend redresse.

2718.1

Exit._

¶Min. What a pestilent knaue is this same?

2720 M. 2. Hang him Iack, come weele in here, tarrie for the mour-

¶ners, and stay dinner.

2721.1

Exit._

Enter Romeo.

¶Ro. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleepe,

¶My dreames presage some ioyfull newes at hand,

2725My bosomes L. sits lightly in his throne:

¶And all this day an vnaccustomd spirit,

¶Lifts me aboue the ground with chearfull thoughts,

¶I dreamt my Lady came and found me dead,

¶Strange dreame that giues a deadman leaue to thinke,

2730And Breathd such life with kisses in my lips,

¶That I reuiude and was an Emperor.

¶Ah me, how sweete is loue it selfe possest

¶When but loues shadowes are so rich in ioy.

Enter Romeos man.

2735Newes from Verona, how now Balthazer,

¶Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Frier?

¶How doth my Lady, is my Father well:

¶How doth my Lady Iuliet? that I aske againe,

¶For nothing can be ill if she be well.

2740Man. Then she is well and nothing can be ill,

¶Her body sleepes in Capels monument,

¶And her immortall part with Angels liues.

¶I saw her laid lowe in her kindreds vault,

¶And presently tooke poste to tell it you:

2745O pardon me for bringing these ill newes,

¶Since you did leaue it for my office sir.

¶Rom. Is it in so? then I denie you starres.

¶Thou knowest my lodging, get me inke and paper,

2750And hire post horses, I will hence tonight.

¶Man. I do beseech you sir, haue patience:

¶Your lookes are pale and wilde, and do import

¶Some misaduenture.

¶Ro. Tush thou art deceiu'd,

2755Leaue me, and do the thing I bid thee do.

¶Hast thou no Letters to me from the Frier?

¶Man. No my good Lord.

Exit._

¶Ro. No matter get thee gone,

2760And hyre those horses, Ile be with thee straight.

¶Well Iuliet, I will lie with thee to night:

¶Lets see for meanes, O mischiefe thou art swift,

¶To enter in the thoughts of desperate men.

¶I do remember an Appothacarie,

2765And here abouts a dwells which late I noted,

¶In tattred weeds with ouerwhelming browes,

¶Culling of simples, meager were his lookes,

¶Sharpe miserie had worne him to the bones:

¶And in his needie shop a tortoyes hung,

2770An allegater stuft, and other skins

¶Of ill shapte fishes, and about his shelues,

¶A beggerly account of emptie boxes,

¶Greene earthen pots, bladders and mustie seedes,

¶Remnants of packthred, and old cakes of Roses

2775Were thinly scattered, to make vp a shew.

¶Noting this penury, to my selfe I said,

¶An if a man did need a poyson now,

¶Whose sale is present death in Mantua,

¶Here liues a Catiffe wretch would sell it him.

2780O this same thought did but forerun my need,

¶And this same needie man must sell it me.

¶As I remember this should be the house,

¶Being holy day, the beggers shop is shut.

¶What ho Appothecarie.

¶Appo. Who calls so lowd?

¶Kom. Come hither man, I see that thou art poore.

¶Hold, there is fortie duckets, let me haue

¶A dram of poyson, such soone speeding geare,

2790As will dispearse it selfe through all the veines,

¶That the life-wearie-taker may fall dead,

¶And that the Trunke may be dischargd of breath,

¶As violently, as hastie powder fierd

¶Doth hurry from the fatall Canons wombe.

2795 Poti. Such mortall drugs I haue, but Mantuas lawe

¶Is death to any he that vtters them.

¶Ro. Art thou so bare and full of wretchednesse,

¶And fearest to die, famine is in thy cheekes,

¶Need and oppression starueth in thy eyes,

2800Contempt and beggerie hangs vpon thy backe:

¶The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law,

¶The world affoords no law to make thee rich:

¶Then be not poore, but breake it and take this.

¶Poti. My pouertie, but not my will consents.

2805Ro. I pray thy pouertie and not thy will.

¶Poti. Put this in any liquid thing you will

¶And drinke it off, and if you had the strength

¶Of twentie men, it would dispatch you straight.

¶ Ro. There is thy Gold, worse poyson to mens soules,

¶Doing more murther in this loathsome world,

¶Then these poore cōpounds that thou maiest not sell,

¶I sell thee poyson, thou hast sold me none,

¶Farewell, buy foode, and get thy selfe in flesh.

2815Come Cordiall and not poyson, go with me

¶To Iuliets graue, for there must I vse thee.

Exeunt.

Enter Frier Iohn to Frier Lawrence.

¶Ioh. Holy Franciscan Frier, brother, ho.

2820

Enter Lawrence.

¶ Law. This same should be the voyce of Frier Iohn,

¶Welcome from Mantua, what sayes Romeo?

¶Or if his minde be writ, giue me his Letter.

¶Ioh. Going to find a barefoote brother out,

2825One of our order to assotiate me,

¶Here in this Citie visiting the sicke,

¶And finding him, the Searchers of the Towne

¶Suspecting that we both were in a house,

¶Where the infectious pestilence did raigne,

2830Seald vp the doores, and would not let vs forth,

¶So that my speed to Mantua there was staid.

¶Law. Who bare my Letter then to Romeo?

¶Iohn. I could not send it, here it is againe,

¶Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,

2835So fearefull were they of infection.

¶Law. Vnhappie fortune, by my Brotherhood,

¶The Letter was not nice but full of charge,

¶Of deare import, and the neglecting it,

¶May do much danger: Frier Iohn go hence,

2840Get me an Iron Crow and bring it straight

¶Vnto my Cell.

¶Iohn. Brother ile go and bring it thee.

( Exit.

¶Law. Now must I to the Monument alone,

¶Within this three houres will faire Iuliet wake,

2845Shee will beshrewe me much that Romeo

¶Hath had no notice of these accidents:

¶But I will write againe to Mantua,

¶And keepe her at my Cell till Romeo come,

¶Poore liuing Coarse, closde in a dead mans Tombe.

2850

Exit.

Enter Paris and his Page.

¶Par. Giue me thy Torch boy, hence and stand aloofe,

¶Yet put it out, for I would not be seene:

¶Vnder yond young Trees lay thee all along,

2855Holding thy eare close to the hollow ground,

¶So shall no foote vpon the Church-yard tread,

¶Being loose, vnfirme with digging vp of Graues,

¶But thou shalt heare it, whistle then to me

¶As signall that thou hearest some thing approach,

2860Giue me those flowers, do as I bid thee, go.

¶Pa. I am almost afraid to stand alone,

¶Here in the Church-yard, yet I will aduenture.

¶Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy Bridall bed I strew

¶O woe, thy Canapie is dust andstones,

2865Which with sweete water nightly I will dewe,

¶Or wanting that, with teares distild by mones,

¶The obsequies that I for thee will keepe:

¶Nightly shall be, to strew thy graue and weepe.

Whistle Boy.

2870The Boy giues warning, something doth approach,

¶What cursed foote wanders this way to night,

¶To crosse my obsequies and true loues right?

¶What with a Torch? muffle me night a while.

Enter Romeo and Peter.

2875Ro. Giue me that mattocke and the wrenching Iron,

¶Hold take this Letter, early in the morning

¶See thou deliuer it to my Lord and Father,

¶Giue me the light vpon thy life I charge thee,

¶What ere thou hearest or seest, stand all aloofe,

2880And do not interrupt me in my course.

¶Why I descend into this bed of death,

¶Is partly to behold my Ladies face:

¶But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger,

¶A precious Ring: a Ring that I must vse,

2885In deare imployment, therefore hence be gone:

¶But if thou iealous dost returne to prie

¶In what I farther shall intend to doo,

¶By heauen I will teare thee Ioynt by Ioynt,

¶And strew this hungry Church-yard with thy lims:

2890The time and my intents are sauage wilde,

¶More fierce and more inexorable farre,

¶Then emptie Tygers, or the roaring sea.

¶Pet. I will be gone sir, and not trouble ye.

¶Ro. So shalt thou shew me friendshid, take thou that,

2895Liue and be prosperous, and farewell good fellow.

¶Pet. For all this same, ile hide me here about,

¶His lookes I feare, and his intents I doubt.

¶Ro. Thou detestable mawe, thou wombe of death,

¶Gorg'd with the dearest morsell of the earth:

2900Thus I enforce thy rotten Iawes to open,

¶And in despight ile cram thee with more foode.

¶Pa. This is that banisht haughtie Mountague,

¶That murdred my loues Cozin, with which greefe

¶It is supposed the faire creature died,

2905And here is come to do some villainous shame

¶To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him,

¶Stop thy vnhallowed toyle vile Mountague:

¶Can vengeance be pursued further then death?

¶Condemned villaine, I do apprehend thee,

2910Obey and go with me, for thou must die.

¶Rom. I must indeed, and therefore came I hither,

¶Good gentle youth tempt not a desprate man,

¶Flie hence and leaue me, thinke vpon these gone,

¶Let them affright thee. I beseech thee youth,

2915Put not an other sin vpon my head,

¶By vrging me to furie, ô be gone,

¶By heauen I loue thee better then my selfe,

¶For I come hither armde against myselfe:

¶Stay not, begone, liue, and hereafter say,

2920A mad mans mercie bid thee run away.

¶Par. I do defie thy commiration,

¶And apprehend thee for a Fellon here.

¶Ro. Wilt thou prouoke me? then haue at thee boy.

O Lord they fight, I will go call the Watch.

2925Par. O I am slaine, if thou be mercifull,

¶Open the Tombe, lay me with Iuliet.

¶Rom. In faith I will, let me peruse this face,

¶Mercutios kinsman, Noble Countie Paris,

¶What said my man, when my betossed soule

2930Did not attend him as we rode? I thinke

¶He told me Paris should haue married Iuliet,

¶Said he not so? or did I dreame it so?

¶Or am I mad, hearing him talke of Iuliet,

¶To thinke it was so? O giue me thy hand,

2935One writ with me in sowre misfortunes booke,

¶Ile burie thee in a triumphant graue.

¶A Graue, O no. A Lanthorne slaughtred youth:

¶For here lies Iuliet, and her bewtie makes

¶This Vault a feasting presence full of light.

2940Death lie thou there by a dead man interd,

¶How oft when men are at the point of death,

¶Haue they bene merie? which their keepers call

¶A lightning before death? Oh how may I

¶Call this a lightning? O my Loue, my wife,

2945Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath,

¶Hath had no power yet vpon thy bewtie:

¶Thou art not conquerd, bewties ensigne yet

¶Is crymson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,

¶And deaths pale flag is not aduanced there.

2950Tybalt lyest thou there in thy bloudie sheet?

¶O what more fauour can I do to thee,

¶Then with that hand that cut thy youth in twaine,

¶To sunder his that was thine enemie?

¶Forgiue me Couzen. Ah deare Iuliet

2955Why art thou yet so faire? I will beleeue,

¶Shall I beleeue that vnsubstantiall death is amorous,

¶And that the leane abhorred monster keepes

¶Thee here in darke to be his parramour?

¶For feare of that I still will staie with thee,

2960And neuer from this pallat of dym night.

¶Depart againe, come lye thou in my arme,

¶Heer's to thy health, where ere thou tumblest in.

¶O true Appothecarie!

¶Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die.

2965Depart againe, here, here, will I remaine,

¶With wormes that are thy Chamber-maides: O here

¶Will I set vp my euerlasting rest:

¶And shake the yoke of inauspicious starres,

¶From this world wearied flesh, eyes looke your last:

2970Armes take your last embrace: And lips, O you

¶The doores of breath, seale with a righteous kisse

¶A datelesse bargaine to ingrossing death:

¶Come bitter conduct, come vnsauoury guide,

¶Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run on

2975The dashing Rocks, thy seasick weary barke:

¶Heeres to my Loue. O true Appothecary:

¶Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die.

Entrer Frier with Lanthorne, Crowe,

2978.1and Spade.

¶Frier. S. Frances be my speede, how oft to night

2980Haue my old feet stumbled at graues? Whoes there?

¶ Man. Heeres one, a friend, and one that knowes you well.

¶Frier. Blisse be vpon you. Tell me good my friend

¶What torch is yond that vainly lends his light

¶To grubs and eyelesse sculles: as I discerne,

2985It burneth in the Capels monument.

¶ Man. It doth so holy sir, and theres my maister, one that you

(loue.

¶Frier. Who is it?

¶Man. Romeo.

2990Frier. How long hath he bin there?

¶Man. Full halfe an houre.

¶Frier. Go with me to the Vault.

¶Man. I dare not sir.

¶My Master knowes not but I am gone hence,

2995And fearefully did menace me with death

¶If I did stay to looke on his entents.

¶Frier. Stay then ile go alone, feare comes vpon me.

¶O much I feare some ill vnthriftie thing.

¶Man. As I did sleepe vnder this yong tree heere,

3000I dreampt my maister and another fought,

¶And that my maister slew him.

¶Frier. Romeo.

¶Alack alack, what bloud is this which staines

¶The stony entrance of the Sepulchre?

3005What meane these maisterlesse and goarie swords

¶To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

¶Romeo, oh pale! who else, what Paris too?

¶And steept in bloud? ah what an vnkind hower

¶Is guiltie of this lamentable chance?

3010The Lady stirres.

¶Iuli. O comfortable Frier, where is my Lord?

¶I do remember well where I should be:

¶And there I am, where is my Romeo?

¶Frier. I heare some noyse Lady, come from that nest

3015Of death, contagion, and vnnaturall sleepe,

¶A greater power then we can contradict

¶Hath thwarted our intents, come, come away,

¶Thy husband in thy bosome there lies dead:

¶And Paris too, come ile dispose of thee,

3020Among a Sisterhood of holy Nunnes:

¶Stay not to question, for the watch is comming,

¶Come go good Iuliet, I dare no longer stay.

3022.1

Exit._

¶Iuli. Go get thee hence, for I will not away.

¶Whats heere? a cup closd in my true loues hand?

3025Poison I see hath bin his timelesse end:

¶O churle, drunke all, and left no friendly drop

¶To help me after, I will kisse thy lips,

¶Happlie some poyson yet doth hang on them,

¶To make me dye with a restoratiue.

3030Thy lips are warme.

Enter Boy and Watch.

¶Watch. Leade boy, which way.

¶Iuli. Yea noise? then ile be briefe. O happy dagger

3035This is thy sheath, there rust and let me dye.

¶ Watchboy. This is the place there where the torch doth burne.

¶Watch. The ground is bloudie, search about the Churchyard.

3040Go some of you, who ere you find attach.

¶Pittifull sight, heere lies the Countie slaine,

¶And Iuliet bleeding, warme, and newlie dead:

¶Who heere hath laine this two daies buried.

¶Go tell the Prince, runne to the Capulets,

3045Raise vp the Mountagues, some others search,

¶We see the ground whereon these woes do lye,

¶But the true ground of all these piteous woes

¶We cannot without circumstance descry.

Enter Romeos man.

3050 Watch. Heres Romeos man, we found him in the Churchyard.

¶Chief. watch. Hold him in safetie till the Prince come hither.

Enter Frier, and another Watchman.

¶3. Watch. Here is a Frier that trembles, sighes, and weepes,

3055We tooke this Mattocke and this Spade from him,

¶As he was comming from this Church-yards side.

¶ Chiefwatch. A great suspition, stay the Frier too too.

Enter the Prince.

¶Prin. What misaduenture is so early vp,

3060That calls our person from our morning rest?

Enter Capels.

¶Ca. What should it be that is so shrike abroad?

¶Wife. O the people in the street crie Romeo,

¶Some Iuliet, and some Paris, and all runne

3065With open outcry toward our Monument.

¶ Pr. What feare is this which startles in your eares?

¶Watch. Soueraine, here lies the County Paris slain,

¶And Romeo dead, and Iuliet dead before,

¶Warme and new kild.

3070 Prin. Search, seeke & know how this foule murder_

(comes.

¶Wat. Here is a Frier, and Slaughter Romeos man,

¶With Instruments vpon them, fit to open

¶These dead mens Tombes.

3075

Enter Capulet and his wife.

¶Ca. O heauens! O wife looke how our daughter_

(bleeds!

¶This dagger hath mistane, for loe his house

¶Is emptie on the back of Mountague,

¶And it missheathd in my daughters bosome.

3080Wife. O me, this sight of death, is as a Bell

¶That warnes my old age to a sepulcher.

Enter Mountague.

¶Prin. Come Mountague, for thou art early vp

¶To see thy sonne and heire, now earling downe.

3085Moun. Alas my liege, my wife is dead to night,

¶Griefe of my sonnes exile hath stopt her breath.

¶What further woe conspires against mine age?

¶Prin. Looke and thou shalt see.

¶Moun. O thou vntaught, what maners is in this,

3090To presse before thy father to a graue?

¶Prin. Seale vp the mouth of outrage for a while,

¶Till we can cleare these ambiguities,

¶And know their spring, their head, their true discent,

¶And then will I be generall of your woes,

3095And leade you euen to death, meane time forbeare,

¶And let mischance be slaue to patience,

¶Bring foorth the parties of suspition.

¶Frier. I am the greatest able to do least,

¶Yet most suspected as the time and place

3100Doth make against me of this direfull murther:

¶And heere I stand both to i peach and purge

¶My selfe condemned, and my selfe excusde.

¶Prin. Then say at once what thou dost know in this?

¶Frier. I will be briefe, for my short date of breath

3105Is not so long as is a tedious tale.

¶Romeo there dead, was husband to that Iuliet,

¶And she there dead, thats Romeos faithfull wife:

¶I married them, and their stolne marriage day

¶Was Tibalts doomesday, whose vntimely death

3110Banisht the new-made Bridegroome from this Citie,

¶For whome, and not for Tibalt, Iuliet pinde.

¶You to remoue that siege of griefe from her

¶Betrothd and would haue married her perforce

¶To Countie Paris. Then comes she to me,

3115And with wild lookes bid me deuise some meane

¶To rid her from this second mariage:

¶Or in my Cell there would she kill her selfe.

¶Then gaue I her (so tuterd by my art)

¶A sleeping potion, which so tooke effect

3120As I intended, for it wrought on her

¶The forme of death, meane time I writ to Romeo

¶That he should hither come as this dire night

¶To help to take her from her borrowed graue,

¶Being the time the potions force should cease.

3125But he which bore my letter, Frier Iohn,

¶Was stayed by accident, and yesternight

¶Returnd my letter back, then all alone

¶At the prefixed hower of her waking,

¶Came I to take her from her kindreds Vault,

3130Meaning to keepe her closely at my Cell,

¶Till I conueniently could send to Romeo.

¶But when I came, some minute ere the time

¶Of her awakening, here vntimely lay,

¶The Noble Paris, and true Romeo dead.

3135She wakes, and I entreated her come forth

¶And beare this worke of heauen with patience:

¶But then a noyse did scare me from the Tombe,

¶And she too desperate would not go with me:

¶But as it seemes, did violence on her selfe.

3140Al this I know, & to the marriage her Nurse is priuie:

¶And if ought in this miscaried by my fault,

¶Let my old life be sacrific'd some houre before his time,

¶Vnto the rigour of seuerest law.

¶Prin. We still haue knowne thee for a holy man,

3145Wheres Romeos man? what can he say to this?

¶ Balth. I brought my maister newes of Iuliets death,

¶And then in poste he came from Mantua,

¶To this same place. To this same monument

¶This Letter he early bid me giue his Father,

3150And threatned me with death, going in the Vault,

¶If I departed not, and left him there.

¶Prin. Giue me the Letter, I will looke on it.

¶Where is the Counties Page that raisd the Watch?

¶Sirrah, what made your maister in this place?

3155 Boy. He came with flowers to strew his Ladies graue,

¶And bid me stand aloofe, and so I did,

¶Anon comes_one with light to ope the Tombe,

¶And by and by my maister drew on him,

¶And then I ran away to call the Watch.

3160 Prin. This Letter doth make good the Friers words,

¶Their course of Loue, the tidings of her death,

¶And here he writes, that he did buy a poyson

¶Of a poore Pothecarie, and therewithall,

¶Came to this Vault, to die and lye with Iuliet.

3165Where be these enemies? Capulet, Mountague?

¶See what a scourge is laide vpon your hate?

¶That heauen finds means to kil your ioyes with loue,

¶And I for winking at your discords too,

¶Haue lost a brace of kinsmen, all are punisht.

3170Cap. O brother Mountague, giue me thy hand,

¶This is my daughters ioynture, for no more

¶Can I demaund.

¶Moun. But I can giue thee more,

¶For I will raie her statue in pure gold,

3175That whiles Verona by that name is knowne,

¶There shall no figure at such rate be_set,

¶As that of true and faithfull Iuliet.

¶Capel. As rich shall Romeos by his Ladies lie,

¶Poore sacrifices of our enmitie.

3180Prin. A glooming peace this morning with it brings,

¶The Sun for sorrow will not shew his head:

¶Go hence to haue more talke of these sad things,

¶Some shall be pardoned, and some punished.

¶For neuer was a Storie of more wo,

3185Then this of Iuliet and her Romeo.

FINIS.

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Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)

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Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)