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Fri. I'll give thee armor 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 what 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 mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. [Knocking within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick
Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.
[Knocking. Fri. Hark, how they knock!-Who's there! Romeo, arise:
Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a while:-stand up;
Run to my study:-By and by :-God's will!
What wilfulness is this!-I come, I come.
[Knocking. Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? what's your will?
Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand;
I come from Lady Juliet.
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir!-Well, death's the end of all.
Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Does not she 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
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
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 namie lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. [Drawing his Sword. 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! Or ili-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? And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, 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 meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fye, fye! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
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 valor of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish:
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set on 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 too:
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behav'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
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.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night,
To hear good counsel: O. what learning is!-
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. [Erit. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: good-night: and here stands all
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good-night.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
SCENE IV. A Room in Capulet's House.
Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS. Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily, Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, That we have had no time to move our daughter. And so did 1;-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. La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to
Enter ROMEO and JULIET.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced 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 day-light, I know it, I: It is 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!8 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care9 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;1 This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes: O, now I would they had changed voices too; Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunts-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.
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 de-
Jul. Art thou gone so my love! my lord! my
I must hear from thee every day i'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
That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune: For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.
La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures3 her hither? Enter LADY CAPULET.
La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet? Jul. Madam, I am not well. La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears!
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: Some grief shows much of love;
But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much
for his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, madam?
That same villain, Romeo.
Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer
Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. 'Would, none but I might'venge my cousin's death! La. Cup. We will have vengeance for it, fear
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,-
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied."
Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd:-
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet.-0, how my heart abhors
To hear him named,-and cannot come to him,-
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!
La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such
But now, I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
La. Cap. Well, well, thou hast a careful father,
One, who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thursday
That gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The county Paris, at Saint Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride
Jul. Now, by Saint Peter's church, and Peter
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste: that I must wed
Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo.
I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear,
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris:-These are news indeed!
La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so
And see how he will take it at your hands.
Enter CAPULET and Nurse. Cap. When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's sun,
How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?
Ever more showering; in one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind:
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,-
Without a sudden calm, will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body.-How now, wife?
Have you deliver'd to her our decree?
La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
I would, the fool were married to her grave!
Cap. Soft, take me with you, take me with you,
How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks?
Is she not proud? doth she not count her bless'd,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Jul. Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you
Proud can I never be of what I hate;
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.
Cap. How now! how now, chop-logic! What
Proud, and, I thank you,-and, I thank you not;-
And yet not proud;-Mistress minion, you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to St. Peter's church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!
Fye, fye, what, are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what,-get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face:
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me:
My fingers itch.-Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd,
That God had sent us but this only child:
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her:
Out on her, hilding !4
God in heaven bless her!-
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
O, God ye good-den? Nurse. May not one speak? Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl, For here we need it not.
Proportion'd as one's heart could wish a man,—
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer-I'll not wed,-I cannot love,
I am too young,-I pray you, pardon me ;-
But, an you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me:
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Ea it
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!
Delay this marriage, for a month, a week:
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit Jul. O God!-0 nurse! how shall this be pre.
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth ?-Comfort me, counsel me.—
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!-
What say'st thou hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Faith, here 'tis: Romeo
Is banish'd; and all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy 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 living here and you no use of him.
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?
Or else beshrew them both.
To what? Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.
Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.
Jul. Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, Is it more sin-to wish me thus forsworn,
At home, abroad, alone, in company,
Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been
To have her matched: and having now provided
A gentleman of princely parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd (as they say) with honorable parts,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.-
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy;
If all else fail, my self have power to die.
SCENE I.-Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS. Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. Fri. You say you do not know the lady's mind; Uneven is the course; I like it not.
Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love, For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, That she doth give her sorrow so much sway; And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,
Par. Come you to make confession to this father?
Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you.
Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me.
Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him.
Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me.
Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.
Jul. The tears have got small victory by that;
For it was bad enough before their spite.
Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with
Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours,
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:
Then, (as the manner of our country is,)
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault,
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift:
And hither shall he come; and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.Are you at leisure, holy father, now;
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?
Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter,
Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
Come weep with me: Past hope, past cure, past help!
Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
It strains me past the compass of my wits;
I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it,
On Thursday next, be married to this county.
Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honor bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry county Paris,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.
Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears,
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
Things that, to hear them told, have made me
And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.
Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow;
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this phial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off:
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humor, which shall seize
Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep
His natural progress, but surcease to beat:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death:
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Decide the struggle between me and my distresses.
Authority or power.
Abate thy valor in the acting it.
Jul. Give me, O give me! tell me not of fear.
Fri. Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous
In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.
Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall
Farewell, dear father.
SCENE II-A Room in Capulet's House. Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and Servants.
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.[Exit Servant. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.
Cap. How canst thou try them so?
2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he, that cannot lick his fingers, goes not with me.
We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.
What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence?
Nurse. Ay, forsooth.
Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.
Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift with merry look.
Cap. How now, my headstrong? where have you
Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you, and your behests;7 and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
And beg your pardon:-Pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever ruled by you.
Cap. Send for the county: go tell him of this;
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
And gave him what becomeds love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
Cap. Why, I am glad on't; this is well,-stand
This is as't should be.-Let me see the county:
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.-
All our whole city is much bound to him.
Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to morrow?
La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time
Cap. Go, nurse, go with her:-we'll to church
[Exeunt JULIET and Nurse.
La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision;
'Tis now near night.
Tush! I will stir about,
And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
I'll not to bed to-night;-let me alone;
I'll play the housewife, for this once.-What, ho!
They are all forth: Well, I will walk myself
To county Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.
SCENE III.-Juliet's Chamber.
Enter JULIET and Nurse.
Jul. Ay, those attires are best:- But, gentle
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.
[Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse.
Jul. Farewell!-God knows when we shall meet
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me;-
Nurse!-What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.-
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Must I of force be married to the county ?-
No, no;-This shall forbid it :-lie thou there.-
[Laying down a Dagger.
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead;
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not;
For he hath still been tried a holy man:
I will not entertain so bad a thought.-
How, if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,-
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night, spirits resort;-
Alack, alack! is it not like, that I,
So early waking,-what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;1-
O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,2
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point:-Stay, Tybalt, stay!-
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
[She throws herself on the Bed.
Enter Servants, with Spits, Logs, and Baskets. 1 Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Serv.]Sirrah, fetch drier logs;
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. 2 Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit.
Cap. 'Mass, and well said: A merry whoreson ! ha,
Thou shalt be logger-head.-Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, [Music within.
For so he said he would. I hear him near:-
Nurse!-Wife-what, ho!-what, nurse, I say!
Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up;
Make haste! the bridegroom he is come already:
I'll go and chat with Paris:-Hie, make haste,
Make haste, I say.
Sleep for a week: for the next night, I warrant,
The county Paris hath set up his rest,
That you shall rest but little.-God forgive me,
(Marry and amen!) how sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her:-Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith.-Will it not be?
What, drest! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady!-
Alas! alas!-Help! help! my lady's dead!—
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!-
Some aqua vitæ, ho!-my lord, my lady!—
Enter LADY CAPULET.
La. Cap. What noise is here?
La. Cap. What is the matter?
Look, look! O heavy day! La. Cap. O me, O me!-my child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!Help, help!-call help.
Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is
Nurse. She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack
La. Cap. Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, she's dead.
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff:
Cap. Ha! let me see her:-Out, alas! she's cold;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man!
Nurse. O lamentable day!
O woeful time! Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musi. cians.
Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church!
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return:
O son, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath death lain with thy bride :-See, there she lies,