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Is banished; and all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!

Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye,
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.
Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart?
Nurse.

Or else beshrew them both.

Jul.

Par. Come you to make confession to this father? Jul. To answer that, were to confess to you. Par. Do not deny to him, that you love me. Jul. I will confess to you, that I love him. Par. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with

tears.

Jul. The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough, before their spite.

Par. Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.
Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.—
Are you at leisure, holy father, now;
From my soul too; Or shall I come to you at evening mass?
Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter,

Amen!

Nurse.
To what?
Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous
much.

Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Laurence' cell,
To make confession, and to be absolv'd.

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.
[Exit.
Jul. Ancient damnation! Omost wicked fiend!
Is it more sin--to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him with above compare
So many thousand times?-Go, counsellor;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.-
I'll to the friar, to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die.

ACT IV.

[Exit.

now :

My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

Par. God shield, I should disturb devotion !— Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: Till then, adieu! and keep this holy kiss.

[Exit Paris.

Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so Come weep with me; Past hope, past cure, past help!

Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county.

Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently.

God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed,

Or my true heart with treacherous revolt

SCENE I.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar Turn to another, this shall slay them both :

Laurence and Paris.

Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. Friar. You say, you do not know the lady's mind; Uneven is the course, I like it not.

Par. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous,
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway;
And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by society:
Now do you know the reason of this haste.
Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
[Aside.
Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.
Enter Juliet.

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife!
Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
Par. That may be, must be, love, on Thursday

next.

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Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire; arbitrating that
Which the commission2 of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
Fri. Hold, daughter; I do spy a kind of hope
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry county Paris,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself:
Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.

Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks, and yellow chapless sculls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,

And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
Things that, to hear them told, have made me
tremble;
And I will do it without fear or doubt,

(2) Authority or power.

To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

Fri. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow; To-morrow-night look that thou lie alone, Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this phial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off: When, presently, through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize Each vital spirit; for no pulse shall keep His natural progress, but surcease to beat: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, depriv'd of supple government, Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then (as the manner of our country is,) In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier, Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift; And hither shall he come; and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua, And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Jul. Give me, O give me! tell me not of fear. Fri. Hold; get you gone, be strong and

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Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.

Cap. Send for the county; go tell him of this; I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed3 love I might, Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.

Cap. Why, I am glad on't; this is well,-standup: This is as't should be.-Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar, All our whole city is much bound to him. Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? La. Cap. No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.

Cap. Go, nurse, go with her :-we'll to church to-morrow. [Exeunt Juliet and Nurse. La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision; 'Tis now near night. Cap. Tush! I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night;-let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once.- -What, ho! They are all forth: Well, I will walk myself To county Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. [Exe. SCENE III-Juliet's chamber. Enter Juliet and Nurse.

Jul. Ay, those attires are best:-But, gentle

nurse,

I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night;

pros-For I have need of many orisons4

Jul. Love, give me strength! and strength shall help afford.

Farewell, dear father!

[Exeunt.

To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of sin. Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap. What, are you busy? do you need my help?

Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries SCENE II-A room in Capulet's house. En-As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:

ter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and Servants. Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. [Exit Servant. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

2 Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers.

Cap. How canst thou try them so?

2 Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he, that cannot lick his fingers, goes not with me.

Cap. Go, begone.

[Exit Servant. We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence? Nurse. Ay, forsooth.

Cap. Well, he may chance to do some good on

her:

A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Enter Juliet.

Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift! with merry look.

Cap. How now, my headstrong? where have you been gadding?

Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition

To you, and your behests;2 and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,

And beg your pardon :-Pardon, I beseech you!

(1) Confession. (2) Commands.

VOL. II,

So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.

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Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,{
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,

The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,-
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort ;-
Alack, alack! is it not like, that I,

So early waking-what with loathsome smells;
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad ;1—
O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,2
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point:-Stay, Tybalt, stay !—
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[She throws herself on the bed.

For so he said he would. I hear him near :-
Nurse!-Wife-what, ho!-what, nurse, I say!
Enter Nurse.

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!
[Exeunt.

SCENE V-Juliet's chamber; Juliet on the bed. Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Mistress !-what, mistress!-Juliet!fast, I warrant her, she:

Why, lamb-why, lady!-fie, you slug-a-bed!-Why, love, I say!-madam! sweet-heart!-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?
What, drest! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady!
Alas! alas!-Help! help! my lady's dead!—

SCENE IV.-Capulet's hall. Enter Lady Cap-0, well-a-day, that ever I was born!-
Some aqua-vitæ, ho!—my ford! my lady!
Enter Lady Capulet.

ulet and Nurse.

La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.3

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La. Cap. What noise is here?

Nurse.

O lamentable day!

La. Cap. What is the matter?
Nurse.
Look, look! O heavy day!
La. Cap. O me, O me!-my child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!-
Help, help!-call help.

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me wail,

O woful time!

Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians.
Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return:
O son, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath death lain with thy bride:-See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered 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 leaving, all is death's.

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Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's || heart's ease; O, an you will have me live, play— face, heart's ease.

And doth it give me such a sight as this?

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful
day!

Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.
Nurse. O wo! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day! most woful 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 woful day, O woful day!

1 Mus. Why heart's ease?

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays -My heart is full of wo: O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.

2 Mus. Not a dump we; tis no time to play now. Pet. You will not then?

2 Mus. No.

Pet. I will then give it you soundly.

1 Mus. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek :2 1 will give you the minstrel.

1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you,

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! I'll fa you; Do you note me?
Most détestable death, by thee beguil'd,

By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown!-
O love! O life!-not life, but love in death!
Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!|
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, dead!—alack! my child is dead;
And, with my child, my joys are buried.

Fri. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure liyes

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 advanc'd:.
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd,
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,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Cap. All things, that we ordained 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;
Qur bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri. Sir, go you in,-and, madam, go with
him;-

And go, sir Paris; every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
The heavens do lour upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.
[Exe. Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar.
1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be

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1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Pet. Then have at you with my wit; I will drybeat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger-Answer me like men :

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music, with her silver sound;

Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver
sound?

What say you, Simon Catling?

1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck ?3 2 Mus. I say-silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

Pet. Pretty too!-What say you, James Soundpost?

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you. It is music with her silver sound, because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding

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Then music with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.
[Exit, singing.

1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same?
2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here;
tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I-Mantua. A street. Enter Romeo::
Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord4 sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd 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 breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!
Enter Balthasar.

News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar?

(3) And the jocund rebecks sound.' MILTON, (4) i. e. Love.

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.

Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body sleeps in Capels' 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.

Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

Rom.
Tush, thou art deceiv'd;
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Bal. No, my good lord.
Rom.
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.
[Exit Balthasar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
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 he dwells,-whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
Of ill-shap'd 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 scatter'd, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said-
An if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.

O, this same thought did but fore-run my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house :
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.-
What, ho! apothecary!

Ap.

Enter Apothecary.

Who calls so loud?

Rom. Come hither, man.-I see, that thou art poor;

Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have
A dram of poison; such soon-speeding geer2
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath
As violently, as hasty powder fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.
Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
Is death, to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery,
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law:
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
(1) Herbs.
(2) Stuff.

And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.
Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's
souls,

Doing more murders in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not
sell:

I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.—
Come, cordial, and not poison; go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exe.

SCENE II.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar

John.

John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!
Enter Friar Laurence.

Lau. This same should be the voice of friar

John.

Welcome from Mantua: What says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

John. Going to find a barefoot brother out,
One of our order to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick,
And finding him, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up

the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo?
John. I could not send it,-here it is again,-
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

Lau. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice, but full of charge, Of dear import; and the neglecting it May do much danger: Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell.

John. Brother, I'll go and bring't thee. [Exit. Lau. Now must I to the monument alone: Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake; She will beshrew me much, that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents: But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come: Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit.

SCENE III-A church-yard; in it, a monu-
ment belonging to the Capulets. Enter Paris;
and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch.
Par. Give me thy torch, boy: Hence, and stand
aloof;-

Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,)
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure.
[Retires.

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bri

dal bed:

Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain
The perfect model of eternity;

Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hands;
That living honour'd thee, and, being dead,

(3) i. e. On a trivial or idle subject,

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