Romeo and Juliet (21 page)

Romeo.
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not
feel.
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murderèd,
Doting like me, and like me banishèd,
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.

Friar.
Arise, one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.

Romeo.
Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans
Mistlike infold me from the search of eyes. [
Knock.
]

Friar.
Hark, how they knock! Who’s there? Romeo,
arise;
Thou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile!—Stand up;

[
Knock.
]

Run to my study.—By and by!°—God’s will,
What simpleness° is this.—I come, I come!
Knock
.
Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? What’s
your will?

Nurse.
Let me come in, and you shall know my er-
rand.
I come from Lady Juliet.

Friar.
Welcome then.

Nurse.
O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?

Friar.
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,
Blubb’ring and weeping, weeping and blubb’ring.
Stand up, stand up! Stand, and you be a man.
For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand!
Why should you fall into so deep an O?°

Romeo.
[
Rises.
] Nurse—

Nurse.
Ah sir, ah sir! Death’s the end of all.

Romeo.
Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murderer,
Now I have stained the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own?
Where is she? And how doth she! And what says
My concealed lady to our canceled° 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.

Romeo.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level° of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name’s cursèd hand
Murdered 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.

[
He offers to stab himself, and Nurse snatches the dagger away.
]

Friar.
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 amazed me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better tempered.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damnèd hate upon thyself?
Why railest 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.°
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit,°
Which,° like a 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 vowed to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct° of them both,
Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,°
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismemb’red with thine own defense.°
What, rouse thee, man! Thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.°
There are thou happy.° Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slewest Tybalt. There art thou happy.
The law, that threat’ned death, becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile. There art thou happy.
A pack of blessings light upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,
Thou puts up 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 stayed here all the night
To hear good counsel. O, what learning is!
My lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.

Romeo.
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
[
Nurse offers to go in and turns again.
]

Nurse.
Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [
Exit.
]

Romeo.
How well my comfort is revived by this!

Friar.
Go hence; good night; and here stands all your
state:°
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguised 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.

Romeo.
But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief so brief to part with thee.
Farewell.
Exeunt.

 

Capulet.
Things have fall’n out, sir, so unluckily
That we have had no time to move° our daughter.
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I. Well, we were born to die.
’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight.
I promise° you, but for your company,
I would have been abed an hour ago.

Paris.
These times of woe afford no times to woo.
Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.

Lady Capulet.
I will, and know her mind early tomorrow;
Tonight she’s mewed up to her heaviness.°

Capulet.
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender°
Of my child’s love. I think she will be ruled
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 next—
But soft! What day is this?

Paris.
Monday, my lord.

Capulet.
Monday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too
soon.
A° Thursday let it be—a Thursday, tell her,
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 Thursday?

Paris.
My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.

Capulet.
Well, get you gone. A 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 late
That we may call it early by and by.°
Good night
Exeunt.

 

Juliet.
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 yond pomegranate tree.
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Romeo.
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 mountaintops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Juliet.
Yond light is not daylight; I know it, I.
It is some meteor that the sun exhales°
To be to thee this night a torchbearer
And light thee on thy way to Mantua.

Therefore stay yet; thou need’st not to be gone.

Romeo.
Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death.
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I’ll say yon gray 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.

Juliet.
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 loathèd 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 hunt’s-up° to the day.
O, now be gone! More light and light it grows.

Romeo.
More light and light—more dark and dark
our woes.

Nurse.
Madam!

Juliet.
Nurse?

Nurse.
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke; be wary, look about. [
Exit.
]

Juliet.
Then, window, let day in, and let life out.

Romeo.
Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I’ll descend.

[
He goeth down.
]

Juliet.
Art thou gone so, love-lord, ay husband-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!

Romeo.
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Juliet.
O, think’st thou we shall ever meet again?

Romeo.
I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our times to come.

Juliet.
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 lookest pale.

Romeo.
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you.
Dry° sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
Exit.

Juliet.
O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle.
If thou art fickle, what dost thou° with him
That is renowned for faith? Be fickle, Fortune,
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long
But send him back.

Lady Capulet.
Ho, daughter! Are you up?

Juliet.
Who is’t that calls? It is my lady mother.
Is she not down so late,° or up so early?
What unaccustomed cause procures her hither?

Lady Capulet.
Why, how now, Juliet?

Juliet.
Madam, I am not well.

Lady Capulet.
Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death?