Plays and Poems

Alla stoccata carries it away.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
Tyb. What would'st thou have with me?
Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of
your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal,
and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat
the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your
sword out of his pilcher by the ears? make haste,
lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
Tyb. I am for you.

Drawing.

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado.
Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their
weapons.

They fight.

Draws.

Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets.
Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

Excunt TYBALT and his Partisans.
Mer.
I am hurt.
A plague o' both the houses! I am sped.
Is he gone, and hath nothing?
Ben.
What! art thou hurt?
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis
enough.

Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
Exit Page.

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds! a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.

Rom. I thought all for the best.

110

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
They have made worms' meat of me: I have it,
And soundly too: your houses!

Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO.
Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet!
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel.

Re-enter BENVOLIO.

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo! brave Mercutio's dead; That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend;

This but begins the woe others must end.

Re-enter TYBALT.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back
again.

Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain !
Away to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company:
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort
him here,
Shalt with him hence.
Rom.

130

This shall determine that.
They fight; TYBALT falls.
Ben. Romeo, away! be gone!
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
Stand not amaz'd: the prince will doom thee

death

140

bow'd,

120

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter thar
his tongue,

Of my dear kinsman. Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
O cousin, cousin!

Prince. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray!
Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand
did slay:

Romeo, that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure: all this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly

His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And twixt them rushes; underneath whose

arm

An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to 't they go like lightning, for. ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.
And as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth or let Benvolio die.

199

Lady Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague: Affection makes him false, he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life.

SCENE

I.]

ROMEO AND Juliet.

Nurse.

Ay, ay, the cords. Throws them down. Jul. Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse. Ah! well-a-day! he 's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give: Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prince. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;

190

His fault concludes but what the law should end.

The life of Tybalt.
And for that offence
Prince.
Immediately we do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-
bleeding;

But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses;
Therefore use none; let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 201
Bear hence this body and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

Exeunt.
CAPULET'S Orchard.

We are undone, lady, we are undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he 's kill'd, he's dead!
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse.

SCENE II.-The Same.
Enter JULIET.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!
That runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen!
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown
bold,

Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night! come, Romeo! come, thou day in night!

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd

Romeo can, 40
O! Romeo, Romeo;
Though heaven cannot.
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou that dost torment
me thus?

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I,'
And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an I;
Or those eyes shut that make thee answer 'I.'
If he be slain say 'I'; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine

eyes,

God save the mark! here on his manly breast:
piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swounded at the sight.
Jul. O break, my heart; poor bankrupt,
break at once!

To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty!
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;

Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt! the best friend I had:
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?
My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.

Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's

blood?

night,

Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O! I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
O! here comes my
And may not wear them.

nurse,

Enter Nurse, with cords.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks

But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords

That Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st; A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature! what hadst thou to do in hell When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O! that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace.

Nurse.

There's no trust,

No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah! where's my man? give me some aqua vitæ :
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me
old.

Shame come to Romeo!

Blister'd be thy tongue 90 Jul. Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For such a wish! he was not born to shame : For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd

Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O! what a beast was I to chide at him.
Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd
your cousin?

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Ah! poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,

When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband :
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my
husband:

103

All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds.
"Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!'

That banished,' that one word banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt 's
dead,'

Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
But with a rearward following Tybalt's death,
'Romeo is banished!' to speak that word, 122
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead: Romeo is banished!'
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe
sound.

110

Where is my father and my mother, nurse? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's

corse:

130

Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine
shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are be-
guil'd,

Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed,
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-
bed;

And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber; I'll find Romeo
To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: 140
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O! find him; give this ring to my true
knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.

Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The Same. Friar LAURENCE's Cell. Enter Friar LAURENCE.

Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's doom?

What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Fri.

Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's
doom?

Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,

Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha! banishment! be merciful, say 'death':

For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: do not say banishment.'
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exile is death; then banished' »
Is death mis-term'd. Calling death 'banished,'
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind
prince,

Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banish

ment:

This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy heaven is here,

Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog »
And little mouse, every unworthy thing.
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
But Romeo may not: more validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished.
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death!
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground
knife,

a word.

Rom. O! thou wilt speak again of banishment, Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet 'banished'! Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.

Fri. O then I see that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st
tear thy hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Knocking within.
Fri. Arise; one knocks: good Romeo, hide
thyself.

Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick
groans,
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

Knocking.
Who's there?

Fri. Hark! how they knock.
Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile!

Fri.
Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman in a seeming man;
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
thou And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?

Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and
earth?

Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do

120

Stand up; Knocking. Run to my study. By and by! God's will! What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

know my errand :

I come from Lady Juliet.

Fri.

Knocking.

Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's

Welcome then.

your will?

Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 130

Nurse. Within. Let me come in, and you shall Misshapen in the conduct of them both,

Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask,
Is set a fire by thine own ignorance,

And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What! rouse thee, man; thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. O holy friar! O! tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo?
Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears
made drunk.

Nurse. O! he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her case. O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blub-
bering.

Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep an O?

111

meet

In thee at once, which thou at once would'st lose.

Fie, fie! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;

too:

The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend,

Rom. Nurse!

Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the
end of all.

And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: 140
A pack of blessings light upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love.
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her;
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 150
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto :
Romeo is coming.

Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with
her?

Doth she not think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse. O she says nothing, sir, but weeps
and weeps;

And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.

101

Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy
wit.

Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man;
Thy dear love sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to

cherish;

Nurse. O Lord! I could have stay'd here all the night

Rom.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. O! tell me, friar, tell

me,

In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
Drawing his sword.

To hear good counsel: O! what learning is. 160
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to
chide.

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.

Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

Exit. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, and PARIS. Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

Lady Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be rul'd In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love, And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday nextBut, soft! what day is this?

Par.
Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is

too soon;

O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, 20
She shall be married to this noble earl.
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado; a friend or two;
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much.
Therefore we 'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thurs-
day?

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were

to-morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone: o' Thursday be it then.

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me! it is so very very late,
That we may call it early by and by.
Good night.

SCENE V.-The Same.

Exeunt.

JULIET'S Chamber. Enter ROMEO and JULIET.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops: I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Jul. Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I: some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua : Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be

gone.

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is 't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps, Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change

eyes;

O! now I would they had chang'd voices too, Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt 's-up to the day. O! now be gone; more light and light it

grows.

Rom. More light and light; more dark and dark our woes.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Madam!
Jul. Nurse!

Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:

The day is broke; be wary, look about. Exit Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life

out.

Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. Descends Jl. Art thou gone so my lord, my love, my friend!

I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell!

I will omit no opportunity

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. Jul. O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall

serve

For sweet discourses in our time to come.
Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul:
Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do

you:

Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adien! adieu!

Exit.

« Previous Continue »

Books