Romeo and Juliet

1Two households, both alike in dignity,

2In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

3From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

4Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

5From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

6A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;

7Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

8Do with their death bury their parents' strife.

9The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

10And the continuance of their parents' rage,

11Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,

12Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

13The which if you with patient ears attend,

14What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

1Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

2No, for then we should be colliers.

3I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

4Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.

5I strike quickly, being moved.

6But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

7A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

8To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:

9therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

10A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will

11take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

12That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes

13to the wall.

14True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,

15are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push

16Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids

17to the wall.

18The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

19'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I

20have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the

21maids, and cut off their heads.

22The heads of the maids?

23Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;

24take it in what sense thou wilt.

25They must take it in sense that feel it.

26Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and

27'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

28'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou

29hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes

30two of the house of the Montagues.

31My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

32How! turn thy back and run?

33Fear me not.

34No, marry; I fear thee!

35Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

36I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as

37they list.

38Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;

39which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

40Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

41I do bite my thumb, sir.

42Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

43[Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say

44ay?

45No.

46No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I

47bite my thumb, sir.

48Do you quarrel, sir?

49Quarrel sir! no, sir.

50If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.

51No better.

52Well, sir.

53Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

54Yes, better, sir.

55You lie.

56Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

57Part, fools!

58Put up your swords; you know not what you do.

59What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?

60Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

61I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,

62Or manage it to part these men with me.

63What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,

64As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:

65Have at thee, coward!

66Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!

67Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

68What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!

69A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?

70My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,

71And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

72Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go.

73Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

74Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,

75Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--

76Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,

77That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

78With purple fountains issuing from your veins,

79On pain of torture, from those bloody hands

80Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,

81And hear the sentence of your moved prince.

82Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,

83By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

84Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,

85And made Verona's ancient citizens

86Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,

87To wield old partisans, in hands as old,

88Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:

89If ever you disturb our streets again,

90Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

91For this time, all the rest depart away:

92You Capulet; shall go along with me:

93And, Montague, come you this afternoon,

94To know our further pleasure in this case,

95To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.

96Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

97Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?

98Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

99Here were the servants of your adversary,

100And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:

101I drew to part them: in the instant came

102The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,

103Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,

104He swung about his head and cut the winds,

105Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn:

106While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,

107Came more and more and fought on part and part,

108Till the prince came, who parted either part.

109O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day?

110Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

111Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun

112Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,

113A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;

114Where, underneath the grove of sycamore

115That westward rooteth from the city's side,

116So early walking did I see your son:

117Towards him I made, but he was ware of me

118And stole into the covert of the wood:

119I, measuring his affections by my own,

120That most are busied when they're most alone,

121Pursued my humour not pursuing his,

122And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

123Many a morning hath he there been seen,

124With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.

125Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;

126But all so soon as the all-cheering sun

127Should in the furthest east begin to draw

128The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,

129Away from the light steals home my heavy son,

130And private in his chamber pens himself,

131Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out

132And makes himself an artificial night:

133Black and portentous must this humour prove,

134Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

135My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

136I neither know it nor can learn of him.

137Have you importuned him by any means?

138Both by myself and many other friends:

139But he, his own affections' counsellor,

140Is to himself--I will not say how true--

141But to himself so secret and so close,

142So far from sounding and discovery,

143As is the bud bit with an envious worm,

144Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,

145Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

146Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.

147We would as willingly give cure as know.

148See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;

149I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

150I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,

151To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

152Good-morrow, cousin.

153Is the day so young?

154But new struck nine.

155Ay me! sad hours seem long.

156Was that my father that went hence so fast?

157It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

158Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

159In love?

160Out--

161Of love?

162Out of her favour, where I am in love.

163Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,

164Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

165Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,

166Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!

167Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?

168Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.

169Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.

170Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!

171O any thing, of nothing first create!

172O heavy lightness! serious vanity!

173Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!

174Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,

175sick health!

176Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!

177This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

178Dost thou not laugh?

179No, coz, I rather weep.

180Good heart, at what?

181At thy good heart's oppression.

182Why, such is love's transgression.

183Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,

184Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest

185With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown

186Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

187Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;

188Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;

189Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:

190What is it else? a madness most discreet,

191A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

192Farewell, my coz.

193Soft! I will go along;

194An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

195Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;

196This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

197Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.

198What, shall I groan and tell thee?

199Groan! why, no.

200But sadly tell me who.

201Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:

202Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!

203In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

204I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.

205A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love.

206A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

207Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit

208With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;

209And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,

210From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.

211She will not stay the siege of loving terms,

212Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,

213Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:

214O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,

215That when she dies with beauty dies her store.

216Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

217She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,

218For beauty starved with her severity

219Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

220She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,

221To merit bliss by making me despair:

222She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow

223Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

224Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.

225O, teach me how I should forget to think.

226By giving liberty unto thine eyes;

227Examine other beauties.

228'Tis the way

229To call hers exquisite, in question more:

230These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows

231Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;

232He that is strucken blind cannot forget

233The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:

234Show me a mistress that is passing fair,

235What doth her beauty serve, but as a note

236Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

237Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.

238I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

1But Montague is bound as well as I,

2In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,

3For men so old as we to keep the peace.

4Of honourable reckoning are you both;

5And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.

6But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

7But saying o'er what I have said before:

8My child is yet a stranger in the world;

9She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,

10Let two more summers wither in their pride,

11Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

12Younger than she are happy mothers made.

13And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

14The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,

15She is the hopeful lady of my earth:

16But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,

17My will to her consent is but a part;

18An she agree, within her scope of choice

19Lies my consent and fair according voice.

20This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,

21Whereto I have invited many a guest,

22Such as I love; and you, among the store,

23One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

24At my poor house look to behold this night

25Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:

26Such comfort as do lusty young men feel

27When well-apparell'd April on the heel

28Of limping winter treads, even such delight

29Among fresh female buds shall you this night

30Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,

31And like her most whose merit most shall be:

32Which on more view, of many mine being one

33May stand in number, though in reckoning none,

34Come, go with me.

35Go, sirrah, trudge about

36Through fair Verona; find those persons out

37Whose names are written there, and to them say,

38My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

39Find them out whose names are written here! It is

40written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his

41yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with

42his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am

43sent to find those persons whose names are here

44writ, and can never find what names the writing

45person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.

46Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,

47One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;

48Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

49One desperate grief cures with another's languish:

50Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

51And the rank poison of the old will die.

52Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.

53For what, I pray thee?

54For your broken shin.

55Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

56Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;

57Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

58Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.

59God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?

60Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

61Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I

62pray, can you read any thing you see?

63Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

64Ye say honestly: rest you merry!

65Stay, fellow; I can read.

66'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;

67County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady

68widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely

69nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine

70uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece

71Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin

72Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair

73assembly: whither should they come?

74Up.

75Whither?

76To supper; to our house.

77Whose house?

78My master's.

79Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.

80Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the

81great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house

82of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.

83Rest you merry!

84At this same ancient feast of Capulet's

85Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,

86With all the admired beauties of Verona:

87Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,

88Compare her face with some that I shall show,

89And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

90When the devout religion of mine eye

91Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;

92And these, who often drown'd could never die,

93Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!

94One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun

95Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

96Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,

97Herself poised with herself in either eye:

98But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd

99Your lady's love against some other maid

100That I will show you shining at this feast,

101And she shall scant show well that now shows best.

102I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,

103But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

1Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

2Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,

3I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird!

4God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!

5How now! who calls?

6Your mother.

7Madam, I am here.

8What is your will?

9This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile,

10We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;

11I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.

12Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

13Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

14She's not fourteen.

15I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,--

16And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--

17She is not fourteen. How long is it now

18To Lammas-tide?

19A fortnight and odd days.

20Even or odd, of all days in the year,

21Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.

22Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--

23Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;

24She was too good for me: but, as I said,

25On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;

26That shall she, marry; I remember it well.

27'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;

28And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,--

29Of all the days of the year, upon that day:

30For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,

31Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;

32My lord and you were then at Mantua:--

33Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,

34When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple

35Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,

36To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!

37Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow,

38To bid me trudge:

39And since that time it is eleven years;

40For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,

41She could have run and waddled all about;

42For even the day before, she broke her brow:

43And then my husband--God be with his soul!

44A' was a merry man--took up the child:

45'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face?

46Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;

47Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,

48The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'

49To see, now, how a jest shall come about!

50I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,

51I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he;

52And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'

53Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.

54Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,

55To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.'

56And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow

57A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone;

58A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly:

59'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face?

60Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;

61Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.'

62And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.

63Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!

64Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed:

65An I might live to see thee married once,

66I have my wish.

67Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme

68I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,

69How stands your disposition to be married?

70It is an honour that I dream not of.

71An honour! were not I thine only nurse,

72I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

73Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,

74Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

75Are made already mothers: by my count,

76I was your mother much upon these years

77That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:

78The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

79A man, young lady! lady, such a man

80As all the world--why, he's a man of wax.

81Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

82Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

83What say you? can you love the gentleman?

84This night you shall behold him at our feast;

85Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,

86And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;

87Examine every married lineament,

88And see how one another lends content

89And what obscured in this fair volume lies

90Find written in the margent of his eyes.

91This precious book of love, this unbound lover,

92To beautify him, only lacks a cover:

93The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride

94For fair without the fair within to hide:

95That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,

96That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;

97So shall you share all that he doth possess,

98By having him, making yourself no less.

99No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men.

100Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

101I'll look to like, if looking liking move:

102But no more deep will I endart mine eye

103Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

104Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you

105called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in

106the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must

107hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

108We follow thee.

109Juliet, the county stays.

110Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

1What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?

2Or shall we on without a apology?

3The date is out of such prolixity:

4We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,

5Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,

6Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;

7Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke

8After the prompter, for our entrance:

9But let them measure us by what they will;

10We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.

11Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;

12Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

13Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

14Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes

15With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead

16So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

17You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings,

18And soar with them above a common bound.

19I am too sore enpierced with his shaft

20To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,

21I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe:

22Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

23And, to sink in it, should you burden love;

24Too great oppression for a tender thing.

25Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,

26Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

27If love be rough with you, be rough with love;

28Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

29Give me a case to put my visage in:

30A visor for a visor! what care I

31What curious eye doth quote deformities?

32Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

33Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in,

34But every man betake him to his legs.

35A torch for me: let wantons light of heart

36Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,

37For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase;

38I'll be a candle-holder, and look on.

39The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

40Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:

41If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire

42Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st

43Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!

44Nay, that's not so.

45I mean, sir, in delay

46We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.

47Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits

48Five times in that ere once in our five wits.

49And we mean well in going to this mask;

50But 'tis no wit to go.

51Why, may one ask?

52I dream'd a dream to-night.

53And so did I.

54Well, what was yours?

55That dreamers often lie.

56In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

57O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

58She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes

59In shape no bigger than an agate-stone

60On the fore-finger of an alderman,

61Drawn with a team of little atomies

62Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;

63Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,

64The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,

65The traces of the smallest spider's web,

66The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,

67Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,

68Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,

69Not so big as a round little worm

70Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;

71Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut

72Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,

73Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.

74And in this state she gallops night by night

75Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;

76O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,

77O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,

78O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,

79Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

80Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:

81Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,

82And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;

83And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail

84Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep,

85Then dreams, he of another benefice:

86Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,

87And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

88Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,

89Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon

90Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,

91And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two

92And sleeps again. This is that very Mab

93That plats the manes of horses in the night,

94And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,

95Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:

96This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

97That presses them and learns them first to bear,

98Making them women of good carriage:

99This is she--

100Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!

101Thou talk'st of nothing.

102True, I talk of dreams,

103Which are the children of an idle brain,

104Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,

105Which is as thin of substance as the air

106And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes

107Even now the frozen bosom of the north,

108And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,

109Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.

110This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;

111Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

112I fear, too early: for my mind misgives

113Some consequence yet hanging in the stars

114Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

115With this night's revels and expire the term

116Of a despised life closed in my breast

117By some vile forfeit of untimely death.

118But He, that hath the steerage of my course,

119Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen.

120Strike, drum.

1Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He

2shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!

3When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's

4hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.

5Away with the joint-stools, remove the

6court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save

7me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let

8the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.

9Antony, and Potpan!

10Ay, boy, ready.

11You are looked for and called for, asked for and

12sought for, in the great chamber.

13We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be

14brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

15Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes

16Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.

17Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all

18Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,

19She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?

20Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day

21That I have worn a visor and could tell

22A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

23Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone:

24You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play.

25A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.

26More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,

27And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.

28Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.

29Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;

30For you and I are past our dancing days:

31How long is't now since last yourself and I

32Were in a mask?

33By'r lady, thirty years.

34What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:

35'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,

36Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

37Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

38'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir;

39His son is thirty.

40Will you tell me that?

41His son was but a ward two years ago.

42[To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth

43enrich the hand

44Of yonder knight?

45I know not, sir.

46O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

47It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

48Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

49Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

50So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,

51As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

52The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,

53And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

54Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

55For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

56This, by his voice, should be a Montague.

57Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave

58Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,

59To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

60Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,

61To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

62Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

63Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,

64A villain that is hither come in spite,

65To scorn at our solemnity this night.

66Young Romeo is it?

67'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

68Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;

69He bears him like a portly gentleman;

70And, to say truth, Verona brags of him

71To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:

72I would not for the wealth of all the town

73Here in my house do him disparagement:

74Therefore be patient, take no note of him:

75It is my will, the which if thou respect,

76Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,

77And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

78It fits, when such a villain is a guest:

79I'll not endure him.

80He shall be endured:

81What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;

82Am I the master here, or you? go to.

83You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!

84You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

85You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

86Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

87Go to, go to;

88You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed?

89This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:

90You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.

91Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:

92Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!

93I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!

94Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting

95Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

96I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall

97Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.

98[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand

99This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

100My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

101To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

102Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

103Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

104For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

105And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

106Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

107Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

108O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

109They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

110Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

111Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

112Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

113Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

114Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!

115Give me my sin again.

116You kiss by the book.

117Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

118What is her mother?

119Marry, bachelor,

120Her mother is the lady of the house,

121And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous

122I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal;

123I tell you, he that can lay hold of her

124Shall have the chinks.

125Is she a Capulet?

126O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

127Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

128Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

129Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;

130We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.

131Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all

132I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.

133More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed.

134Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late:

135I'll to my rest.

136Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?

137The son and heir of old Tiberio.

138What's he that now is going out of door?

139Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.

140What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

141I know not.

142Go ask his name: if he be married.

143My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

144His name is Romeo, and a Montague;

145The only son of your great enemy.

146My only love sprung from my only hate!

147Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

148Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

149That I must love a loathed enemy.

150What's this? what's this?

151A rhyme I learn'd even now

152Of one I danced withal.

153Anon, anon!

154Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

1Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,

2And young affection gapes to be his heir;

3That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,

4With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

5Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,

6Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,

7But to his foe supposed he must complain,

8And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:

9Being held a foe, he may not have access

10To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;

11And she as much in love, her means much less

12To meet her new-beloved any where:

13But passion lends them power, time means, to meet

14Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

1Can I go forward when my heart is here?

2Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

3Romeo! my cousin Romeo!

4He is wise;

5And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.

6He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:

7Call, good Mercutio.

8Nay, I'll conjure too.

9Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!

10Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:

11Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;

12Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'

13Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

14One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,

15Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,

16When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!

17He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;

18The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.

19I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,

20By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,

21By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh

22And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,

23That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

24And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

25This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him

26To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

27Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

28Till she had laid it and conjured it down;

29That were some spite: my invocation

30Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name

31I conjure only but to raise up him.

32Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,

33To be consorted with the humorous night:

34Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

35If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

36Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

37And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit

38As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.

39Romeo, that she were, O, that she were

40An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!

41Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;

42This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:

43Come, shall we go?

44Go, then; for 'tis in vain

45To seek him here that means not to be found.

1He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

2But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

3It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

4Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

5Who is already sick and pale with grief,

6That thou her maid art far more fair than she:

7Be not her maid, since she is envious;

8Her vestal livery is but sick and green

9And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

10It is my lady, O, it is my love!

11O, that she knew she were!

12She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?

13Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

14I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:

15Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

16Having some business, do entreat her eyes

17To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

18What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

19The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,

20As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven

21Would through the airy region stream so bright

22That birds would sing and think it were not night.

23See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

24O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

25That I might touch that cheek!

26Ay me!

27She speaks:

28O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art

29As glorious to this night, being o'er my head

30As is a winged messenger of heaven

31Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes

32Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him

33When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds

34And sails upon the bosom of the air.

35O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?

36Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

37Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,

38And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

39[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

40'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

41Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

42What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,

43Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

44Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

45What's in a name? that which we call a rose

46By any other name would smell as sweet;

47So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,

48Retain that dear perfection which he owes

49Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

50And for that name which is no part of thee

51Take all myself.

52I take thee at thy word:

53Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;

54Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

55What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night

56So stumblest on my counsel?

57By a name

58I know not how to tell thee who I am:

59My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,

60Because it is an enemy to thee;

61Had I it written, I would tear the word.

62My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words

63Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:

64Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

65Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

66How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

67The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,

68And the place death, considering who thou art,

69If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

70With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;

71For stony limits cannot hold love out,

72And what love can do that dares love attempt;

73Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

74If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

75Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye

76Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,

77And I am proof against their enmity.

78I would not for the world they saw thee here.

79I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;

80And but thou love me, let them find me here:

81My life were better ended by their hate,

82Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

83By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

84By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;

85He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.

86I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far

87As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,

88I would adventure for such merchandise.

89Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,

90Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

91For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night

92Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny

93What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!

94Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'

95And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,

96Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries

97Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,

98If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

99Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,

100I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,

101So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.

102In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

103And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:

104But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true

105Than those that have more cunning to be strange.

106I should have been more strange, I must confess,

107But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,

108My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,

109And not impute this yielding to light love,

110Which the dark night hath so discovered.

111Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear

112That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--

113O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,

114That monthly changes in her circled orb,

115Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

116What shall I swear by?

117Do not swear at all;

118Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,

119Which is the god of my idolatry,

120And I'll believe thee.

121If my heart's dear love--

122Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,

123I have no joy of this contract to-night:

124It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;

125Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be

126Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!

127This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,

128May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

129Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest

130Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

131O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

132What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

133The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

134I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:

135And yet I would it were to give again.

136Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

137But to be frank, and give it thee again.

138And yet I wish but for the thing I have:

139My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

140My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

141The more I have, for both are infinite.

142I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!

143Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.

144Stay but a little, I will come again.

145O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.

146Being in night, all this is but a dream,

147Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

148Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.

149If that thy bent of love be honourable,

150Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,

151By one that I'll procure to come to thee,

152Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;

153And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay

154And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

155[Within] Madam!

156I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,

157I do beseech thee--

158[Within] Madam!

159By and by, I come:--

160To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:

161To-morrow will I send.

162So thrive my soul--

163A thousand times good night!

164A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.

165Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from

166their books,

167But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

168Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,

169To lure this tassel-gentle back again!

170Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;

171Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,

172And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,

173With repetition of my Romeo's name.

174It is my soul that calls upon my name:

175How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,

176Like softest music to attending ears!

177Romeo!

178My dear?

179At what o'clock to-morrow

180Shall I send to thee?

181At the hour of nine.

182I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.

183I have forgot why I did call thee back.

184Let me stand here till thou remember it.

185I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,

186Remembering how I love thy company.

187And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,

188Forgetting any other home but this.

189'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:

190And yet no further than a wanton's bird;

191Who lets it hop a little from her hand,

192Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,

193And with a silk thread plucks it back again,

194So loving-jealous of his liberty.

195I would I were thy bird.

196Sweet, so would I:

197Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

198Good night, good night! parting is such

199sweet sorrow,

200That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

201Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!

202Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!

203Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,

204His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

1The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,

2Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,

3And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels

4From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:

5Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,

6The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,

7I must up-fill this osier cage of ours

8With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.

9The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;

10What is her burying grave that is her womb,

11And from her womb children of divers kind

12We sucking on her natural bosom find,

13Many for many virtues excellent,

14None but for some and yet all different.

15O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies

16In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:

17For nought so vile that on the earth doth live

18But to the earth some special good doth give,

19Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use

20Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:

21Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;

22And vice sometimes by action dignified.

23Within the infant rind of this small flower

24Poison hath residence and medicine power:

25For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;

26Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

27Two such opposed kings encamp them still

28In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;

29And where the worser is predominant,

30Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

31Good morrow, father.

32Benedicite!

33What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

34Young son, it argues a distemper'd head

35So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:

36Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,

37And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;

38But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain

39Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:

40Therefore thy earliness doth me assure

41Thou art up-roused by some distemperature;

42Or if not so, then here I hit it right,

43Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

44That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

45God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?

46With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;

47I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

48That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then?

49I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.

50I have been feasting with mine enemy,

51Where on a sudden one hath wounded me,

52That's by me wounded: both our remedies

53Within thy help and holy physic lies:

54I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,

55My intercession likewise steads my foe.

56Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;

57Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

58Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set

59On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:

60As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;

61And all combined, save what thou must combine

62By holy marriage: when and where and how

63We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow,

64I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,

65That thou consent to marry us to-day.

66Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!

67Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,

68So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies

69Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.

70Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine

71Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!

72How much salt water thrown away in waste,

73To season love, that of it doth not taste!

74The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,

75Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;

76Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit

77Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:

78If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,

79Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline:

80And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then,

81Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.

82Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

83For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

84And bad'st me bury love.

85Not in a grave,

86To lay one in, another out to have.

87I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now

88Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;

89The other did not so.

90O, she knew well

91Thy love did read by rote and could not spell.

92But come, young waverer, come, go with me,

93In one respect I'll thy assistant be;

94For this alliance may so happy prove,

95To turn your households' rancour to pure love.

96O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.

97Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.

1Where the devil should this Romeo be?

2Came he not home to-night?

3Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

4Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.

5Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

6Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,

7Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

8A challenge, on my life.

9Romeo will answer it.

10Any man that can write may answer a letter.

11Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he

12dares, being dared.

13Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a

14white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a

15love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the

16blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to

17encounter Tybalt?

18Why, what is Tybalt?

19More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is

20the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as

21you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and

22proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and

23the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk

24button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the

25very first house, of the first and second cause:

26ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the

27hai!

28The what?

29The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting

30fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,

31a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good

32whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,

33grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with

34these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these

35perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form,

36that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their

37bones, their bones!

38Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

39Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,

40how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers

41that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a

42kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to

43be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;

44Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey

45eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior

46Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation

47to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit

48fairly last night.

49Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

50The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?

51Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in

52such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

53That's as much as to say, such a case as yours

54constrains a man to bow in the hams.

55Meaning, to court'sy.

56Thou hast most kindly hit it.

57A most courteous exposition.

58Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

59Pink for flower.

60Right.

61Why, then is my pump well flowered.

62Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast

63worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it

64is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.

65O single-soled jest, solely singular for the

66singleness.

67Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.

68Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

69Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have

70done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of

71thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five:

72was I with you there for the goose?

73Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast

74not there for the goose.

75I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

76Nay, good goose, bite not.

77Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most

78sharp sauce.

79And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

80O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an

81inch narrow to an ell broad!

82I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added

83to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.

84Why, is not this better now than groaning for love?

85now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art

86thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature:

87for this drivelling love is like a great natural,

88that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

89Stop there, stop there.

90Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

91Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

92O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short:

93for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and

94meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

95Here's goodly gear!

96A sail, a sail!

97Two, two; a shirt and a smock.

98Peter!

99Anon!

100My fan, Peter.

101Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the

102fairer face.

103God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

104God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.

105Is it good den?

106'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the

107dial is now upon the prick of noon.

108Out upon you! what a man are you!

109One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to

110mar.

111By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,'

112quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I

113may find the young Romeo?

114I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when

115you have found him than he was when you sought him:

116I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.

117You say well.

118Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith;

119wisely, wisely.

120if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with

121you.

122She will indite him to some supper.

123A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho!

124What hast thou found?

125No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie,

126that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

127An old hare hoar,

128And an old hare hoar,

129Is very good meat in lent

130But a hare that is hoar

131Is too much for a score,

132When it hoars ere it be spent.

133Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll

134to dinner, thither.

135I will follow you.

136Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,

137'lady, lady, lady.'

138Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy

139merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?

140A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,

141and will speak more in a minute than he will stand

142to in a month.

143An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him

144down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such

145Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.

146Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am

147none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by

148too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

149I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon

150should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare

151draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a

152good quarrel, and the law on my side.

153Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about

154me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word:

155and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you

156out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself:

157but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into

158a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross

159kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman

160is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double

161with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered

162to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

163Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I

164protest unto thee--

165Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much:

166Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.

167What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

168I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as

169I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

170Bid her devise

171Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;

172And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell

173Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.

174No truly sir; not a penny.

175Go to; I say you shall.

176This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.

177And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall:

178Within this hour my man shall be with thee

179And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;

180Which to the high top-gallant of my joy

181Must be my convoy in the secret night.

182Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains:

183Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.

184Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.

185What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

186Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,

187Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

188I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel.

189Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord,

190Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there

191is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain

192lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief

193see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her

194sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer

195man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks

196as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not

197rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

198Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.

199Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for

200the--No; I know it begins with some other

201letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of

202it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good

203to hear it.

204Commend me to thy lady.

205Ay, a thousand times.

206Peter!

207Anon!

208Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace.

1The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;

2In half an hour she promised to return.

3Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.

4O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,

5Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,

6Driving back shadows over louring hills:

7Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,

8And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

9Now is the sun upon the highmost hill

10Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve

11Is three long hours, yet she is not come.

12Had she affections and warm youthful blood,

13She would be as swift in motion as a ball;

14My words would bandy her to my sweet love,

15And his to me:

16But old folks, many feign as they were dead;

17Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

18O God, she comes!

19O honey nurse, what news?

20Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

21Peter, stay at the gate.

22Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad?

23Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;

24If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news

25By playing it to me with so sour a face.

26I am a-weary, give me leave awhile:

27Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!

28I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:

29Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.

30Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?

31Do you not see that I am out of breath?

32How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath

33To say to me that thou art out of breath?

34The excuse that thou dost make in this delay

35Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.

36Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;

37Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:

38Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?

39Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not

40how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his

41face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels

42all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body,

43though they be not to be talked on, yet they are

44past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy,

45but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy

46ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?

47No, no: but all this did I know before.

48What says he of our marriage? what of that?

49Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I!

50It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

51My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back!

52Beshrew your heart for sending me about,

53To catch my death with jaunting up and down!

54I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.

55Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?

56Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a

57courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I

58warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?

59Where is my mother! why, she is within;

60Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!

61'Your love says, like an honest gentleman,

62Where is your mother?'

63O God's lady dear!

64Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow;

65Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

66Henceforward do your messages yourself.

67Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo?

68Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?

69I have.

70Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;

71There stays a husband to make you a wife:

72Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,

73They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.

74Hie you to church; I must another way,

75To fetch a ladder, by the which your love

76Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark:

77I am the drudge and toil in your delight,

78But you shall bear the burden soon at night.

79Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell.

80Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.

1So smile the heavens upon this holy act,

2That after hours with sorrow chide us not!

3Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,

4It cannot countervail the exchange of joy

5That one short minute gives me in her sight:

6Do thou but close our hands with holy words,

7Then love-devouring death do what he dare;

8It is enough I may but call her mine.

9These violent delights have violent ends

10And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

11Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey

12Is loathsome in his own deliciousness

13And in the taste confounds the appetite:

14Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;

15Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

16Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot

17Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:

18A lover may bestride the gossamer

19That idles in the wanton summer air,

20And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

21Good even to my ghostly confessor.

22Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

23As much to him, else is his thanks too much.

24Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy

25Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more

26To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath

27This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue

28Unfold the imagined happiness that both

29Receive in either by this dear encounter.

30Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,

31Brags of his substance, not of ornament:

32They are but beggars that can count their worth;

33But my true love is grown to such excess

34I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.

35Come, come with me, and we will make short work;

36For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone

37Till holy church incorporate two in one.

1I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:

2The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,

3And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;

4For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

5Thou art like one of those fellows that when he

6enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword

7upon the table and says 'God send me no need of

8thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws

9it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

10Am I like such a fellow?

11Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as

12any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as

13soon moody to be moved.

14And what to?

15Nay, an there were two such, we should have none

16shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why,

17thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more,

18or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou

19wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no

20other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what

21eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?

22Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of

23meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as

24an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a

25man for coughing in the street, because he hath

26wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun:

27didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing

28his new doublet before Easter? with another, for

29tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou

30wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

31An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man

32should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

33The fee-simple! O simple!

34By my head, here come the Capulets.

35By my heel, I care not.

36Follow me close, for I will speak to them.

37Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.

38And but one word with one of us? couple it with

39something; make it a word and a blow.

40You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you

41will give me occasion.

42Could you not take some occasion without giving?

43Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--

44Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an

45thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but

46discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall

47make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!

48We talk here in the public haunt of men:

49Either withdraw unto some private place,

50And reason coldly of your grievances,

51Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

52Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;

53I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

54Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.

55But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:

56Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;

57Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'

58Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford

59No better term than this,--thou art a villain.

60Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee

61Doth much excuse the appertaining rage

62To such a greeting: villain am I none;

63Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.

64Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries

65That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.

66I do protest, I never injured thee,

67But love thee better than thou canst devise,

68Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:

69And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender

70As dearly as my own,--be satisfied.

71O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!

72Alla stoccata carries it away.

73Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

74What wouldst thou have with me?

75Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine

76lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you

77shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the

78eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher

79by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your

80ears ere it be out.

81I am for you.

82Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

83Come, sir, your passado.

84Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.

85Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!

86Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath

87Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:

88Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

89I am hurt.

90A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.

91Is he gone, and hath nothing?

92What, art thou hurt?

93Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.

94Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

95Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

96No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a

97church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for

98me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I

99am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o'

100both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a

101cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a

102rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of

103arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I

104was hurt under your arm.

105I thought all for the best.

106Help me into some house, Benvolio,

107Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!

108They have made worms' meat of me: I have it,

109And soundly too: your houses!

110This gentleman, the prince's near ally,

111My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt

112In my behalf; my reputation stain'd

113With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour

114Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet,

115Thy beauty hath made me effeminate

116And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!

117O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!

118That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,

119Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

120This day's black fate on more days doth depend;

121This but begins the woe, others must end.

122Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

123Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain!

124Away to heaven, respective lenity,

125And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!

126Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,

127That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul

128Is but a little way above our heads,

129Staying for thine to keep him company:

130Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

131Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,

132Shalt with him hence.

133This shall determine that.

134Romeo, away, be gone!

135The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.

136Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death,

137If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!

138O, I am fortune's fool!

139Why dost thou stay?

140Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?

141Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

142There lies that Tybalt.

143Up, sir, go with me;

144I charge thee in the princes name, obey.

145Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

146O noble prince, I can discover all

147The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:

148There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,

149That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

150Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!

151O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt

152O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,

153For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.

154O cousin, cousin!

155Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

156Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;

157Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink

158How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal

159Your high displeasure: all this uttered

160With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,

161Could not take truce with the unruly spleen

162Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts

163With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,

164Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,

165And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats

166Cold death aside, and with the other sends

167It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,

168Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,

169'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than

170his tongue,

171His agile arm beats down their fatal points,

172And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm

173An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life

174Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;

175But by and by comes back to Romeo,

176Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,

177And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I

178Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.

179And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.

180This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

181He is a kinsman to the Montague;

182Affection makes him false; he speaks not true:

183Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,

184And all those twenty could but kill one life.

185I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;

186Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

187Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;

188Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

189Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;

190His fault concludes but what the law should end,

191The life of Tybalt.

192And for that offence

193Immediately we do exile him hence:

194I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,

195My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;

196But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine

197That you shall all repent the loss of mine:

198I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;

199Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses:

200Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,

201Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.

202Bear hence this body and attend our will:

203Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

1Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,

2Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner

3As Phaethon would whip you to the west,

4And bring in cloudy night immediately.

5Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,

6That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo

7Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.

8Lovers can see to do their amorous rites

9By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,

10It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,

11Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,

12And learn me how to lose a winning match,

13Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:

14Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,

15With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,

16Think true love acted simple modesty.

17Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;

18For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

19Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.

20Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,

21Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,

22Take him and cut him out in little stars,

23And he will make the face of heaven so fine

24That all the world will be in love with night

25And pay no worship to the garish sun.

26O, I have bought the mansion of a love,

27But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,

28Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day

29As is the night before some festival

30To an impatient child that hath new robes

31And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,

32And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks

33But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.

34Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords

35That Romeo bid thee fetch?

36Ay, ay, the cords.

37Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

38Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

39We are undone, lady, we are undone!

40Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

41Can heaven be so envious?

42Romeo can,

43Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!

44Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!

45What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?

46This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.

47Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'

48And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more

49Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:

50I am not I, if there be such an I;

51Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.'

52If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no:

53Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.

54I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,--

55God save the mark!--here on his manly breast:

56A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;

57Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,

58All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.

59O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!

60To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!

61Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;

62And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!

63O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!

64O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!

65That ever I should live to see thee dead!

66What storm is this that blows so contrary?

67Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?

68My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?

69Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!

70For who is living, if those two are gone?

71Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;

72Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

73O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

74It did, it did; alas the day, it did!

75O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!

76Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?

77Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!

78Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!

79Despised substance of divinest show!

80Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,

81A damned saint, an honourable villain!

82O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,

83When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend

84In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?

85Was ever book containing such vile matter

86So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell

87In such a gorgeous palace!

88There's no trust,

89No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,

90All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

91Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae:

92These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.

93Shame come to Romeo!

94Blister'd be thy tongue

95For such a wish! he was not born to shame:

96Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;

97For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd

98Sole monarch of the universal earth.

99O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

100Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

101Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

102Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,

103When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?

104But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?

105That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:

106Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;

107Your tributary drops belong to woe,

108Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

109My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;

110And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:

111All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?

112Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,

113That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;

114But, O, it presses to my memory,

115Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:

116'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;'

117That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'

118Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death

119Was woe enough, if it had ended there:

120Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship

121And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,

122Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'

123Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,

124Which modern lamentations might have moved?

125But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,

126'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,

127Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,

128All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'

129There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,

130In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.

131Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

132Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:

133Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

134Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,

135When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.

136Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,

137Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:

138He made you for a highway to my bed;

139But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.

140Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed;

141And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

142Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo

143To comfort you: I wot well where he is.

144Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:

145I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.

146O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,

147And bid him come to take his last farewell.

1Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:

2Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,

3And thou art wedded to calamity.

4Father, what news? what is the prince's doom?

5What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

6That I yet know not?

7Too familiar

8Is my dear son with such sour company:

9I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.

10What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom?

11A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,

12Not body's death, but body's banishment.

13Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;'

14For exile hath more terror in his look,

15Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.'

16Hence from Verona art thou banished:

17Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

18There is no world without Verona walls,

19But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

20Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,

21And world's exile is death: then banished,

22Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment,

23Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,

24And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.

25O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!

26Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,

27Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,

28And turn'd that black word death to banishment:

29This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

30'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,

31Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog

32And little mouse, every unworthy thing,

33Live here in heaven and may look on her;

34But Romeo may not: more validity,

35More honourable state, more courtship lives

36In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize

37On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand

38And steal immortal blessing from her lips,

39Who even in pure and vestal modesty,

40Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;

41But Romeo may not; he is banished:

42Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:

43They are free men, but I am banished.

44And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?

45Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,

46No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,

47But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'?

48O friar, the damned use that word in hell;

49Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,

50Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,

51A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,

52To mangle me with that word 'banished'?

53Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.

54O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.

55I'll give thee armour to keep off that word:

56Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,

57To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

58Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy!

59Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,

60Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,

61It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.

62O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

63How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

64Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

65Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:

66Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,

67An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,

68Doting like me and like me banished,

69Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,

70And fall upon the ground, as I do now,

71Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

72Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.

73Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,

74Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

75Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;

76Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;

77Run to my study. By and by! God's will,

78What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

79Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

80[Within] Let me come in, and you shall know

81my errand;

82I come from Lady Juliet.

83Welcome, then.

84O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,

85Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?

86There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

87O, he is even in my mistress' case,

88Just in her case! O woful sympathy!

89Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,

90Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.

91Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:

92For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;

93Why should you fall into so deep an O?

94Nurse!

95Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.

96Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?

97Doth she not think me an old murderer,

98Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy

99With blood removed but little from her own?

100Where is she? and how doth she? and what says

101My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

102O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;

103And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,

104And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,

105And then down falls again.

106As if that name,

107Shot from the deadly level of a gun,

108Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand

109Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,

110In what vile part of this anatomy

111Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack

112The hateful mansion.

113Hold thy desperate hand:

114Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:

115Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote

116The unreasonable fury of a beast:

117Unseemly woman in a seeming man!

118Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!

119Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,

120I thought thy disposition better temper'd.

121Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?

122And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,

123By doing damned hate upon thyself?

124Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?

125Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet

126In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.

127Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;

128Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,

129And usest none in that true use indeed

130Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:

131Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,

132Digressing from the valour of a man;

133Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,

134Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;

135Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,

136Misshapen in the conduct of them both,

137Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,

138Is set afire by thine own ignorance,

139And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.

140What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,

141For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;

142There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,

143But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:

144The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend

145And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:

146A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;

147Happiness courts thee in her best array;

148But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,

149Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:

150Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.

151Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,

152Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:

153But look thou stay not till the watch be set,

154For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;

155Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time

156To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,

157Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back

158With twenty hundred thousand times more joy

159Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.

160Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;

161And bid her hasten all the house to bed,

162Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:

163Romeo is coming.

164O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night

165To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!

166My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

167Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

168Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:

169Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

170How well my comfort is revived by this!

171Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:

172Either be gone before the watch be set,

173Or by the break of day disguised from hence:

174Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,

175And he shall signify from time to time

176Every good hap to you that chances here:

177Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.

178But that a joy past joy calls out on me,

179It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.

1Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,

2That we have had no time to move our daughter:

3Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,

4And so did I:--Well, we were born to die.

5'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:

6I promise you, but for your company,

7I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

8These times of woe afford no time to woo.

9Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

10I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;

11To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

12Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender

13Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled

14In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.

15Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;

16Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;

17And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--

18But, soft! what day is this?

19Monday, my lord,

20Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,

21O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,

22She shall be married to this noble earl.

23Will you be ready? do you like this haste?

24We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two;

25For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,

26It may be thought we held him carelessly,

27Being our kinsman, if we revel much:

28Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,

29And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

30My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.

31Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.

32Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,

33Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.

34Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!

35Afore me! it is so very very late,

36That we may call it early by and by.

37Good night.