Romeo and Juliet (24 page)

Capulet.
Mass,° and well said; a merry whoreson,° ha!
Thou shalt be loggerhead.° [
Exit second Fellow,
with the others.
] Good faith, ’tis day.
The County will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would.
Play music.

I hear him near.

Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!

Go waken Juliet; go and trim her up.
I’ll go and chat with Paris. Hie, make haste,
Make haste! The bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say. [
Exit.
]

Nurse.
° Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast,° I war-
rant her, she.
Why, lamb! Why, lady! Fie, you slugabed.°
Why, love, I say! Madam; Sweetheart! Why, bride!
What, not a word? You take your pennyworths°
now;
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?

[
Draws aside the curtains.
]

What, dressed, and in your clothes, and down°
again?
I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!
Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!

O weraday° that ever I was born!
Some
aqua vitae,
° ho! My lord! My lady!

[
Enter Mother.
]

Lady Capulet.
What noise is here?

Nurse.
O lamentable day!

Lady Capulet.
What is the matter?

Nurse.
Look, look! O heavy day!

Lady Capulet.
O me, O me! My child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! Call help.

Capulet.
For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is
come.

Nurse.
She’s dead, deceased; she’s dead, alack the day!

Lady Capulet.
Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead,
she’s dead!

Capulet.
Ha! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Nurse.
O lamentable day!

Lady Capulet.
O woeful time!

Capulet.
Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me
wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar
[
Lawrence
]
and the County
[
Paris,
with Musicians
].

Friar.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Capulet.
Ready to go, but never to return.

O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowerèd by him.
Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die
And leave him all. Life, living, all is Death’s.

Paris.
Have I thought, love, to see this morning’s face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?

Lady Capulet.
Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful
day!
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel Death hath catched it from my sight.

Nurse.
O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
Most lamentable day, most woeful day
That ever ever I did yet behold!
O day, O day, O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this.
O woeful day! O woeful day!

Paris.
Beguiled, divorcèd, wrongèd, spited, slain!
Most detestable Death, by thee beguiled,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.
O love! O life!—not life, but love in death!

Capulet.
Despised, distressèd, hated, martyred, killed!
Uncomfortable° time, why cam’st thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child, O child! My soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou—alack, my child is dead,
And with my child my joys are burièd!

Friar.
Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion’s cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid—now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid.

Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion,
For ’twas your heaven she should be advanced;
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill
That you run mad, seeing that she is well.°
She’s not well married that lives married long,
But she’s best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears and stick your rosemary°
On this fair corse, and, as the custom is,
And in her best array bear her to church;
For though fond nature° bids us all lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.

Capulet.
All things that we ordainèd festival
Turn from their office to black funeral—
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse;
And all things change them to the contrary.

Friar.
Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris. Everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
The heavens do low’r° upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will.

Exeunt
[
casting rosemary on her and shutting the curtains
].

Manet°
[
the Nurse with Musicians
].

First Musician.
Faith, we may put up our pipes and
be gone.

Nurse.
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up!
For well you know this is a pitiful case.° [
Exit.
]

First Musician.
Ay, by my troth, the case may be
amended.

Enter
[
Peter
].

Peter.
Musicians, O, musicians, “Heart’s ease,”
“Heart’s ease”! O, and you will have me live, play
“Heart’s ease.”

First Musician.
Why “Heart’s ease”?

Peter.
O, musicians, because my heart itself plays
“My heart is full.” O, play me some merry dump°
to comfort me.

First Musician.
Not a dump we! ’Tis no time to play
now.

Peter.
You will not then?

First Musician.
No.

Peter.
I will then give it you soundly.

First Musician.
What will you give us?

Peter.
No money, on my faith, but the gleek.° I will give you° the minstrel.

First Musician.
Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Peter.
Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger
on your pate. I will carry° no crotchets.° I’ll
re
you, I’ll
fa
° you. Do you note° me?

First Musician.
And you
re
us and
fa
us, you note
us.°

Second Musician.
Pray you put up your dagger, and
put out° your wit. Then have at you with my wit!

Peter.
I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put
up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.

First Musician.
Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet
sound.

Peter.
Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?°

Second Musician.
I say “silver sound” because mu-
sicians sound for silver.

Peter.
Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?°

Third Musician.
Faith, I know not what to say.

Peter.
O, I cry you mercy,° you are the singer. I will
say for you. It is “music with her silver sound” be-
cause musicians have no gold for sounding.

“Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.”
Exit.

First Musician.
What a pestilent knave is this same!

Second Musician.
Hang him, Jack! Come, we’ll in here,
tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

Exit
[
with others
].

[ACT 5

 

Romeo.
If I may trust the flattering° truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
My bosom’s lord° sits lightly in his throne,
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead
(Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!)
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips
That I revived and was an emperor.
Ah me! How sweet is love itself possessed,
When but love’s shadows° are so rich in joy!

Enter Romeo’s Man
[
Balthasar, booted
].

News from Verona! How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again,
For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Man.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capel’s monument,°
And her immortal part with angels lives.

I saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault
And presently took post° to tell it you.
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office,° sir.

Romeo.
Is it e’en so? Then I defy you, stars!
Thou knowest my lodging. Get me ink and paper
And hire post horses. I will hence tonight.

Man.
I do beseech you, sir, have patience.
Your looks are pale and wild and do import°
Some misadventure.

Romeo.
Tush, thou art deceived.
Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

Man.
No, my good lord.

Romeo.
No matter. Get thee gone.
And hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.

Exit
[
Balthasar
].

Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.
Let’s see for means. O mischief, thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts ’a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt’red weeds,° with overwhelming° brows,
Culling of simples.° Meager were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account° of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses°
Were thinly scatterèd, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said,