Internet Shakespeare Editions

Toolbox




Jump to line
Help on texts

About this text

  • Title: Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)
  • Editor: Roger Apfelbaum
  • ISBN: 1-55058-299-2

    Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Roger Apfelbaum
    Peer Reviewed

    Romeo and Juliet (Quarto 2, 1599)

    of Romeo and Iuliet.
    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-vitae 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 the field.
    K 2 Nur. O