It is hard to imagine a world without Shakespeare. Since their composition four hundred years ago, Shakespeare’s plays and poems have traveled the globe, inviting those who see and read his works to make them their own.
Readers of the New Folger Editions are part of this ongoing process of “taking up Shakespeare,” finding our own thoughts and feelings in language that strikes us as old or unusual and, for that very reason, new. We still struggle to keep up with a writer who could think a mile a minute, whose words paint pictures that shift like clouds. These expertly edited texts are presented to the public as a resource for study, artistic adaptation, and enjoyment. By making the classic texts of the New Folger Editions available in electronic form as The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), we place a trusted resource in the hands of anyone who wants them.
The New Folger Editions of Shakespeare’s plays, which are the basis for the texts realized here in digital form, are special because of their origin. The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC, is the single greatest documentary source of Shakespeare’s works. An unparalleled collection of early modern books, manuscripts, and artwork connected to Shakespeare, the Folger’s holdings have been consulted extensively in the preparation of these texts. The Editions also reflect the expertise gained through the regular performance of Shakespeare’s works in the Folger’s Elizabethan Theatre.
I want to express my deep thanks to editors Barbara Mowat and Paul Werstine for creating these indispensable editions of Shakespeare’s works, which incorporate the best of textual scholarship with a richness of commentary that is both inspired and engaging. Readers who want to know more about Shakespeare and his plays can follow the paths these distinguished scholars have tread by visiting the Folger either in-person or online, where a range of physical and digital resources exists to supplement the material in these texts. I commend to you these words, and hope that they inspire.
Michael Witmore
Director, Folger Shakespeare Library
Until now, with the release of The Folger Shakespeare (formerly Folger Digital Texts), readers in search of a free online text of Shakespeare’s plays had to be content primarily with using the Moby™ Text, which reproduces a late-nineteenth century version of the plays. What is the difference? Many ordinary readers assume that there is a single text for the plays: what Shakespeare wrote. But Shakespeare’s plays were not published the way modern novels or plays are published today: as a single, authoritative text. In some cases, the plays have come down to us in multiple published versions, represented by various Quartos (Qq) and by the great collection put together by his colleagues in 1623, called the First Folio (F). There are, for example, three very different versions of
Hamlet
, two of
King Lear
,
Henry V
,
Romeo and Juliet
, and others. Editors choose which version to use as their base text, and then amend that text with words, lines or speech prefixes from the other versions that, in their judgment, make for a better or more accurate text.
Other editorial decisions involve choices about whether an unfamiliar word could be understood in light of other writings of the period or whether it should be changed; decisions about words that made it into Shakespeare’s text by accident through four hundred years of printings and misprinting; and even decisions based on cultural preference and taste. When the Moby™ Text was created, for example, it was deemed “improper” and “indecent” for Miranda to chastise Caliban for having attempted to rape her. (See
The Tempest
, 1.2: “Abhorred slave,/Which any print of goodness wilt not take,/Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee…”). All Shakespeare editors at the time took the speech away from her and gave it to her father, Prospero.
The editors of the Moby™ Shakespeare produced their text long before scholars fully understood the proper grounds on which to make the thousands of decisions that Shakespeare editors face. The Folger Library Shakespeare Editions, on which the Folger Shakespeare texts depend, make this editorial process as nearly transparent as is possible, in contrast to older texts, like the Moby™, which hide editorial interventions. The reader of the Folger Shakespeare knows where the text has been altered because editorial interventions are signaled by square brackets (for example, from
Othello
: “
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If she in chains of magic were not bound,
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”), half-square brackets (for example, from
Henry V
: “With
half-square bracket
blood
half-square bracket
and sword and fire to win your right,”), or angle brackets (for example, from
Hamlet
: “O farewell, honest
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soldier.
angle bracket
Who hath relieved/you?”). At any point in the text, you can hover your cursor over a bracket for more information.
Because the Folger Shakespeare texts are edited in accord with twenty-first century knowledge about Shakespeare’s texts, the Folger here provides them to readers, scholars, teachers, actors, directors, and students, free of charge, confident of their quality as texts of the plays and pleased to be able to make this contribution to the study and enjoyment of Shakespeare.
The prologue of
Romeo and Juliet
calls the title characters “star-crossed lovers”—and the stars do seem to conspire against these young lovers.
Romeo is a Montague, and Juliet a Capulet. Their families are enmeshed in a feud, but the moment they meet—when Romeo and his friends attend a party at Juliet’s house in disguise—the two fall in love and quickly decide that they want to be married.
A friar secretly marries them, hoping to end the feud. Romeo and his companions almost immediately encounter Juliet’s cousin Tybalt, who challenges Romeo. When Romeo refuses to fight, Romeo’s friend Mercutio accepts the challenge and is killed. Romeo then kills Tybalt and is banished. He spends that night with Juliet and then leaves for Mantua.
Juliet’s father forces her into a marriage with Count Paris. To avoid this marriage, Juliet takes a potion, given her by the friar, that makes her appear dead. The friar will send Romeo word to be at her family tomb when she awakes. The plan goes awry, and Romeo learns instead that she is dead. In the tomb, Romeo kills himself. Juliet wakes, sees his body, and commits suicide. Their deaths appear finally to end the feud.
THE
PROLOGUE
Enter
Chorus
.
Two
households
,
both
alike
in
dignity
(
In
fair
Verona
,
where
we
lay
our
scene
)
,
From
ancient
grudge
break
to
new
mutiny
,
Where
civil
blood
makes
civil
hands
unclean
.
From
forth
the
fatal
loins
of
these
two
foes
A
pair
of
star-crossed
lovers
take
their
life
;
Whose
misadventured
piteous
overthrows
Doth
with
their
death
bury
their
parents’
strife
.
The
fearful
passage
of
their
death-marked
love
And
the
continuance
of
their
parents’
rage
,
Which
,
but
their
children’s
end
,
naught
could
remove
,
Is
now
the
two
hours’
traffic
of
our
stage
;
The
which
,
if
you
with
patient
ears
attend
,
What
here
shall
miss
,
our
toil
shall
strive
to
mend
.
Chorus
exits
.
ACT
1
Scene
1
Enter
Sampson
and
Gregory
,
with
swords
and
bucklers
,
of
the
house
of
Capulet
.
Gregory
,
on
my
word
we’ll
not
carry
coals
.
No
,
for
then
we
should
be
colliers
.
I
mean
,
an
we
be
in
choler
,
we’ll
draw
.
Ay
,
while
you
live
,
draw
your
neck
out
of
collar
.
I
strike
quickly
,
being
moved
.
But
thou
art
not
quickly
moved
to
strike
.
A
dog
of
the
house
of
Montague
moves
me
.
To
move
is
to
stir
,
and
to
be
valiant
is
to
stand
.
Therefore
if
thou
art
moved
thou
runn’st
away
.
A
dog
of
that
house
shall
move
me
to
stand
.
I
will
take
the
wall
of
any
man
or
maid
of
Montague’s
.
That
shows
thee
a
weak
slave
,
for
the
weakest
goes
to
the
wall
.
’Tis
true
,
and
therefore
women
,
being
the
weaker
vessels
,
are
ever
thrust
to
the
wall
.
Therefore
I
will
push
Montague’s
men
from
the
wall
and
thrust
his
maids
to
the
wall
.
The
quarrel
is
between
our
masters
and
us
their
men
.
’Tis
all
one
.
I
will
show
myself
a
tyrant
.
When
I
have
fought
with
the
men
,
I
will
be
civil
with
the
maids
;
I
will
cut
off
their
heads
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
The
heads
of
the
maids
?
Ay
,
the
heads
of
the
maids
,
or
their
maidenheads
.
Take
it
in
what
sense
thou
wilt
.
They
must
take
it
in
sense
that
feel
it
.
Me
they
shall
feel
while
I
am
able
to
stand
,
and
’tis
known
I
am
a
pretty
piece
of
flesh
.
’Tis
well
thou
art
not
fish
;
if
thou
hadst
,
thou
hadst
been
poor-john
.
Draw
thy
tool
.
Here
comes
of
the
house
of
Montagues
.
Enter
Abram
with
another
Servingman
.
My
naked
weapon
is
out
.
Quarrel
,
I
will
back
thee
.
How
?
Turn
thy
back
and
run
?
Fear
me
not
.
No
,
marry
.
I
fear
thee
!
Let
us
take
the
law
of
our
sides
;
let
them
begin
.
I
will
frown
as
I
pass
by
,
and
let
them
take
it
as
they
list
.
Nay
,
as
they
dare
.
I
will
bite
my
thumb
at
them
,
which
is
disgrace
to
them
if
they
bear
it
.
He
bites
his
thumb
.
Do
you
bite
your
thumb
at
us
,
sir
?
I
do
bite
my
thumb
,
sir
.
Do
you
bite
your
thumb
at
us
,
sir
?
,
aside
to
Gregory
Is
the
law
of
our
side
if
I
say
Ay
?
,
aside
to
Sampson
No
.
No
,
sir
,
I
do
not
bite
my
thumb
at
you
,
sir
,
but
I
bite
my
thumb
,
sir
.
Do
you
quarrel
,
sir
?
Quarrel
,
sir
?
No
,
sir
.
But
if
you
do
,
sir
,
I
am
for
you
.
I
serve
as
good
a
man
as
you
.
No
better
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Well
,
sir
.
Enter
Benvolio
.
,
aside
to
Sampson
Say
better
;
here
comes
one
of
my
master’s
kinsmen
.
Yes
,
better
,
sir
.
You
lie
.
Draw
if
you
be
men
.
—
Gregory
,
remember
thy
washing
blow
.
They
fight
.
Part
,
fools
!
Drawing
his
sword
.
Put
up
your
swords
.
You
know
not
what
you
do
.
Enter
Tybalt
,
drawing
his
sword
.
What
,
art
thou
drawn
among
these
heartless
hinds
?
Turn
thee
,
Benvolio
;
look
upon
thy
death
.
I
do
but
keep
the
peace
.
Put
up
thy
sword
,
Or
manage
it
to
part
these
men
with
me
.
What
,
drawn
and
talk
of
peace
?
I
hate
the
word
As
I
hate
hell
,
all
Montagues
,
and
thee
.
Have
at
thee
,
coward
!
They
fight
.
Enter
three
or
four
Citizens
with
clubs
or
partisans
.
Clubs
,
bills
,
and
partisans
!
Strike
!
Beat
them
down
!
Down
with
the
Capulets
!
Down
with
the
Montagues
!
Enter
old
Capulet
in
his
gown
,
and
his
Wife
.
What
noise
is
this
?
Give
me
my
long
sword
,
ho
!
A
crutch
,
a
crutch
!
Why
call
you
for
a
sword
?
Enter
old
Montague
and
his
Wife
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
My
sword
,
I
say
.
Old
Montague
is
come
And
flourishes
his
blade
in
spite
of
me
.
Thou
villain
Capulet
!
—
Hold
me
not
;
let
me
go
.
Thou
shalt
not
stir
one
foot
to
seek
a
foe
.
Enter
Prince
Escalus
with
his
train
.
Rebellious
subjects
,
enemies
to
peace
,
Profaners
of
this
neighbor-stainèd
steel
—
Will
they
not
hear
?
—
What
ho
!
You
men
,
you
beasts
,
That
quench
the
fire
of
your
pernicious
rage
With
purple
fountains
issuing
from
your
veins
:
On
pain
of
torture
,
from
those
bloody
hands
Throw
your
mistempered
weapons
to
the
ground
,
And
hear
the
sentence
of
your
movèd
prince
.
Three
civil
brawls
bred
of
an
airy
word
By
thee
,
old
Capulet
,
and
Montague
,
Have
thrice
disturbed
the
quiet
of
our
streets
And
made
Verona’s
ancient
citizens
Cast
by
their
grave-beseeming
ornaments
To
wield
old
partisans
in
hands
as
old
,
Cankered
with
peace
,
to
part
your
cankered
hate
.
If
ever
you
disturb
our
streets
again
,
Your
lives
shall
pay
the
forfeit
of
the
peace
.
For
this
time
all
the
rest
depart
away
.
You
,
Capulet
,
shall
go
along
with
me
,
And
,
Montague
,
come
you
this
afternoon
To
know
our
farther
pleasure
in
this
case
,
To
old
Free-town
,
our
common
judgment-place
.
Once
more
,
on
pain
of
death
,
all
men
depart
.
All
but
Montague
,
Lady
Montague
,
and
Benvolio
exit
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
,
to
Benvolio
Who
set
this
ancient
quarrel
new
abroach
?
Speak
,
nephew
,
were
you
by
when
it
began
?
Here
were
the
servants
of
your
adversary
,
And
yours
,
close
fighting
ere
I
did
approach
.
I
drew
to
part
them
.
In
the
instant
came
The
fiery
Tybalt
with
his
sword
prepared
,
Which
,
as
he
breathed
defiance
to
my
ears
,
He
swung
about
his
head
and
cut
the
winds
,
Who
,
nothing
hurt
withal
,
hissed
him
in
scorn
.
While
we
were
interchanging
thrusts
and
blows
Came
more
and
more
and
fought
on
part
and
part
,
Till
the
Prince
came
,
who
parted
either
part
.
O
,
where
is
Romeo
?
Saw
you
him
today
?
Right
glad
I
am
he
was
not
at
this
fray
.
Madam
,
an
hour
before
the
worshiped
sun
Peered
forth
the
golden
window
of
the
east
,
A
troubled
mind
drove
me
to
walk
abroad
,
Where
underneath
the
grove
of
sycamore
That
westward
rooteth
from
this
city
side
,
So
early
walking
did
I
see
your
son
.
Towards
him
I
made
,
but
he
was
’ware
of
me
And
stole
into
the
covert
of
the
wood
.
I
,
measuring
his
affections
by
my
own
(
Which
then
most
sought
where
most
might
not
be
found
,
Being
one
too
many
by
my
weary
self
)
,
Pursued
my
humor
,
not
pursuing
his
,
And
gladly
shunned
who
gladly
fled
from
me
.
Many
a
morning
hath
he
there
been
seen
,
With
tears
augmenting
the
fresh
morning’s
dew
,
Adding
to
clouds
more
clouds
with
his
deep
sighs
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
But
all
so
soon
as
the
all-cheering
sun
Should
in
the
farthest
east
begin
to
draw
The
shady
curtains
from
Aurora’s
bed
,
Away
from
light
steals
home
my
heavy
son
And
private
in
his
chamber
pens
himself
,
Shuts
up
his
windows
,
locks
fair
daylight
out
,
And
makes
himself
an
artificial
night
.
Black
and
portentous
must
this
humor
prove
,
Unless
good
counsel
may
the
cause
remove
.
My
noble
uncle
,
do
you
know
the
cause
?
I
neither
know
it
nor
can
learn
of
him
.
Have
you
importuned
him
by
any
means
?
Both
by
myself
and
many
other
friends
.
But
he
,
his
own
affections’
counselor
,
Is
to
himself
—
I
will
not
say
how
true
,
But
to
himself
so
secret
and
so
close
,
So
far
from
sounding
and
discovery
,
As
is
the
bud
bit
with
an
envious
worm
Ere
he
can
spread
his
sweet
leaves
to
the
air
Or
dedicate
his
beauty
to
the
same
.
Could
we
but
learn
from
whence
his
sorrows
grow
,
We
would
as
willingly
give
cure
as
know
.
Enter
Romeo
.
See
where
he
comes
.
So
please
you
,
step
aside
.
I’ll
know
his
grievance
or
be
much
denied
.
I
would
thou
wert
so
happy
by
thy
stay
To
hear
true
shrift
.
—
Come
,
madam
,
let’s
away
.
Montague
and
Lady
Montague
exit
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Good
morrow
,
cousin
.
Is
the
day
so
young
?
But
new
struck
nine
.
Ay
me
,
sad
hours
seem
long
.
Was
that
my
father
that
went
hence
so
fast
?
It
was
.
What
sadness
lengthens
Romeo’s
hours
?
Not
having
that
which
,
having
,
makes
them
short
.
In
love
?
Out
—
Of
love
?
Out
of
her
favor
where
I
am
in
love
.
Alas
that
love
,
so
gentle
in
his
view
,
Should
be
so
tyrannous
and
rough
in
proof
!
Alas
that
love
,
whose
view
is
muffled
still
,
Should
without
eyes
see
pathways
to
his
will
!
Where
shall
we
dine
?
—
O
me
!
What
fray
was
here
?
Yet
tell
me
not
,
for
I
have
heard
it
all
.
Here’s
much
to
do
with
hate
,
but
more
with
love
.
Why
then
,
O
brawling
love
,
O
loving
hate
,
O
anything
of
nothing
first
create
!
O
heavy
lightness
,
serious
vanity
,
Misshapen
chaos
of
well-seeming
forms
,
Feather
of
lead
,
bright
smoke
,
cold
fire
,
sick
health
,
Still-waking
sleep
that
is
not
what
it
is
!
This
love
feel
I
,
that
feel
no
love
in
this
.
Dost
thou
not
laugh
?
No
,
coz
,
I
rather
weep
.
Good
heart
,
at
what
?
ACT 1. SC. 1
At
thy
good
heart’s
oppression
.
Why
,
such
is
love’s
transgression
.
Griefs
of
mine
own
lie
heavy
in
my
breast
,
Which
thou
wilt
propagate
to
have
it
pressed
With
more
of
thine
.
This
love
that
thou
hast
shown
Doth
add
more
grief
to
too
much
of
mine
own
.
Love
is
a
smoke
made
with
the
fume
of
sighs
;
Being
purged
,
a
fire
sparkling
in
lovers’
eyes
;
Being
vexed
,
a
sea
nourished
with
loving
tears
.
What
is
it
else
?
A
madness
most
discreet
,
A
choking
gall
,
and
a
preserving
sweet
.
Farewell
,
my
coz
.
Soft
,
I
will
go
along
.
An
if
you
leave
me
so
,
you
do
me
wrong
.
Tut
,
I
have
lost
myself
.
I
am
not
here
.
This
is
not
Romeo
.
He’s
some
other
where
.
Tell
me
in
sadness
,
who
is
that
you
love
?
What
,
shall
I
groan
and
tell
thee
?
Groan
?
Why
,
no
.
But
sadly
tell
me
who
.
A
sick
man
in
sadness
makes
his
will
—
A
word
ill
urged
to
one
that
is
so
ill
.
In
sadness
,
cousin
,
I
do
love
a
woman
.
I
aimed
so
near
when
I
supposed
you
loved
.
A
right
good
markman
!
And
she’s
fair
I
love
.
A
right
fair
mark
,
fair
coz
,
is
soonest
hit
.
Well
in
that
hit
you
miss
.
She’ll
not
be
hit
With
Cupid’s
arrow
.
She
hath
Dian’s
wit
,
And
,
in
strong
proof
of
chastity
well
armed
,
ACT 1. SC. 1
From
love’s
weak
childish
bow
she
lives
uncharmed
.
She
will
not
stay
the
siege
of
loving
terms
,
Nor
bide
th’
encounter
of
assailing
eyes
,
Nor
ope
her
lap
to
saint-seducing
gold
.
O
,
she
is
rich
in
beauty
,
only
poor
That
,
when
she
dies
,
with
beauty
dies
her
store
.
Then
she
hath
sworn
that
she
will
still
live
chaste
?
She
hath
,
and
in
that
sparing
makes
huge
waste
;
For
beauty
,
starved
with
her
severity
,
Cuts
beauty
off
from
all
posterity
.
She
is
too
fair
,
too
wise
,
wisely
too
fair
,
To
merit
bliss
by
making
me
despair
.
She
hath
forsworn
to
love
,
and
in
that
vow
Do
I
live
dead
,
that
live
to
tell
it
now
.
Be
ruled
by
me
.
Forget
to
think
of
her
.
O
,
teach
me
how
I
should
forget
to
think
!
By
giving
liberty
unto
thine
eyes
.
Examine
other
beauties
.
’Tis
the
way
To
call
hers
,
exquisite
,
in
question
more
.
These
happy
masks
that
kiss
fair
ladies’
brows
,
Being
black
,
puts
us
in
mind
they
hide
the
fair
.
He
that
is
strucken
blind
cannot
forget
The
precious
treasure
of
his
eyesight
lost
.
Show
me
a
mistress
that
is
passing
fair
;
What
doth
her
beauty
serve
but
as
a
note
Where
I
may
read
who
passed
that
passing
fair
?
Farewell
.
Thou
canst
not
teach
me
to
forget
.
I’ll
pay
that
doctrine
or
else
die
in
debt
.
They
exit
.
ACT 1. SC. 2
Scene
2
Enter
Capulet
,
County
Paris
,
and
a
Servingman
.
But
Montague
is
bound
as
well
as
I
,
In
penalty
alike
,
and
’tis
not
hard
,
I
think
,
For
men
so
old
as
we
to
keep
the
peace
.
Of
honorable
reckoning
are
you
both
,
And
pity
’tis
you
lived
at
odds
so
long
.
But
now
,
my
lord
,
what
say
you
to
my
suit
?
But
saying
o’er
what
I
have
said
before
.
My
child
is
yet
a
stranger
in
the
world
.
She
hath
not
seen
the
change
of
fourteen
years
.
Let
two
more
summers
wither
in
their
pride
Ere
we
may
think
her
ripe
to
be
a
bride
.
Younger
than
she
are
happy
mothers
made
.
And
too
soon
marred
are
those
so
early
made
.
Earth
hath
swallowed
all
my
hopes
but
she
;
She’s
the
hopeful
lady
of
my
earth
.
But
woo
her
,
gentle
Paris
,
get
her
heart
;
My
will
to
her
consent
is
but
a
part
.
And
,
she
agreed
,
within
her
scope
of
choice
Lies
my
consent
and
fair
according
voice
.
This
night
I
hold
an
old
accustomed
feast
,
Whereto
I
have
invited
many
a
guest
Such
as
I
love
;
and
you
among
the
store
,
One
more
,
most
welcome
,
makes
my
number
more
.
At
my
poor
house
look
to
behold
this
night
Earth-treading
stars
that
make
dark
heaven
light
.
Such
comfort
as
do
lusty
young
men
feel
When
well-appareled
April
on
the
heel
Of
limping
winter
treads
,
even
such
delight
ACT 1. SC. 2
Among
fresh
fennel
buds
shall
you
this
night
Inherit
at
my
house
.
Hear
all
,
all
see
,
And
like
her
most
whose
merit
most
shall
be
;
Which
,
on
more
view
of
many
,
mine
,
being
one
,
May
stand
in
number
,
though
in
reck’ning
none
.
Come
go
with
me
.
To
Servingman
,
giving
him
a
list
.
Go
,
sirrah
,
trudge
about
Through
fair
Verona
,
find
those
persons
out
Whose
names
are
written
there
,
and
to
them
say
My
house
and
welcome
on
their
pleasure
stay
.
Capulet
and
Paris
exit
.
Find
them
out
whose
names
are
written
here
!
It
is
written
that
the
shoemaker
should
meddle
with
his
yard
and
the
tailor
with
his
last
,
the
fisher
with
his
pencil
and
the
painter
with
his
nets
.
But
I
am
sent
to
find
those
persons
whose
names
are
here
writ
,
and
can
never
find
what
names
the
writing
person
hath
here
writ
.
I
must
to
the
learned
.
In
good
time
!
Enter
Benvolio
and
Romeo
.
,
to
Romeo
Tut
,
man
,
one
fire
burns
out
another’s
burning
;
One
pain
is
lessened
by
another’s
anguish
.
Turn
giddy
,
and
be
helped
by
backward
turning
.
One
desperate
grief
cures
with
another’s
languish
.
Take
thou
some
new
infection
to
thy
eye
,
And
the
rank
poison
of
the
old
will
die
.
Your
plantain
leaf
is
excellent
for
that
.
For
what
,
I
pray
thee
?
For
your
broken
shin
.
Why
Romeo
,
art
thou
mad
?
Not
mad
,
but
bound
more
than
a
madman
is
,
ACT 1. SC. 2
Shut
up
in
prison
,
kept
without
my
food
,
Whipped
and
tormented
,
and
—
good
e’en
,
good
fellow
.
God
gi’
good
e’en
.
I
pray
,
sir
,
can
you
read
?
Ay
,
mine
own
fortune
in
my
misery
.
Perhaps
you
have
learned
it
without
book
.
But
I
pray
,
can
you
read
anything
you
see
?
Ay
,
if
I
know
the
letters
and
the
language
.
You
say
honestly
.
Rest
you
merry
.
Stay
,
fellow
.
I
can
read
.
(
He
reads
the
letter
.
)
Signior
Martino
and
his
wife
and
daughters
,
County
Anselme
and
his
beauteous
sisters
,
The
lady
widow
of
Vitruvio
,
Signior
Placentio
and
his
lovely
nieces
,
Mercutio
and
his
brother
Valentine
,
Mine
Uncle
Capulet
,
his
wife
and
daughters
,
My
fair
niece
Rosaline
and
Livia
,
Signior
Valentio
and
his
cousin
Tybalt
,
Lucio
and
the
lively
Helena
.
A
fair
assembly
.
Whither
should
they
come
?
Up
.
Whither
?
To
supper
?
To
our
house
.
Whose
house
?
My
master’s
.
Indeed
I
should
have
asked
thee
that
before
.
Now
I’ll
tell
you
without
asking
.
My
master
is
the
great
rich
Capulet
,
and
,
if
you
be
not
of
the
house
of
Montagues
,
I
pray
come
and
crush
a
cup
of
wine
.
Rest
you
merry
.
He
exits
.
At
this
same
ancient
feast
of
Capulet’s
ACT 1. SC. 3
Sups
the
fair
Rosaline
whom
thou
so
loves
,
With
all
the
admirèd
beauties
of
Verona
.
Go
thither
,
and
with
unattainted
eye
Compare
her
face
with
some
that
I
shall
show
,
And
I
will
make
thee
think
thy
swan
a
crow
.
When
the
devout
religion
of
mine
eye
Maintains
such
falsehood
,
then
turn
tears
to
fire
;
And
these
who
,
often
drowned
,
could
never
die
,
Transparent
heretics
,
be
burnt
for
liars
.
One
fairer
than
my
love
?
The
all-seeing
sun
Ne’er
saw
her
match
since
first
the
world
begun
.
Tut
,
you
saw
her
fair
,
none
else
being
by
,
Herself
poised
with
herself
in
either
eye
;
But
in
that
crystal
scales
let
there
be
weighed
Your
lady’s
love
against
some
other
maid
That
I
will
show
you
shining
at
this
feast
,
And
she
shall
scant
show
well
that
now
seems
best
.
I’ll
go
along
,
no
such
sight
to
be
shown
,
But
to
rejoice
in
splendor
of
mine
own
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Lady
Capulet
and
Nurse
.
Nurse
,
where’s
my
daughter
?
Call
her
forth
to
me
.
Now
,
by
my
maidenhead
at
twelve
year
old
,
I
bade
her
come
.
—
What
,
lamb
!
What
,
ladybird
!
God
forbid
.
Where’s
this
girl
?
What
,
Juliet
!
Enter
Juliet
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
How
now
,
who
calls
?
Your
mother
.
Madam
,
I
am
here
.
What
is
your
will
?
This
is
the
matter
.
—
Nurse
,
give
leave
awhile
.
We
must
talk
in
secret
.
—
Nurse
,
come
back
again
.
I
have
remembered
me
,
thou
’s
hear
our
counsel
.
Thou
knowest
my
daughter’s
of
a
pretty
age
.
Faith
,
I
can
tell
her
age
unto
an
hour
.
She’s
not
fourteen
.
I’ll
lay
fourteen
of
my
teeth
(
and
yet
,
to
my
teen
be
it
spoken
,
I
have
but
four
)
she’s
not
fourteen
.
How
long
is
it
now
to
Lammastide
?
A
fortnight
and
odd
days
.
Even
or
odd
,
of
all
days
in
the
year
,
Come
Lammas
Eve
at
night
shall
she
be
fourteen
.
Susan
and
she
(
God
rest
all
Christian
souls
!
)
Were
of
an
age
.
Well
,
Susan
is
with
God
;
She
was
too
good
for
me
.
But
,
as
I
said
,
On
Lammas
Eve
at
night
shall
she
be
fourteen
.
That
shall
she
.
Marry
,
I
remember
it
well
.
’Tis
since
the
earthquake
now
eleven
years
,
And
she
was
weaned
(
I
never
shall
forget
it
)
Of
all
the
days
of
the
year
,
upon
that
day
.
For
I
had
then
laid
wormwood
to
my
dug
,
Sitting
in
the
sun
under
the
dovehouse
wall
.
My
lord
and
you
were
then
at
Mantua
.
Nay
,
I
do
bear
a
brain
.
But
,
as
I
said
,
When
it
did
taste
the
wormwood
on
the
nipple
Of
my
dug
and
felt
it
bitter
,
pretty
fool
,
To
see
it
tetchy
and
fall
out
with
the
dug
.
Shake
,
quoth
the
dovehouse
.
’Twas
no
need
,
I
trow
,
ACT 1. SC. 3
To
bid
me
trudge
.
And
since
that
time
it
is
eleven
years
.
For
then
she
could
stand
high-lone
.
Nay
,
by
th’
rood
,
She
could
have
run
and
waddled
all
about
,
For
even
the
day
before
,
she
broke
her
brow
,
And
then
my
husband
(
God
be
with
his
soul
,
He
was
a
merry
man
)
took
up
the
child
.
Yea
,
quoth
he
,
Dost
thou
fall
upon
thy
face
?
Thou
wilt
fall
backward
when
thou
hast
more
wit
,
Wilt
thou
not
,
Jule
?
And
,
by
my
holidam
,
The
pretty
wretch
left
crying
and
said
Ay
.
To
see
now
how
a
jest
shall
come
about
!
I
warrant
,
an
I
should
live
a
thousand
years
,
I
never
should
forget
it
.
Wilt
thou
not
,
Jule
?
quoth
he
.
And
,
pretty
fool
,
it
stinted
and
said
Ay
.
Enough
of
this
.
I
pray
thee
,
hold
thy
peace
.
Yes
,
madam
,
yet
I
cannot
choose
but
laugh
To
think
it
should
leave
crying
and
say
Ay
.
And
yet
,
I
warrant
,
it
had
upon
its
brow
A
bump
as
big
as
a
young
cock’rel’s
stone
,
A
perilous
knock
,
and
it
cried
bitterly
.
Yea
,
quoth
my
husband
.
Fall’st
upon
thy
face
?
Thou
wilt
fall
backward
when
thou
comest
to
age
,
Wilt
thou
not
,
Jule
?
It
stinted
and
said
Ay
.
And
stint
thou
,
too
,
I
pray
thee
,
nurse
,
say
I
.
Peace
.
I
have
done
.
God
mark
thee
to
his
grace
,
Thou
wast
the
prettiest
babe
that
e’er
I
nursed
.
An
I
might
live
to
see
thee
married
once
,
I
have
my
wish
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
Marry
,
that
marry
is
the
very
theme
I
came
to
talk
of
.
—
Tell
me
,
daughter
Juliet
,
How
stands
your
disposition
to
be
married
?
It
is
an
honor
that
I
dream
not
of
.
An
honor
?
Were
not
I
thine
only
nurse
,
I
would
say
thou
hadst
sucked
wisdom
from
thy
teat
.
Well
,
think
of
marriage
now
.
Younger
than
you
Here
in
Verona
,
ladies
of
esteem
,
Are
made
already
mothers
.
By
my
count
I
was
your
mother
much
upon
these
years
That
you
are
now
a
maid
.
Thus
,
then
,
in
brief
:
The
valiant
Paris
seeks
you
for
his
love
.
A
man
,
young
lady
—
lady
,
such
a
man
As
all
the
world
—
why
,
he’s
a
man
of
wax
.
Verona’s
summer
hath
not
such
a
flower
.
Nay
,
he’s
a
flower
,
in
faith
,
a
very
flower
.
What
say
you
?
Can
you
love
the
gentleman
?
This
night
you
shall
behold
him
at
our
feast
.
Read
o’er
the
volume
of
young
Paris’
face
,
And
find
delight
writ
there
with
beauty’s
pen
.
Examine
every
married
lineament
And
see
how
one
another
lends
content
,
And
what
obscured
in
this
fair
volume
lies
Find
written
in
the
margent
of
his
eyes
.
This
precious
book
of
love
,
this
unbound
lover
,
To
beautify
him
only
lacks
a
cover
.
The
fish
lives
in
the
sea
,
and
’tis
much
pride
ACT 1. SC. 4
For
fair
without
the
fair
within
to
hide
.
That
book
in
many’s
eyes
doth
share
the
glory
That
in
gold
clasps
locks
in
the
golden
story
.
So
shall
you
share
all
that
he
doth
possess
By
having
him
,
making
yourself
no
less
.
No
less
?
Nay
,
bigger
.
Women
grow
by
men
.
Speak
briefly
.
Can
you
like
of
Paris’
love
?
I’ll
look
to
like
,
if
looking
liking
move
.
But
no
more
deep
will
I
endart
mine
eye
Than
your
consent
gives
strength
to
make
it
fly
.
Enter
Servingman
.
Madam
,
the
guests
are
come
,
supper
served
up
,
you
called
,
my
young
lady
asked
for
,
the
Nurse
cursed
in
the
pantry
,
and
everything
in
extremity
.
I
must
hence
to
wait
.
I
beseech
you
,
follow
straight
.
We
follow
thee
.
Servingman
exits
.
Juliet
,
the
County
stays
.
Go
,
girl
,
seek
happy
nights
to
happy
days
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Romeo
,
Mercutio
,
Benvolio
,
with
five
or
six
other
Maskers
,
Torchbearers
,
and
a
Boy
with
a
drum
.
What
,
shall
this
speech
be
spoke
for
our
excuse
?
Or
shall
we
on
without
apology
?
The
date
is
out
of
such
prolixity
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
We’ll
have
no
Cupid
hoodwinked
with
a
scarf
,
Bearing
a
Tartar’s
painted
bow
of
lath
,
Scaring
the
ladies
like
a
crowkeeper
,
Nor
no
without-book
prologue
,
faintly
spoke
After
the
prompter
,
for
our
entrance
.
But
let
them
measure
us
by
what
they
will
.
We’ll
measure
them
a
measure
and
be
gone
.
Give
me
a
torch
.
I
am
not
for
this
ambling
.
Being
but
heavy
I
will
bear
the
light
.
Nay
,
gentle
Romeo
,
we
must
have
you
dance
.
Not
I
,
believe
me
.
You
have
dancing
shoes
With
nimble
soles
.
I
have
a
soul
of
lead
So
stakes
me
to
the
ground
I
cannot
move
.
You
are
a
lover
.
Borrow
Cupid’s
wings
And
soar
with
them
above
a
common
bound
.
I
am
too
sore
enpiercèd
with
his
shaft
To
soar
with
his
light
feathers
,
and
so
bound
I
cannot
bound
a
pitch
above
dull
woe
.
Under
love’s
heavy
burden
do
I
sink
.
And
to
sink
in
it
should
you
burden
love
—
Too
great
oppression
for
a
tender
thing
.
Is
love
a
tender
thing
?
It
is
too
rough
,
Too
rude
,
too
boist’rous
,
and
it
pricks
like
thorn
.
If
love
be
rough
with
you
,
be
rough
with
love
.
Prick
love
for
pricking
,
and
you
beat
love
down
.
—
Give
me
a
case
to
put
my
visage
in
.
—
A
visor
for
a
visor
.
What
care
I
What
curious
eye
doth
cote
deformities
?
Here
are
the
beetle
brows
shall
blush
for
me
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
Come
,
knock
and
enter
,
and
no
sooner
in
But
every
man
betake
him
to
his
legs
.
A
torch
for
me
.
Let
wantons
light
of
heart
Tickle
the
senseless
rushes
with
their
heels
,
For
I
am
proverbed
with
a
grandsire
phrase
:
I’ll
be
a
candle
holder
and
look
on
;
The
game
was
ne’er
so
fair
,
and
I
am
done
.
Tut
,
dun’s
the
mouse
,
the
constable’s
own
word
.
If
thou
art
dun
,
we’ll
draw
thee
from
the
mire
—
Or
,
save
your
reverence
,
love
—
wherein
thou
stickest
Up
to
the
ears
.
Come
,
we
burn
daylight
,
ho
!
Nay
,
that’s
not
so
.
I
mean
,
sir
,
in
delay
We
waste
our
lights
;
in
vain
,
light
lights
by
day
.
Take
our
good
meaning
,
for
our
judgment
sits
Five
times
in
that
ere
once
in
our
five
wits
.
And
we
mean
well
in
going
to
this
masque
,
But
’tis
no
wit
to
go
.
Why
,
may
one
ask
?
I
dreamt
a
dream
tonight
.
And
so
did
I
.
Well
,
what
was
yours
?
That
dreamers
often
lie
.
In
bed
asleep
while
they
do
dream
things
true
.
O
,
then
I
see
Queen
Mab
hath
been
with
you
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
She
is
the
fairies’
midwife
,
and
she
comes
In
shape
no
bigger
than
an
agate
stone
On
the
forefinger
of
an
alderman
,
Drawn
with
a
team
of
little
atomi
Over
men’s
noses
as
they
lie
asleep
.
Her
wagon
spokes
made
of
long
spinners’
legs
,
The
cover
of
the
wings
of
grasshoppers
,
Her
traces
of
the
smallest
spider
web
,
Her
collars
of
the
moonshine’s
wat’ry
beams
,
Her
whip
of
cricket’s
bone
,
the
lash
of
film
,
Her
wagoner
a
small
gray-coated
gnat
,
Not
half
so
big
as
a
round
little
worm
Pricked
from
the
lazy
finger
of
a
maid
.
Her
chariot
is
an
empty
hazelnut
,
Made
by
the
joiner
squirrel
or
old
grub
,
Time
out
o’
mind
the
fairies’
coachmakers
.
And
in
this
state
she
gallops
night
by
night
Through
lovers’
brains
,
and
then
they
dream
of
love
;
On
courtiers’
knees
,
that
dream
on
cur’sies
straight
;
O’er
lawyers’
fingers
,
who
straight
dream
on
fees
;
O’er
ladies’
lips
,
who
straight
on
kisses
dream
,
Which
oft
the
angry
Mab
with
blisters
plagues
Because
their
breaths
with
sweetmeats
tainted
are
.
Sometime
she
gallops
o’er
a
courtier’s
nose
,
And
then
dreams
he
of
smelling
out
a
suit
.
And
sometime
comes
she
with
a
tithe-pig’s
tail
,
Tickling
a
parson’s
nose
as
he
lies
asleep
;
Then
he
dreams
of
another
benefice
.
Sometime
she
driveth
o’er
a
soldier’s
neck
,
And
then
dreams
he
of
cutting
foreign
throats
,
Of
breaches
,
ambuscadoes
,
Spanish
blades
,
Of
healths
five
fathom
deep
,
and
then
anon
Drums
in
his
ear
,
at
which
he
starts
and
wakes
And
,
being
thus
frighted
,
swears
a
prayer
or
two
And
sleeps
again
.
This
is
that
very
Mab
That
plats
the
manes
of
horses
in
the
night
ACT 1. SC. 4
And
bakes
the
elflocks
in
foul
sluttish
hairs
,
Which
once
untangled
much
misfortune
bodes
.
This
is
the
hag
,
when
maids
lie
on
their
backs
,
That
presses
them
and
learns
them
first
to
bear
,
Making
them
women
of
good
carriage
.
This
is
she
—
Peace
,
peace
,
Mercutio
,
peace
.
Thou
talk’st
of
nothing
.
True
,
I
talk
of
dreams
,
Which
are
the
children
of
an
idle
brain
,
Begot
of
nothing
but
vain
fantasy
,
Which
is
as
thin
of
substance
as
the
air
And
more
inconstant
than
the
wind
,
who
woos
Even
now
the
frozen
bosom
of
the
north
And
,
being
angered
,
puffs
away
from
thence
,
Turning
his
side
to
the
dew-dropping
south
.
This
wind
you
talk
of
blows
us
from
ourselves
.
Supper
is
done
,
and
we
shall
come
too
late
.
I
fear
too
early
,
for
my
mind
misgives
Some
consequence
yet
hanging
in
the
stars
Shall
bitterly
begin
his
fearful
date
With
this
night’s
revels
,
and
expire
the
term
Of
a
despisèd
life
closed
in
my
breast
By
some
vile
forfeit
of
untimely
death
.
But
he
that
hath
the
steerage
of
my
course
Direct
my
sail
.
On
,
lusty
gentlemen
.
Strike
,
drum
.
They
march
about
the
stage
and
then
withdraw
to
the
side
.
ACT 1. SC. 5
Scene
5
Servingmen
come
forth
with
napkins
.
Where’s
Potpan
that
he
helps
not
to
take
away
?
He
shift
a
trencher
?
He
scrape
a
trencher
?
When
good
manners
shall
lie
all
in
one
or
two
men’s
hands
,
and
they
unwashed
too
,
’tis
a
foul
thing
.
Away
with
the
joint
stools
,
remove
the
court
cupboard
,
look
to
the
plate
.
—
Good
thou
,
save
me
a
piece
of
marchpane
,
and
,
as
thou
loves
me
,
let
the
porter
let
in
Susan
Grindstone
and
Nell
.
—
Anthony
and
Potpan
!
Ay
,
boy
,
ready
.
You
are
looked
for
and
called
for
,
asked
for
and
sought
for
,
in
the
great
chamber
.
We
cannot
be
here
and
there
too
.
Cheerly
,
boys
!
Be
brisk
awhile
,
and
the
longer
liver
take
all
.
They
move
aside
.
Enter
Capulet
and
his
household
,
all
the
guests
and
gentlewomen
to
Romeo
,
Mercutio
,
Benvolio
,
and
the
other
Maskers
.
Welcome
,
gentlemen
.
Ladies
that
have
their
toes
Unplagued
with
corns
will
walk
a
bout
with
you
.
—
Ah
,
my
mistresses
,
which
of
you
all
Will
now
deny
to
dance
?
She
that
makes
dainty
,
She
,
I’ll
swear
,
hath
corns
.
Am
I
come
near
you
now
?
—
Welcome
,
gentlemen
.
I
have
seen
the
day
That
I
have
worn
a
visor
and
could
tell
A
whispering
tale
in
a
fair
lady’s
ear
,
Such
as
would
please
.
’Tis
gone
,
’tis
gone
,
’tis
gone
.
ACT 1. SC. 5
You
are
welcome
,
gentlemen
.
—
Come
,
musicians
,
play
.
Music
plays
and
they
dance
.
A
hall
,
a
hall
,
give
room
!
—
And
foot
it
,
girls
.
—
More
light
,
you
knaves
,
and
turn
the
tables
up
,
And
quench
the
fire
;
the
room
is
grown
too
hot
.
—
Ah
,
sirrah
,
this
unlooked-for
sport
comes
well
.
—
Nay
,
sit
,
nay
,
sit
,
good
cousin
Capulet
,
For
you
and
I
are
past
our
dancing
days
.
How
long
is
’t
now
since
last
yourself
and
I
Were
in
a
mask
?
By
’r
Lady
,
thirty
years
.
What
,
man
,
’tis
not
so
much
,
’tis
not
so
much
.
’Tis
since
the
nuptial
of
Lucentio
,
Come
Pentecost
as
quickly
as
it
will
,
Some
five
and
twenty
years
,
and
then
we
masked
.
’Tis
more
,
’tis
more
.
His
son
is
elder
,
sir
.
His
son
is
thirty
.
Will
you
tell
me
that
?
His
son
was
but
a
ward
two
years
ago
.
,
to
a
Servingman
What
lady’s
that
which
doth
enrich
the
hand
Of
yonder
knight
?
I
know
not
,
sir
.
O
,
she
doth
teach
the
torches
to
burn
bright
!
It
seems
she
hangs
upon
the
cheek
of
night
As
a
rich
jewel
in
an
Ethiop’s
ear
—
Beauty
too
rich
for
use
,
for
Earth
too
dear
.
So
shows
a
snowy
dove
trooping
with
crows
As
yonder
lady
o’er
her
fellows
shows
.
The
measure
done
,
I’ll
watch
her
place
of
stand
And
,
touching
hers
,
make
blessèd
my
rude
hand
.
Did
my
heart
love
till
now
?
Forswear
it
,
sight
,
For
I
ne’er
saw
true
beauty
till
this
night
.
ACT 1. SC. 5
This
,
by
his
voice
,
should
be
a
Montague
.
—
Fetch
me
my
rapier
,
boy
.
Page
exits
.
What
,
dares
the
slave
Come
hither
covered
with
an
antic
face
To
fleer
and
scorn
at
our
solemnity
?
Now
,
by
the
stock
and
honor
of
my
kin
,
To
strike
him
dead
I
hold
it
not
a
sin
.
Why
,
how
now
,
kinsman
?
Wherefore
storm
you
so
?
Uncle
,
this
is
a
Montague
,
our
foe
,
A
villain
that
is
hither
come
in
spite
To
scorn
at
our
solemnity
this
night
.
Young
Romeo
is
it
?
’Tis
he
,
that
villain
Romeo
.
Content
thee
,
gentle
coz
.
Let
him
alone
.
He
bears
him
like
a
portly
gentleman
,
And
,
to
say
truth
,
Verona
brags
of
him
To
be
a
virtuous
and
well-governed
youth
.
I
would
not
for
the
wealth
of
all
this
town
Here
in
my
house
do
him
disparagement
.
Therefore
be
patient
.
Take
no
note
of
him
.
It
is
my
will
,
the
which
if
thou
respect
,
Show
a
fair
presence
and
put
off
these
frowns
,
An
ill-beseeming
semblance
for
a
feast
.
It
fits
when
such
a
villain
is
a
guest
.
I’ll
not
endure
him
.
He
shall
be
endured
.
What
,
goodman
boy
?
I
say
he
shall
.
Go
to
.
Am
I
the
master
here
or
you
?
Go
to
.
You’ll
not
endure
him
!
God
shall
mend
my
soul
,
ACT 1. SC. 5
You’ll
make
a
mutiny
among
my
guests
,
You
will
set
cock-a-hoop
,
you’ll
be
the
man
!
Why
,
uncle
,
’tis
a
shame
.
Go
to
,
go
to
.
You
are
a
saucy
boy
.
Is
’t
so
indeed
?
This
trick
may
chance
to
scathe
you
.
I
know
what
.
You
must
contrary
me
.
Marry
,
’tis
time
—
Well
said
,
my
hearts
.
—
You
are
a
princox
,
go
.
Be
quiet
,
or
—
More
light
,
more
light
!
—
for
shame
,
I’ll
make
you
quiet
.
—
What
,
cheerly
,
my
hearts
!
Patience
perforce
with
willful
choler
meeting
Makes
my
flesh
tremble
in
their
different
greeting
.
I
will
withdraw
,
but
this
intrusion
shall
,
Now
seeming
sweet
,
convert
to
bitt’rest
gall
.
He
exits
.
,
taking
Juliet’s
hand
If
I
profane
with
my
unworthiest
hand
This
holy
shrine
,
the
gentle
sin
is
this
:
My
lips
,
two
blushing
pilgrims
,
ready
stand
To
smooth
that
rough
touch
with
a
tender
kiss
.
Good
pilgrim
,
you
do
wrong
your
hand
too
much
,
Which
mannerly
devotion
shows
in
this
;
For
saints
have
hands
that
pilgrims’
hands
do
touch
,
And
palm
to
palm
is
holy
palmers’
kiss
.
Have
not
saints
lips
,
and
holy
palmers
too
?
Ay
,
pilgrim
,
lips
that
they
must
use
in
prayer
.
O
then
,
dear
saint
,
let
lips
do
what
hands
do
.
They
pray
:
grant
thou
,
lest
faith
turn
to
despair
.
Saints
do
not
move
,
though
grant
for
prayers’
sake
.
ACT 1. SC. 5
Then
move
not
while
my
prayer’s
effect
I
take
.
He
kisses
her
.
Thus
from
my
lips
,
by
thine
,
my
sin
is
purged
.
Then
have
my
lips
the
sin
that
they
have
took
.
Sin
from
my
lips
?
O
trespass
sweetly
urged
!
Give
me
my
sin
again
.
He
kisses
her
.
You
kiss
by
th’
book
.
Madam
,
your
mother
craves
a
word
with
you
.
Juliet
moves
toward
her
mother
.
What
is
her
mother
?
Marry
,
bachelor
,
Her
mother
is
the
lady
of
the
house
,
And
a
good
lady
,
and
a
wise
and
virtuous
.
I
nursed
her
daughter
that
you
talked
withal
.
I
tell
you
,
he
that
can
lay
hold
of
her
Shall
have
the
chinks
.
Nurse
moves
away
.
,
aside
Is
she
a
Capulet
?
O
dear
account
!
My
life
is
my
foe’s
debt
.
Away
,
begone
.
The
sport
is
at
the
best
.
Ay
,
so
I
fear
.
The
more
is
my
unrest
.
Nay
,
gentlemen
,
prepare
not
to
be
gone
.
We
have
a
trifling
foolish
banquet
towards
.
—
Is
it
e’en
so
?
Why
then
,
I
thank
you
all
.
I
thank
you
,
honest
gentlemen
.
Good
night
.
—
More
torches
here
.
—
Come
on
then
,
let’s
to
bed
.
—
Ah
,
sirrah
,
by
my
fay
,
it
waxes
late
.
I’ll
to
my
rest
.
All
but
Juliet
and
the
Nurse
begin
to
exit
.
ACT 1. SC. 5
Come
hither
,
nurse
.
What
is
yond
gentleman
?
The
son
and
heir
of
old
Tiberio
.
What’s
he
that
now
is
going
out
of
door
?
Marry
,
that
,
I
think
,
be
young
Petruchio
.
What’s
he
that
follows
here
,
that
would
not
dance
?
I
know
not
.
Go
ask
his
name
.
The
Nurse
goes
.
If
he
be
marrièd
,
My
grave
is
like
to
be
my
wedding
bed
.
,
returning
His
name
is
Romeo
,
and
a
Montague
,
The
only
son
of
your
great
enemy
.
My
only
love
sprung
from
my
only
hate
!
Too
early
seen
unknown
,
and
known
too
late
!
Prodigious
birth
of
love
it
is
to
me
That
I
must
love
a
loathèd
enemy
.
What’s
this
?
What’s
this
?
A
rhyme
I
learned
even
now
Of
one
I
danced
withal
.
One
calls
within
Juliet
.
Anon
,
anon
.
Come
,
let’s
away
.
The
strangers
all
are
gone
.
They
exit
.
ACT
2
Enter
Chorus
.
Now
old
desire
doth
in
his
deathbed
lie
,
And
young
affection
gapes
to
be
his
heir
.
That
fair
for
which
love
groaned
for
and
would
die
,
With
tender
Juliet
matched
,
is
now
not
fair
.
Now
Romeo
is
beloved
and
loves
again
,
Alike
bewitchèd
by
the
charm
of
looks
,
But
to
his
foe
supposed
he
must
complain
,
And
she
steal
love’s
sweet
bait
from
fearful
hooks
.
Being
held
a
foe
,
he
may
not
have
access
To
breathe
such
vows
as
lovers
use
to
swear
,
And
she
as
much
in
love
,
her
means
much
less
To
meet
her
new
belovèd
anywhere
.
But
passion
lends
them
power
,
time
means
,
to
meet
,
Temp’ring
extremities
with
extreme
sweet
.
Chorus
exits
.
Scene
1
Enter
Romeo
alone
.
Can
I
go
forward
when
my
heart
is
here
?
Turn
back
,
dull
earth
,
and
find
thy
center
out
.
He
withdraws
.
Enter
Benvolio
with
Mercutio
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
Romeo
,
my
cousin
Romeo
,
Romeo
!
He
is
wise
And
,
on
my
life
,
hath
stol’n
him
home
to
bed
.
He
ran
this
way
and
leapt
this
orchard
wall
.
Call
,
good
Mercutio
.
Nay
,
I’ll
conjure
too
.
Romeo
!
Humors
!
Madman
!
Passion
!
Lover
!
Appear
thou
in
the
likeness
of
a
sigh
.
Speak
but
one
rhyme
and
I
am
satisfied
.
Cry
but
Ay
me
,
pronounce
but
love
and
dove
.
Speak
to
my
gossip
Venus
one
fair
word
,
One
nickname
for
her
purblind
son
and
heir
,
Young
Abraham
Cupid
,
he
that
shot
so
trim
When
King
Cophetua
loved
the
beggar
maid
.
—
He
heareth
not
,
he
stirreth
not
,
he
moveth
not
.
The
ape
is
dead
,
and
I
must
conjure
him
.
—
I
conjure
thee
by
Rosaline’s
bright
eyes
,
By
her
high
forehead
,
and
her
scarlet
lip
,
By
her
fine
foot
,
straight
leg
,
and
quivering
thigh
,
And
the
demesnes
that
there
adjacent
lie
,
That
in
thy
likeness
thou
appear
to
us
.
An
if
he
hear
thee
,
thou
wilt
anger
him
.
This
cannot
anger
him
.
’Twould
anger
him
To
raise
a
spirit
in
his
mistress’
circle
Of
some
strange
nature
,
letting
it
there
stand
Till
she
had
laid
it
and
conjured
it
down
.
That
were
some
spite
.
My
invocation
Is
fair
and
honest
.
In
his
mistress’
name
,
I
conjure
only
but
to
raise
up
him
.
Come
,
he
hath
hid
himself
among
these
trees
ACT 2. SC. 2
To
be
consorted
with
the
humorous
night
.
Blind
is
his
love
and
best
befits
the
dark
.
If
love
be
blind
,
love
cannot
hit
the
mark
.
Now
will
he
sit
under
a
medlar
tree
And
wish
his
mistress
were
that
kind
of
fruit
As
maids
call
medlars
when
they
laugh
alone
.
—
O
Romeo
,
that
she
were
,
O
,
that
she
were
An
open-arse
,
thou
a
pop’rin
pear
.
Romeo
,
good
night
.
I’ll
to
my
truckle
bed
;
This
field-bed
is
too
cold
for
me
to
sleep
.
—
Come
,
shall
we
go
?
Go
,
then
,
for
’tis
in
vain
To
seek
him
here
that
means
not
to
be
found
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Romeo
comes
forward
.
He
jests
at
scars
that
never
felt
a
wound
.
Enter
Juliet
above
.
But
soft
,
what
light
through
yonder
window
breaks
?
It
is
the
East
,
and
Juliet
is
the
sun
.
Arise
,
fair
sun
,
and
kill
the
envious
moon
,
Who
is
already
sick
and
pale
with
grief
That
thou
,
her
maid
,
art
far
more
fair
than
she
.
Be
not
her
maid
since
she
is
envious
.
Her
vestal
livery
is
but
sick
and
green
,
And
none
but
fools
do
wear
it
.
Cast
it
off
.
It
is
my
lady
.
O
,
it
is
my
love
!
O
,
that
she
knew
she
were
!
She
speaks
,
yet
she
says
nothing
.
What
of
that
?
Her
eye
discourses
;
I
will
answer
it
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
I
am
too
bold
.
’Tis
not
to
me
she
speaks
.
Two
of
the
fairest
stars
in
all
the
heaven
,
Having
some
business
,
do
entreat
her
eyes
To
twinkle
in
their
spheres
till
they
return
.
What
if
her
eyes
were
there
,
they
in
her
head
?
The
brightness
of
her
cheek
would
shame
those
stars
As
daylight
doth
a
lamp
;
her
eye
in
heaven
Would
through
the
airy
region
stream
so
bright
That
birds
would
sing
and
think
it
were
not
night
.
See
how
she
leans
her
cheek
upon
her
hand
.
O
,
that
I
were
a
glove
upon
that
hand
,
That
I
might
touch
that
cheek
!
Ay
me
.
,
aside
She
speaks
.
O
,
speak
again
,
bright
angel
,
for
thou
art
As
glorious
to
this
night
,
being
o’er
my
head
,
As
is
a
wingèd
messenger
of
heaven
Unto
the
white-upturnèd
wond’ring
eyes
Of
mortals
that
fall
back
to
gaze
on
him
When
he
bestrides
the
lazy
puffing
clouds
And
sails
upon
the
bosom
of
the
air
.
O
Romeo
,
Romeo
,
wherefore
art
thou
Romeo
?
Deny
thy
father
and
refuse
thy
name
,
Or
,
if
thou
wilt
not
,
be
but
sworn
my
love
,
And
I’ll
no
longer
be
a
Capulet
.
,
aside
Shall
I
hear
more
,
or
shall
I
speak
at
this
?
’Tis
but
thy
name
that
is
my
enemy
.
Thou
art
thyself
,
though
not
a
Montague
.
What’s
Montague
?
It
is
nor
hand
,
nor
foot
,
Nor
arm
,
nor
face
.
O
,
be
some
other
name
Belonging
to
a
man
.
What’s
in
a
name
?
That
which
we
call
a
rose
ACT 2. SC. 2
By
any
other
word
would
smell
as
sweet
.
So
Romeo
would
,
were
he
not
Romeo
called
,
Retain
that
dear
perfection
which
he
owes
Without
that
title
.
Romeo
,
doff
thy
name
,
And
,
for
thy
name
,
which
is
no
part
of
thee
,
Take
all
myself
.
I
take
thee
at
thy
word
.
Call
me
but
love
,
and
I’ll
be
new
baptized
.
Henceforth
I
never
will
be
Romeo
.
What
man
art
thou
that
,
thus
bescreened
in
night
,
So
stumblest
on
my
counsel
?
By
a
name
I
know
not
how
to
tell
thee
who
I
am
.
My
name
,
dear
saint
,
is
hateful
to
myself
Because
it
is
an
enemy
to
thee
.
Had
I
it
written
,
I
would
tear
the
word
.
My
ears
have
yet
not
drunk
a
hundred
words
Of
thy
tongue’s
uttering
,
yet
I
know
the
sound
.
Art
thou
not
Romeo
,
and
a
Montague
?
Neither
,
fair
maid
,
if
either
thee
dislike
.
How
camest
thou
hither
,
tell
me
,
and
wherefore
?
The
orchard
walls
are
high
and
hard
to
climb
,
And
the
place
death
,
considering
who
thou
art
,
If
any
of
my
kinsmen
find
thee
here
.
With
love’s
light
wings
did
I
o’erperch
these
walls
,
For
stony
limits
cannot
hold
love
out
,
And
what
love
can
do
,
that
dares
love
attempt
.
Therefore
thy
kinsmen
are
no
stop
to
me
.
If
they
do
see
thee
,
they
will
murder
thee
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
Alack
,
there
lies
more
peril
in
thine
eye
Than
twenty
of
their
swords
.
Look
thou
but
sweet
,
And
I
am
proof
against
their
enmity
.
I
would
not
for
the
world
they
saw
thee
here
.
I
have
night’s
cloak
to
hide
me
from
their
eyes
,
And
,
but
thou
love
me
,
let
them
find
me
here
.
My
life
were
better
ended
by
their
hate
Than
death
proroguèd
,
wanting
of
thy
love
.
By
whose
direction
found’st
thou
out
this
place
?
By
love
,
that
first
did
prompt
me
to
inquire
.
He
lent
me
counsel
,
and
I
lent
him
eyes
.
I
am
no
pilot
;
yet
,
wert
thou
as
far
As
that
vast
shore
washed
with
the
farthest
sea
,
I
should
adventure
for
such
merchandise
.
Thou
knowest
the
mask
of
night
is
on
my
face
,
Else
would
a
maiden
blush
bepaint
my
cheek
For
that
which
thou
hast
heard
me
speak
tonight
.
Fain
would
I
dwell
on
form
;
fain
,
fain
deny
What
I
have
spoke
.
But
farewell
compliment
.
Dost
thou
love
me
?
I
know
thou
wilt
say
Ay
,
And
I
will
take
thy
word
.
Yet
,
if
thou
swear’st
,
Thou
mayst
prove
false
.
At
lovers’
perjuries
,
They
say
,
Jove
laughs
.
O
gentle
Romeo
,
If
thou
dost
love
,
pronounce
it
faithfully
.
Or
,
if
thou
thinkest
I
am
too
quickly
won
,
I’ll
frown
and
be
perverse
and
say
thee
nay
,
So
thou
wilt
woo
,
but
else
not
for
the
world
.
In
truth
,
fair
Montague
,
I
am
too
fond
,
And
therefore
thou
mayst
think
my
havior
light
.
But
trust
me
,
gentleman
,
I’ll
prove
more
true
ACT 2. SC. 2
Than
those
that
have
more
coying
to
be
strange
.
I
should
have
been
more
strange
,
I
must
confess
,
But
that
thou
overheard’st
ere
I
was
ware
My
true-love
passion
.
Therefore
pardon
me
,
And
not
impute
this
yielding
to
light
love
,
Which
the
dark
night
hath
so
discoverèd
.
Lady
,
by
yonder
blessèd
moon
I
vow
,
That
tips
with
silver
all
these
fruit-tree
tops
—
O
,
swear
not
by
the
moon
,
th’
inconstant
moon
,
That
monthly
changes
in
her
circled
orb
,
Lest
that
thy
love
prove
likewise
variable
.
What
shall
I
swear
by
?
Do
not
swear
at
all
.
Or
,
if
thou
wilt
,
swear
by
thy
gracious
self
,
Which
is
the
god
of
my
idolatry
,
And
I’ll
believe
thee
.
If
my
heart’s
dear
love
—
Well
,
do
not
swear
.
Although
I
joy
in
thee
,
I
have
no
joy
of
this
contract
tonight
.
It
is
too
rash
,
too
unadvised
,
too
sudden
,
Too
like
the
lightning
,
which
doth
cease
to
be
Ere
one
can
say
It
lightens
.
Sweet
,
good
night
.
This
bud
of
love
,
by
summer’s
ripening
breath
,
May
prove
a
beauteous
flower
when
next
we
meet
.
Good
night
,
good
night
.
As
sweet
repose
and
rest
Come
to
thy
heart
as
that
within
my
breast
.
O
,
wilt
thou
leave
me
so
unsatisfied
?
What
satisfaction
canst
thou
have
tonight
?
Th’
exchange
of
thy
love’s
faithful
vow
for
mine
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
I
gave
thee
mine
before
thou
didst
request
it
,
And
yet
I
would
it
were
to
give
again
.
Wouldst
thou
withdraw
it
?
For
what
purpose
,
love
?
But
to
be
frank
and
give
it
thee
again
.
And
yet
I
wish
but
for
the
thing
I
have
.
My
bounty
is
as
boundless
as
the
sea
,
My
love
as
deep
.
The
more
I
give
to
thee
,
The
more
I
have
,
for
both
are
infinite
.
Nurse
calls
from
within
.
I
hear
some
noise
within
.
Dear
love
,
adieu
.
—
Anon
,
good
nurse
.
—
Sweet
Montague
,
be
true
.
Stay
but
a
little
;
I
will
come
again
.
She
exits
.
O
blessèd
,
blessèd
night
!
I
am
afeard
,
Being
in
night
,
all
this
is
but
a
dream
,
Too
flattering
sweet
to
be
substantial
.
Reenter
Juliet
above
.
Three
words
,
dear
Romeo
,
and
good
night
indeed
.
If
that
thy
bent
of
love
be
honorable
,
Thy
purpose
marriage
,
send
me
word
tomorrow
,
By
one
that
I’ll
procure
to
come
to
thee
,
Where
and
what
time
thou
wilt
perform
the
rite
,
And
all
my
fortunes
at
thy
foot
I’ll
lay
And
follow
thee
my
lord
throughout
the
world
.
,
within
Madam
.
I
come
anon
.
—
But
if
thou
meanest
not
well
,
I
do
beseech
thee
—
,
within
Madam
.
By
and
by
,
I
come
.
—
To
cease
thy
strife
and
leave
me
to
my
grief
.
Tomorrow
will
I
send
.
ACT 2. SC. 2
So
thrive
my
soul
—
A
thousand
times
good
night
.
She
exits
.
A
thousand
times
the
worse
to
want
thy
light
.
Love
goes
toward
love
as
schoolboys
from
their
books
,
But
love
from
love
,
toward
school
with
heavy
looks
.
Going
.
Enter
Juliet
above
again
.
Hist
,
Romeo
,
hist
!
O
,
for
a
falc’ner’s
voice
To
lure
this
tassel-gentle
back
again
!
Bondage
is
hoarse
and
may
not
speak
aloud
,
Else
would
I
tear
the
cave
where
Echo
lies
And
make
her
airy
tongue
more
hoarse
than
mine
With
repetition
of
My
Romeo
!
It
is
my
soul
that
calls
upon
my
name
.
How
silver-sweet
sound
lovers’
tongues
by
night
,
Like
softest
music
to
attending
ears
.
Romeo
.
My
dear
.
What
o’clock
tomorrow
Shall
I
send
to
thee
?
By
the
hour
of
nine
.
I
will
not
fail
.
’Tis
twenty
year
till
then
.
I
have
forgot
why
I
did
call
thee
back
.
Let
me
stand
here
till
thou
remember
it
.
I
shall
forget
,
to
have
thee
still
stand
there
,
Rememb’ring
how
I
love
thy
company
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
And
I’ll
still
stay
,
to
have
thee
still
forget
,
Forgetting
any
other
home
but
this
.
’Tis
almost
morning
.
I
would
have
thee
gone
,
And
yet
no
farther
than
a
wanton’s
bird
,
That
lets
it
hop
a
little
from
his
hand
,
Like
a
poor
prisoner
in
his
twisted
gyves
,
And
with
a
silken
thread
plucks
it
back
again
,
So
loving-jealous
of
his
liberty
.
I
would
I
were
thy
bird
.
Sweet
,
so
would
I
.
Yet
I
should
kill
thee
with
much
cherishing
.
Good
night
,
good
night
.
Parting
is
such
sweet
sorrow
That
I
shall
say
Good
night
till
it
be
morrow
.
She
exits
.
Sleep
dwell
upon
thine
eyes
,
peace
in
thy
breast
.
Would
I
were
sleep
and
peace
so
sweet
to
rest
.
Hence
will
I
to
my
ghostly
friar’s
close
cell
,
His
help
to
crave
,
and
my
dear
hap
to
tell
.
He
exits
.
Scene
3
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
alone
with
a
basket
.
The
gray-eyed
morn
smiles
on
the
frowning
night
,
Check’ring
the
eastern
clouds
with
streaks
of
light
,
And
fleckled
darkness
like
a
drunkard
reels
From
forth
day’s
path
and
Titan’s
fiery
wheels
.
Now
,
ere
the
sun
advance
his
burning
eye
,
The
day
to
cheer
and
night’s
dank
dew
to
dry
,
ACT 2. SC. 3
I
must
upfill
this
osier
cage
of
ours
With
baleful
weeds
and
precious-juicèd
flowers
.
The
Earth
that’s
nature’s
mother
is
her
tomb
;
What
is
her
burying
grave
,
that
is
her
womb
;
And
from
her
womb
children
of
divers
kind
We
sucking
on
her
natural
bosom
find
,
Many
for
many
virtues
excellent
,
None
but
for
some
,
and
yet
all
different
.
O
,
mickle
is
the
powerful
grace
that
lies
In
plants
,
herbs
,
stones
,
and
their
true
qualities
.
For
naught
so
vile
that
on
the
Earth
doth
live
But
to
the
Earth
some
special
good
doth
give
;
Nor
aught
so
good
but
,
strained
from
that
fair
use
,
Revolts
from
true
birth
,
stumbling
on
abuse
.
Virtue
itself
turns
vice
,
being
misapplied
,
And
vice
sometime
by
action
dignified
.
Enter
Romeo
.
Within
the
infant
rind
of
this
weak
flower
Poison
hath
residence
and
medicine
power
:
For
this
,
being
smelt
,
with
that
part
cheers
each
part
;
Being
tasted
,
stays
all
senses
with
the
heart
.
Two
such
opposèd
kings
encamp
them
still
In
man
as
well
as
herbs
—
grace
and
rude
will
;
And
where
the
worser
is
predominant
,
Full
soon
the
canker
death
eats
up
that
plant
.
Good
morrow
,
father
.
Benedicite
.
What
early
tongue
so
sweet
saluteth
me
?
Young
son
,
it
argues
a
distempered
head
So
soon
to
bid
Good
morrow
to
thy
bed
.
Care
keeps
his
watch
in
every
old
man’s
eye
,
And
,
where
care
lodges
,
sleep
will
never
lie
;
But
where
unbruisèd
youth
with
unstuffed
brain
ACT 2. SC. 3
Doth
couch
his
limbs
,
there
golden
sleep
doth
reign
.
Therefore
thy
earliness
doth
me
assure
Thou
art
uproused
with
some
distemp’rature
,
Or
,
if
not
so
,
then
here
I
hit
it
right
:
Our
Romeo
hath
not
been
in
bed
tonight
.
That
last
is
true
.
The
sweeter
rest
was
mine
.
God
pardon
sin
!
Wast
thou
with
Rosaline
?
With
Rosaline
,
my
ghostly
father
?
No
.
I
have
forgot
that
name
and
that
name’s
woe
.
That’s
my
good
son
.
But
where
hast
thou
been
then
?
I’ll
tell
thee
ere
thou
ask
it
me
again
.
I
have
been
feasting
with
mine
enemy
,
Where
on
a
sudden
one
hath
wounded
me
That’s
by
me
wounded
.
Both
our
remedies
Within
thy
help
and
holy
physic
lies
.
I
bear
no
hatred
,
blessèd
man
,
for
,
lo
,
My
intercession
likewise
steads
my
foe
.
Be
plain
,
good
son
,
and
homely
in
thy
drift
.
Riddling
confession
finds
but
riddling
shrift
.
Then
plainly
know
my
heart’s
dear
love
is
set
On
the
fair
daughter
of
rich
Capulet
.
As
mine
on
hers
,
so
hers
is
set
on
mine
,
And
all
combined
,
save
what
thou
must
combine
By
holy
marriage
.
When
and
where
and
how
We
met
,
we
wooed
,
and
made
exchange
of
vow
I’ll
tell
thee
as
we
pass
,
but
this
I
pray
,
That
thou
consent
to
marry
us
today
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Holy
Saint
Francis
,
what
a
change
is
here
!
Is
Rosaline
,
that
thou
didst
love
so
dear
,
So
soon
forsaken
?
Young
men’s
love
then
lies
Not
truly
in
their
hearts
,
but
in
their
eyes
.
Jesu
Maria
,
what
a
deal
of
brine
Hath
washed
thy
sallow
cheeks
for
Rosaline
!
How
much
salt
water
thrown
away
in
waste
To
season
love
,
that
of
it
doth
not
taste
!
The
sun
not
yet
thy
sighs
from
heaven
clears
,
Thy
old
groans
yet
ringing
in
mine
ancient
ears
.
Lo
,
here
upon
thy
cheek
the
stain
doth
sit
Of
an
old
tear
that
is
not
washed
off
yet
.
If
e’er
thou
wast
thyself
,
and
these
woes
thine
,
Thou
and
these
woes
were
all
for
Rosaline
.
And
art
thou
changed
?
Pronounce
this
sentence
then
:
Women
may
fall
when
there’s
no
strength
in
men
.
Thou
chid’st
me
oft
for
loving
Rosaline
.
For
doting
,
not
for
loving
,
pupil
mine
.
And
bad’st
me
bury
love
.
Not
in
a
grave
To
lay
one
in
,
another
out
to
have
.
I
pray
thee
,
chide
me
not
.
Her
I
love
now
Doth
grace
for
grace
and
love
for
love
allow
.
The
other
did
not
so
.
O
,
she
knew
well
Thy
love
did
read
by
rote
,
that
could
not
spell
.
But
come
,
young
waverer
,
come
,
go
with
me
.
In
one
respect
I’ll
thy
assistant
be
,
For
this
alliance
may
so
happy
prove
To
turn
your
households’
rancor
to
pure
love
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
O
,
let
us
hence
.
I
stand
on
sudden
haste
.
Wisely
and
slow
.
They
stumble
that
run
fast
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Benvolio
and
Mercutio
.
Where
the
devil
should
this
Romeo
be
?
Came
he
not
home
tonight
?
Not
to
his
father’s
.
I
spoke
with
his
man
.
Why
,
that
same
pale
hard-hearted
wench
,
that
Rosaline
,
Torments
him
so
that
he
will
sure
run
mad
.
Tybalt
,
the
kinsman
to
old
Capulet
,
Hath
sent
a
letter
to
his
father’s
house
.
A
challenge
,
on
my
life
.
Romeo
will
answer
it
.
Any
man
that
can
write
may
answer
a
letter
.
Nay
,
he
will
answer
the
letter’s
master
,
how
he
dares
,
being
dared
.
Alas
,
poor
Romeo
,
he
is
already
dead
,
stabbed
with
a
white
wench’s
black
eye
,
run
through
the
ear
with
a
love-song
,
the
very
pin
of
his
heart
cleft
with
the
blind
bow-boy’s
butt
shaft
.
And
is
he
a
man
to
encounter
Tybalt
?
Why
,
what
is
Tybalt
?
More
than
prince
of
cats
.
O
,
he’s
the
courageous
captain
of
compliments
.
He
fights
as
you
sing
prick-song
,
keeps
time
,
distance
,
and
proportion
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
He
rests
his
minim
rests
,
one
,
two
,
and
the
third
in
your
bosom
—
the
very
butcher
of
a
silk
button
,
a
duelist
,
a
duelist
,
a
gentleman
of
the
very
first
house
of
the
first
and
second
cause
.
Ah
,
the
immortal
passado
,
the
punto
reverso
,
the
hay
!
The
what
?
The
pox
of
such
antic
,
lisping
,
affecting
phantasimes
,
these
new
tuners
of
accent
:
By
Jesu
,
a
very
good
blade
!
A
very
tall
man
!
A
very
good
whore
!
Why
,
is
not
this
a
lamentable
thing
,
grandsire
,
that
we
should
be
thus
afflicted
with
these
strange
flies
,
these
fashion-mongers
,
these
pardon-me
’s
,
who
stand
so
much
on
the
new
form
that
they
cannot
sit
at
ease
on
the
old
bench
?
O
their
bones
,
their
bones
!
Enter
Romeo
.
Here
comes
Romeo
,
here
comes
Romeo
.
Without
his
roe
,
like
a
dried
herring
.
O
flesh
,
flesh
,
how
art
thou
fishified
!
Now
is
he
for
the
numbers
that
Petrarch
flowed
in
.
Laura
to
his
lady
was
a
kitchen
wench
(
marry
,
she
had
a
better
love
to
berhyme
her
)
,
Dido
a
dowdy
,
Cleopatra
a
gypsy
,
Helen
and
Hero
hildings
and
harlots
,
Thisbe
a
gray
eye
or
so
,
but
not
to
the
purpose
.
—
Signior
Romeo
,
bonjour
.
There’s
a
French
salutation
to
your
French
slop
.
You
gave
us
the
counterfeit
fairly
last
night
.
Good
morrow
to
you
both
.
What
counterfeit
did
I
give
you
?
The
slip
,
sir
,
the
slip
.
Can
you
not
conceive
?
Pardon
,
good
Mercutio
,
my
business
was
great
,
and
in
such
a
case
as
mine
a
man
may
strain
courtesy
.
That’s
as
much
as
to
say
such
a
case
as
yours
constrains
a
man
to
bow
in
the
hams
.
Meaning
,
to
curtsy
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
Thou
hast
most
kindly
hit
it
.
A
most
courteous
exposition
.
Nay
,
I
am
the
very
pink
of
courtesy
.
Pink
for
flower
.
Right
.
Why
,
then
is
my
pump
well
flowered
.
Sure
wit
,
follow
me
this
jest
now
till
thou
hast
worn
out
thy
pump
,
that
when
the
single
sole
of
it
is
worn
,
the
jest
may
remain
,
after
the
wearing
,
solely
singular
.
O
single-soled
jest
,
solely
singular
for
the
singleness
.
Come
between
us
,
good
Benvolio
.
My
wits
faints
.
Switch
and
spurs
,
switch
and
spurs
,
or
I’ll
cry
a
match
.
Nay
,
if
our
wits
run
the
wild-goose
chase
,
I
am
done
,
for
thou
hast
more
of
the
wild
goose
in
one
of
thy
wits
than
,
I
am
sure
,
I
have
in
my
whole
five
.
Was
I
with
you
there
for
the
goose
?
Thou
wast
never
with
me
for
anything
when
thou
wast
not
there
for
the
goose
.
I
will
bite
thee
by
the
ear
for
that
jest
.
Nay
,
good
goose
,
bite
not
.
Thy
wit
is
a
very
bitter
sweeting
;
it
is
a
most
sharp
sauce
.
And
is
it
not
,
then
,
well
served
into
a
sweet
goose
?
O
,
here’s
a
wit
of
cheveril
that
stretches
from
an
inch
narrow
to
an
ell
broad
.
I
stretch
it
out
for
that
word
broad
,
which
added
to
the
goose
,
proves
thee
far
and
wide
a
broad
goose
.
Why
,
is
not
this
better
now
than
groaning
for
love
?
Now
art
thou
sociable
,
now
art
thou
Romeo
,
now
art
thou
what
thou
art
,
by
art
as
well
as
ACT 2. SC. 4
by
nature
.
For
this
driveling
love
is
like
a
great
natural
that
runs
lolling
up
and
down
to
hide
his
bauble
in
a
hole
.
Stop
there
,
stop
there
.
Thou
desirest
me
to
stop
in
my
tale
against
the
hair
.
Thou
wouldst
else
have
made
thy
tale
large
.
O
,
thou
art
deceived
.
I
would
have
made
it
short
,
for
I
was
come
to
the
whole
depth
of
my
tale
and
meant
indeed
to
occupy
the
argument
no
longer
.
Enter
Nurse
and
her
man
Peter
.
Here’s
goodly
gear
.
A
sail
,
a
sail
!
Two
,
two
—
a
shirt
and
a
smock
.
Peter
.
Anon
.
My
fan
,
Peter
.
Good
Peter
,
to
hide
her
face
,
for
her
fan’s
the
fairer
face
.
God
you
good
morrow
,
gentlemen
.
God
you
good
e’en
,
fair
gentlewoman
.
Is
it
good
e’en
?
’Tis
no
less
,
I
tell
you
,
for
the
bawdy
hand
of
the
dial
is
now
upon
the
prick
of
noon
.
Out
upon
you
!
What
a
man
are
you
?
One
,
gentlewoman
,
that
God
hath
made
,
himself
to
mar
.
By
my
troth
,
it
is
well
said
:
for
himself
to
mar
,
quoth
he
?
Gentlemen
,
can
any
of
you
tell
me
where
I
may
find
the
young
Romeo
?
I
can
tell
you
,
but
young
Romeo
will
be
older
when
you
have
found
him
than
he
was
when
you
sought
him
.
I
am
the
youngest
of
that
name
,
for
fault
of
a
worse
.
You
say
well
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
Yea
,
is
the
worst
well
?
Very
well
took
,
i’
faith
,
wisely
,
wisely
.
If
you
be
he
,
sir
,
I
desire
some
confidence
with
you
.
She
will
indite
him
to
some
supper
.
A
bawd
,
a
bawd
,
a
bawd
.
So
ho
!
What
hast
thou
found
?
No
hare
,
sir
,
unless
a
hare
,
sir
,
in
a
Lenten
pie
that
is
something
stale
and
hoar
ere
it
be
spent
.
Singing
.
An
old
hare
hoar
,
And
an
old
hare
hoar
,
Is
very
good
meat
in
Lent
.
But
a
hare
that
is
hoar
Is
too
much
for
a
score
When
it
hoars
ere
it
be
spent
.
Romeo
,
will
you
come
to
your
father’s
?
We’ll
to
dinner
thither
.
I
will
follow
you
.
Farewell
,
ancient
lady
.
Farewell
,
lady
,
lady
,
lady
.
Mercutio
and
Benvolio
exit
.
I
pray
you
,
sir
,
what
saucy
merchant
was
this
that
was
so
full
of
his
ropery
?
A
gentleman
,
nurse
,
that
loves
to
hear
himself
talk
and
will
speak
more
in
a
minute
than
he
will
stand
to
in
a
month
.
An
he
speak
anything
against
me
,
I’ll
take
him
down
,
an
he
were
lustier
than
he
is
,
and
twenty
such
jacks
.
An
if
I
cannot
,
I’ll
find
those
that
shall
.
Scurvy
knave
,
I
am
none
of
his
flirt-gills
;
I
am
none
of
his
skains-mates
.
To
Peter
.
And
thou
must
stand
by
too
and
suffer
every
knave
to
use
me
at
his
pleasure
.
I
saw
no
man
use
you
at
his
pleasure
.
If
I
had
,
my
weapon
should
quickly
have
been
out
.
I
warrant
you
,
I
dare
draw
as
soon
as
another
man
,
if
I
see
occasion
in
a
good
quarrel
,
and
the
law
on
my
side
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
Now
,
afore
God
,
I
am
so
vexed
that
every
part
about
me
quivers
.
Scurvy
knave
!
To
Romeo
.
Pray
you
,
sir
,
a
word
.
And
,
as
I
told
you
,
my
young
lady
bid
me
inquire
you
out
.
What
she
bid
me
say
,
I
will
keep
to
myself
.
But
first
let
me
tell
you
,
if
you
should
lead
her
in
a
fool’s
paradise
,
as
they
say
,
it
were
a
very
gross
kind
of
behavior
,
as
they
say
.
For
the
gentlewoman
is
young
;
and
therefore
,
if
you
should
deal
double
with
her
,
truly
it
were
an
ill
thing
to
be
offered
to
any
gentlewoman
,
and
very
weak
dealing
.
Nurse
,
commend
me
to
thy
lady
and
mistress
.
I
protest
unto
thee
—
Good
heart
,
and
i’
faith
I
will
tell
her
as
much
.
Lord
,
Lord
,
she
will
be
a
joyful
woman
.
What
wilt
thou
tell
her
,
nurse
?
Thou
dost
not
mark
me
.
I
will
tell
her
,
sir
,
that
you
do
protest
,
which
,
as
I
take
it
,
is
a
gentlemanlike
offer
.
Bid
her
devise
Some
means
to
come
to
shrift
this
afternoon
,
And
there
she
shall
at
Friar
Lawrence’
cell
Be
shrived
and
married
.
Here
is
for
thy
pains
.
Offering
her
money
.
No
,
truly
,
sir
,
not
a
penny
.
Go
to
,
I
say
you
shall
.
This
afternoon
,
sir
?
Well
,
she
shall
be
there
.
And
stay
,
good
nurse
,
behind
the
abbey
wall
.
Within
this
hour
my
man
shall
be
with
thee
And
bring
thee
cords
made
like
a
tackled
stair
,
Which
to
the
high
topgallant
of
my
joy
Must
be
my
convoy
in
the
secret
night
.
Farewell
.
Be
trusty
,
and
I’ll
quit
thy
pains
.
Farewell
.
Commend
me
to
thy
mistress
.
ACT 2. SC. 5
Now
,
God
in
heaven
bless
thee
!
Hark
you
,
sir
.
What
sayst
thou
,
my
dear
nurse
?
Is
your
man
secret
?
Did
you
ne’er
hear
say
Two
may
keep
counsel
,
putting
one
away
?
Warrant
thee
,
my
man’s
as
true
as
steel
.
Well
,
sir
,
my
mistress
is
the
sweetest
lady
.
Lord
,
Lord
,
when
’twas
a
little
prating
thing
—
O
,
there
is
a
nobleman
in
town
,
one
Paris
,
that
would
fain
lay
knife
aboard
,
but
she
,
good
soul
,
had
as
lief
see
a
toad
,
a
very
toad
,
as
see
him
.
I
anger
her
sometimes
and
tell
her
that
Paris
is
the
properer
man
,
but
I’ll
warrant
you
,
when
I
say
so
,
she
looks
as
pale
as
any
clout
in
the
versal
world
.
Doth
not
rosemary
and
Romeo
begin
both
with
a
letter
?
Ay
,
nurse
,
what
of
that
?
Both
with
an
R
.
Ah
,
mocker
,
that’s
the
dog’s
name
.
R
is
for
the
—
No
,
I
know
it
begins
with
some
other
letter
,
and
she
hath
the
prettiest
sententious
of
it
,
of
you
and
rosemary
,
that
it
would
do
you
good
to
hear
it
.
Commend
me
to
thy
lady
.
Ay
,
a
thousand
times
.
—
Peter
.
Anon
.
Before
and
apace
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Enter
Juliet
.
The
clock
struck
nine
when
I
did
send
the
Nurse
.
In
half
an
hour
she
promised
to
return
.
Perchance
she
cannot
meet
him
.
That’s
not
so
.
O
,
she
is
lame
!
Love’s
heralds
should
be
thoughts
,
Which
ten
times
faster
glides
than
the
sun’s
beams
,
ACT 2. SC. 5
Driving
back
shadows
over
louring
hills
.
Therefore
do
nimble-pinioned
doves
draw
Love
,
And
therefore
hath
the
wind-swift
Cupid
wings
.
Now
is
the
sun
upon
the
highmost
hill
Of
this
day’s
journey
,
and
from
nine
till
twelve
Is
three
long
hours
,
yet
she
is
not
come
.
Had
she
affections
and
warm
youthful
blood
,
She
would
be
as
swift
in
motion
as
a
ball
;
My
words
would
bandy
her
to
my
sweet
love
,
And
his
to
me
.
But
old
folks
,
many
feign
as
they
were
dead
,
Unwieldy
,
slow
,
heavy
,
and
pale
as
lead
.
Enter
Nurse
and
Peter
.
O
God
,
she
comes
!
—
O
,
honey
nurse
,
what
news
?
Hast
thou
met
with
him
?
Send
thy
man
away
.
Peter
,
stay
at
the
gate
.
Peter
exits
.
Now
,
good
sweet
nurse
—
O
Lord
,
why
lookest
thou
sad
?
Though
news
be
sad
,
yet
tell
them
merrily
.
If
good
,
thou
shamest
the
music
of
sweet
news
By
playing
it
to
me
with
so
sour
a
face
.
I
am
aweary
.
Give
me
leave
awhile
.
Fie
,
how
my
bones
ache
!
What
a
jaunt
have
I
!
I
would
thou
hadst
my
bones
,
and
I
thy
news
.
Nay
,
come
,
I
pray
thee
,
speak
.
Good
,
good
nurse
,
speak
.
Jesu
,
what
haste
!
Can
you
not
stay
awhile
?
Do
you
not
see
that
I
am
out
of
breath
?
How
art
thou
out
of
breath
,
when
thou
hast
breath
To
say
to
me
that
thou
art
out
of
breath
?
The
excuse
that
thou
dost
make
in
this
delay
ACT 2. SC. 5
Is
longer
than
the
tale
thou
dost
excuse
.
Is
thy
news
good
or
bad
?
Answer
to
that
.
Say
either
,
and
I’ll
stay
the
circumstance
.
Let
me
be
satisfied
;
is
’t
good
or
bad
?
Well
,
you
have
made
a
simple
choice
.
You
know
not
how
to
choose
a
man
.
Romeo
?
No
,
not
he
.
Though
his
face
be
better
than
any
man’s
,
yet
his
leg
excels
all
men’s
,
and
for
a
hand
and
a
foot
and
a
body
,
though
they
be
not
to
be
talked
on
,
yet
they
are
past
compare
.
He
is
not
the
flower
of
courtesy
,
but
I’ll
warrant
him
as
gentle
as
a
lamb
.
Go
thy
ways
,
wench
.
Serve
God
.
What
,
have
you
dined
at
home
?
No
,
no
.
But
all
this
did
I
know
before
.
What
says
he
of
our
marriage
?
What
of
that
?
Lord
,
how
my
head
aches
!
What
a
head
have
I
!
It
beats
as
it
would
fall
in
twenty
pieces
.
My
back
o’
t’
other
side
!
Ah
,
my
back
,
my
back
!
Beshrew
your
heart
for
sending
me
about
To
catch
my
death
with
jaunting
up
and
down
.
I’
faith
,
I
am
sorry
that
thou
art
not
well
.
Sweet
,
sweet
,
sweet
nurse
,
tell
me
,
what
says
my
love
?
Your
love
says
,
like
an
honest
gentleman
,
and
a
courteous
,
and
a
kind
,
and
a
handsome
,
and
,
I
warrant
,
a
virtuous
—
Where
is
your
mother
?
Where
is
my
mother
?
Why
,
she
is
within
.
Where
should
she
be
?
How
oddly
thou
repliest
:
Your
love
says
,
like
an
honest
gentleman
,
Where
is
your
mother
?
O
God’s
lady
dear
,
Are
you
so
hot
?
Marry
,
come
up
,
I
trow
.
ACT 2. SC. 6
Is
this
the
poultice
for
my
aching
bones
?
Henceforward
do
your
messages
yourself
.
Here’s
such
a
coil
.
Come
,
what
says
Romeo
?
Have
you
got
leave
to
go
to
shrift
today
?
I
have
.
Then
hie
you
hence
to
Friar
Lawrence’
cell
.
There
stays
a
husband
to
make
you
a
wife
.
Now
comes
the
wanton
blood
up
in
your
cheeks
;
They’ll
be
in
scarlet
straight
at
any
news
.
Hie
you
to
church
.
I
must
another
way
,
To
fetch
a
ladder
by
the
which
your
love
Must
climb
a
bird’s
nest
soon
when
it
is
dark
.
I
am
the
drudge
and
toil
in
your
delight
,
But
you
shall
bear
the
burden
soon
at
night
.
Go
.
I’ll
to
dinner
.
Hie
you
to
the
cell
.
Hie
to
high
fortune
!
Honest
nurse
,
farewell
.
They
exit
.
Scene
6
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
and
Romeo
.
So
smile
the
heavens
upon
this
holy
act
That
after-hours
with
sorrow
chide
us
not
.
Amen
,
amen
.
But
come
what
sorrow
can
,
It
cannot
countervail
the
exchange
of
joy
That
one
short
minute
gives
me
in
her
sight
.
Do
thou
but
close
our
hands
with
holy
words
,
Then
love-devouring
death
do
what
he
dare
,
It
is
enough
I
may
but
call
her
mine
.
These
violent
delights
have
violent
ends
ACT 2. SC. 6
And
in
their
triumph
die
,
like
fire
and
powder
,
Which
,
as
they
kiss
,
consume
.
The
sweetest
honey
Is
loathsome
in
his
own
deliciousness
And
in
the
taste
confounds
the
appetite
.
Therefore
love
moderately
.
Long
love
doth
so
.
Too
swift
arrives
as
tardy
as
too
slow
.
Enter
Juliet
.
Here
comes
the
lady
.
O
,
so
light
a
foot
Will
ne’er
wear
out
the
everlasting
flint
.
A
lover
may
bestride
the
gossamers
That
idles
in
the
wanton
summer
air
,
And
yet
not
fall
,
so
light
is
vanity
.
Good
even
to
my
ghostly
confessor
.
Romeo
shall
thank
thee
,
daughter
,
for
us
both
.
As
much
to
him
,
else
is
his
thanks
too
much
.
Ah
,
Juliet
,
if
the
measure
of
thy
joy
Be
heaped
like
mine
,
and
that
thy
skill
be
more
To
blazon
it
,
then
sweeten
with
thy
breath
This
neighbor
air
,
and
let
rich
music’s
tongue
Unfold
the
imagined
happiness
that
both
Receive
in
either
by
this
dear
encounter
.
Conceit
,
more
rich
in
matter
than
in
words
,
Brags
of
his
substance
,
not
of
ornament
.
They
are
but
beggars
that
can
count
their
worth
,
But
my
true
love
is
grown
to
such
excess
I
cannot
sum
up
sum
of
half
my
wealth
.
Come
,
come
with
me
,
and
we
will
make
short
work
,
For
,
by
your
leaves
,
you
shall
not
stay
alone
Till
Holy
Church
incorporate
two
in
one
.
They
exit
.
ACT
3
Scene
1
Enter
Mercutio
,
Benvolio
,
and
their
men
.
I
pray
thee
,
good
Mercutio
,
let’s
retire
.
The
day
is
hot
,
the
Capels
are
abroad
,
And
if
we
meet
we
shall
not
’scape
a
brawl
,
For
now
,
these
hot
days
,
is
the
mad
blood
stirring
.
Thou
art
like
one
of
these
fellows
that
,
when
he
enters
the
confines
of
a
tavern
,
claps
me
his
sword
upon
the
table
and
says
God
send
me
no
need
of
thee
and
,
by
the
operation
of
the
second
cup
,
draws
him
on
the
drawer
when
indeed
there
is
no
need
.
Am
I
like
such
a
fellow
?
Come
,
come
,
thou
art
as
hot
a
jack
in
thy
mood
as
any
in
Italy
,
and
as
soon
moved
to
be
moody
,
and
as
soon
moody
to
be
moved
.
And
what
to
?
Nay
,
an
there
were
two
such
,
we
should
have
none
shortly
,
for
one
would
kill
the
other
.
Thou
—
why
,
thou
wilt
quarrel
with
a
man
that
hath
a
hair
more
or
a
hair
less
in
his
beard
than
thou
hast
.
Thou
wilt
quarrel
with
a
man
for
cracking
nuts
,
having
no
other
reason
but
because
thou
hast
hazel
eyes
.
What
eye
but
such
an
eye
would
spy
out
such
a
quarrel
?
Thy
head
is
as
full
of
quarrels
as
ACT 3. SC. 1
an
egg
is
full
of
meat
,
and
yet
thy
head
hath
been
beaten
as
addle
as
an
egg
for
quarreling
.
Thou
hast
quarreled
with
a
man
for
coughing
in
the
street
because
he
hath
wakened
thy
dog
that
hath
lain
asleep
in
the
sun
.
Didst
thou
not
fall
out
with
a
tailor
for
wearing
his
new
doublet
before
Easter
?
With
another
,
for
tying
his
new
shoes
with
old
ribbon
?
And
yet
thou
wilt
tutor
me
from
quarreling
?
An
I
were
so
apt
to
quarrel
as
thou
art
,
any
man
should
buy
the
fee
simple
of
my
life
for
an
hour
and
a
quarter
.
The
fee
simple
?
O
simple
!
Enter
Tybalt
,
Petruchio
,
and
others
.
By
my
head
,
here
comes
the
Capulets
.
By
my
heel
,
I
care
not
.
,
to
his
companions
Follow
me
close
,
for
I
will
speak
to
them
.
—
Gentlemen
,
good
e’en
.
A
word
with
one
of
you
.
And
but
one
word
with
one
of
us
?
Couple
it
with
something
.
Make
it
a
word
and
a
blow
.
You
shall
find
me
apt
enough
to
that
,
sir
,
an
you
will
give
me
occasion
.
Could
you
not
take
some
occasion
without
giving
?
Mercutio
,
thou
consortest
with
Romeo
.
Consort
?
What
,
dost
thou
make
us
minstrels
?
An
thou
make
minstrels
of
us
,
look
to
hear
nothing
but
discords
.
Here’s
my
fiddlestick
;
here’s
that
shall
make
you
dance
.
Zounds
,
consort
!
We
talk
here
in
the
public
haunt
of
men
.
Either
withdraw
unto
some
private
place
,
Or
reason
coldly
of
your
grievances
,
Or
else
depart
.
Here
all
eyes
gaze
on
us
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
Men’s
eyes
were
made
to
look
,
and
let
them
gaze
.
I
will
not
budge
for
no
man’s
pleasure
,
I
.
Enter
Romeo
.
Well
,
peace
be
with
you
,
sir
.
Here
comes
my
man
.
But
I’ll
be
hanged
,
sir
,
if
he
wear
your
livery
.
Marry
,
go
before
to
field
,
he’ll
be
your
follower
.
Your
Worship
in
that
sense
may
call
him
man
.
Romeo
,
the
love
I
bear
thee
can
afford
No
better
term
than
this
:
thou
art
a
villain
.
Tybalt
,
the
reason
that
I
have
to
love
thee
Doth
much
excuse
the
appertaining
rage
To
such
a
greeting
.
Villain
am
I
none
.
Therefore
farewell
.
I
see
thou
knowest
me
not
.
Boy
,
this
shall
not
excuse
the
injuries
That
thou
hast
done
me
.
Therefore
turn
and
draw
.
I
do
protest
I
never
injured
thee
But
love
thee
better
than
thou
canst
devise
Till
thou
shalt
know
the
reason
of
my
love
.
And
so
,
good
Capulet
,
which
name
I
tender
As
dearly
as
mine
own
,
be
satisfied
.
O
calm
,
dishonorable
,
vile
submission
!
Alla
stoccato
carries
it
away
.
He
draws
.
Tybalt
,
you
ratcatcher
,
will
you
walk
?
What
wouldst
thou
have
with
me
?
Good
king
of
cats
,
nothing
but
one
of
your
nine
lives
,
that
I
mean
to
make
bold
withal
,
and
,
as
you
shall
use
me
hereafter
,
dry-beat
the
rest
of
the
ACT 3. SC. 1
eight
.
Will
you
pluck
your
sword
out
of
his
pilcher
by
the
ears
?
Make
haste
,
lest
mine
be
about
your
ears
ere
it
be
out
.
I
am
for
you
.
He
draws
.
Gentle
Mercutio
,
put
thy
rapier
up
.
Come
,
sir
,
your
passado
.
They
fight
.
Draw
,
Benvolio
,
beat
down
their
weapons
.
Romeo
draws
.
Gentlemen
,
for
shame
forbear
this
outrage
!
Tybalt
!
Mercutio
!
The
Prince
expressly
hath
Forbid
this
bandying
in
Verona
streets
.
Hold
,
Tybalt
!
Good
Mercutio
!
Romeo
attempts
to
beat
down
their
rapiers
.
Tybalt
stabs
Mercutio
.
Away
,
Tybalt
!
Tybalt
,
Petruchio
,
and
their
followers
exit
.
I
am
hurt
.
A
plague
o’
both
houses
!
I
am
sped
.
Is
he
gone
and
hath
nothing
?
What
,
art
thou
hurt
?
Ay
,
ay
,
a
scratch
,
a
scratch
.
Marry
,
’tis
enough
.
Where
is
my
page
?
—
Go
,
villain
,
fetch
a
surgeon
.
Page
exits
.
Courage
,
man
,
the
hurt
cannot
be
much
.
No
,
’tis
not
so
deep
as
a
well
,
nor
so
wide
as
a
church
door
,
but
’tis
enough
.
’Twill
serve
.
Ask
for
me
tomorrow
,
and
you
shall
find
me
a
grave
man
.
I
am
peppered
,
I
warrant
,
for
this
world
.
A
plague
o’
both
your
houses
!
Zounds
,
a
dog
,
a
rat
,
a
mouse
,
a
cat
,
to
scratch
a
man
to
death
!
A
braggart
,
a
rogue
,
a
villain
that
fights
by
the
book
of
arithmetic
!
Why
the
devil
came
you
between
us
?
I
was
hurt
under
your
arm
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
I
thought
all
for
the
best
.
Help
me
into
some
house
,
Benvolio
,
Or
I
shall
faint
.
A
plague
o’
both
your
houses
!
They
have
made
worms’
meat
of
me
.
I
have
it
,
and
soundly
,
too
.
Your
houses
!
All
but
Romeo
exit
.
This
gentleman
,
the
Prince’s
near
ally
,
My
very
friend
,
hath
got
this
mortal
hurt
In
my
behalf
.
My
reputation
stained
With
Tybalt’s
slander
—
Tybalt
,
that
an
hour
Hath
been
my
cousin
!
O
sweet
Juliet
,
Thy
beauty
hath
made
me
effeminate
And
in
my
temper
softened
valor’s
steel
.
Enter
Benvolio
.
O
Romeo
,
Romeo
,
brave
Mercutio
is
dead
.
That
gallant
spirit
hath
aspired
the
clouds
,
Which
too
untimely
here
did
scorn
the
earth
.
This
day’s
black
fate
on
more
days
doth
depend
.
This
but
begins
the
woe
others
must
end
.
Enter
Tybalt
.
Here
comes
the
furious
Tybalt
back
again
.
Alive
in
triumph
,
and
Mercutio
slain
!
Away
to
heaven
,
respective
lenity
,
And
fire-eyed
fury
be
my
conduct
now
.
—
Now
,
Tybalt
,
take
the
villain
back
again
That
late
thou
gavest
me
,
for
Mercutio’s
soul
Is
but
a
little
way
above
our
heads
,
Staying
for
thine
to
keep
him
company
.
Either
thou
or
I
,
or
both
,
must
go
with
him
.
ACT 3. SC. 1
Thou
wretched
boy
that
didst
consort
him
here
Shalt
with
him
hence
.
This
shall
determine
that
.
They
fight
.
Tybalt
falls
.
Romeo
,
away
,
begone
!
The
citizens
are
up
,
and
Tybalt
slain
.
Stand
not
amazed
.
The
Prince
will
doom
thee
death
If
thou
art
taken
.
Hence
,
be
gone
,
away
.
O
,
I
am
Fortune’s
fool
!
Why
dost
thou
stay
?
Romeo
exits
.
Enter
Citizens
.
Which
way
ran
he
that
killed
Mercutio
?
Tybalt
,
that
murderer
,
which
way
ran
he
?
There
lies
that
Tybalt
.
,
to
Tybalt
Up
,
sir
,
go
with
me
.
I
charge
thee
in
the
Prince’s
name
,
obey
.
Enter
Prince
,
old
Montague
,
Capulet
,
their
Wives
and
all
.
Where
are
the
vile
beginners
of
this
fray
?
O
noble
prince
,
I
can
discover
all
The
unlucky
manage
of
this
fatal
brawl
.
There
lies
the
man
,
slain
by
young
Romeo
,
That
slew
thy
kinsman
,
brave
Mercutio
.
Tybalt
,
my
cousin
,
O
my
brother’s
child
!
O
prince
!
O
cousin
!
Husband
!
O
,
the
blood
is
spilled
Of
my
dear
kinsman
!
Prince
,
as
thou
art
true
,
ACT 3. SC. 1
For
blood
of
ours
,
shed
blood
of
Montague
.
O
cousin
,
cousin
!
Benvolio
,
who
began
this
bloody
fray
?
Tybalt
,
here
slain
,
whom
Romeo’s
hand
did
slay
—
Romeo
,
that
spoke
him
fair
,
bid
him
bethink
How
nice
the
quarrel
was
,
and
urged
withal
Your
high
displeasure
.
All
this
utterèd
With
gentle
breath
,
calm
look
,
knees
humbly
bowed
Could
not
take
truce
with
the
unruly
spleen
Of
Tybalt
,
deaf
to
peace
,
but
that
he
tilts
With
piercing
steel
at
bold
Mercutio’s
breast
,
Who
,
all
as
hot
,
turns
deadly
point
to
point
And
,
with
a
martial
scorn
,
with
one
hand
beats
Cold
death
aside
and
with
the
other
sends
It
back
to
Tybalt
,
whose
dexterity
Retorts
it
.
Romeo
he
cries
aloud
Hold
,
friends
!
Friends
,
part
!
and
swifter
than
his
tongue
His
agile
arm
beats
down
their
fatal
points
,
And
’twixt
them
rushes
;
underneath
whose
arm
An
envious
thrust
from
Tybalt
hit
the
life
Of
stout
Mercutio
,
and
then
Tybalt
fled
.
But
by
and
by
comes
back
to
Romeo
,
Who
had
but
newly
entertained
revenge
,
And
to
’t
they
go
like
lightning
,
for
ere
I
Could
draw
to
part
them
was
stout
Tybalt
slain
,
And
,
as
he
fell
,
did
Romeo
turn
and
fly
.
This
is
the
truth
,
or
let
Benvolio
die
.
He
is
a
kinsman
to
the
Montague
.
Affection
makes
him
false
;
he
speaks
not
true
.
Some
twenty
of
them
fought
in
this
black
strife
,
And
all
those
twenty
could
but
kill
one
life
.
I
beg
for
justice
,
which
thou
,
prince
,
must
give
.
Romeo
slew
Tybalt
;
Romeo
must
not
live
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Romeo
slew
him
;
he
slew
Mercutio
.
Who
now
the
price
of
his
dear
blood
doth
owe
?
Not
Romeo
,
Prince
;
he
was
Mercutio’s
friend
.
His
fault
concludes
but
what
the
law
should
end
,
The
life
of
Tybalt
.
And
for
that
offense
Immediately
we
do
exile
him
hence
.
I
have
an
interest
in
your
hearts’
proceeding
:
My
blood
for
your
rude
brawls
doth
lie
a-bleeding
.
But
I’ll
amerce
you
with
so
strong
a
fine
That
you
shall
all
repent
the
loss
of
mine
.
I
will
be
deaf
to
pleading
and
excuses
.
Nor
tears
nor
prayers
shall
purchase
out
abuses
.
Therefore
use
none
.
Let
Romeo
hence
in
haste
,
Else
,
when
he
is
found
,
that
hour
is
his
last
.
Bear
hence
this
body
and
attend
our
will
.
Mercy
but
murders
,
pardoning
those
that
kill
.
They
exit
,
the
Capulet
men
bearing
off
Tybalt’s
body
.
Scene
2
Enter
Juliet
alone
.
Gallop
apace
,
you
fiery-footed
steeds
,
Towards
Phoebus’
lodging
.
Such
a
wagoner
As
Phaëton
would
whip
you
to
the
west
And
bring
in
cloudy
night
immediately
.
Spread
thy
close
curtain
,
love-performing
night
,
That
runaways’
eyes
may
wink
,
and
Romeo
Leap
to
these
arms
,
untalked
of
and
unseen
.
Lovers
can
see
to
do
their
amorous
rites
By
their
own
beauties
,
or
,
if
love
be
blind
,
ACT 3. SC. 2
It
best
agrees
with
night
.
Come
,
civil
night
,
Thou
sober-suited
matron
all
in
black
,
And
learn
me
how
to
lose
a
winning
match
Played
for
a
pair
of
stainless
maidenhoods
.
Hood
my
unmanned
blood
,
bating
in
my
cheeks
,
With
thy
black
mantle
till
strange
love
grow
bold
,
Think
true
love
acted
simple
modesty
.
Come
,
night
.
Come
,
Romeo
.
Come
,
thou
day
in
night
,
For
thou
wilt
lie
upon
the
wings
of
night
Whiter
than
new
snow
upon
a
raven’s
back
.
Come
,
gentle
night
;
come
,
loving
black-browed
night
,
Give
me
my
Romeo
,
and
when
I
shall
die
,
Take
him
and
cut
him
out
in
little
stars
,
And
he
will
make
the
face
of
heaven
so
fine
That
all
the
world
will
be
in
love
with
night
And
pay
no
worship
to
the
garish
sun
.
O
,
I
have
bought
the
mansion
of
a
love
But
not
possessed
it
,
and
,
though
I
am
sold
,
Not
yet
enjoyed
.
So
tedious
is
this
day
As
is
the
night
before
some
festival
To
an
impatient
child
that
hath
new
robes
And
may
not
wear
them
.
Enter
Nurse
with
cords
.
O
,
here
comes
my
nurse
,
And
she
brings
news
,
and
every
tongue
that
speaks
But
Romeo’s
name
speaks
heavenly
eloquence
.
—
Now
,
nurse
,
what
news
?
What
hast
thou
there
?
The
cords
That
Romeo
bid
thee
fetch
?
Ay
,
ay
,
the
cords
.
Dropping
the
rope
ladder
.
Ay
me
,
what
news
?
Why
dost
thou
wring
thy
hands
?
ACT 3. SC. 2
Ah
weraday
,
he’s
dead
,
he’s
dead
,
he’s
dead
!
We
are
undone
,
lady
,
we
are
undone
.
Alack
the
day
,
he’s
gone
,
he’s
killed
,
he’s
dead
.
Can
heaven
be
so
envious
?
Romeo
can
,
Though
heaven
cannot
.
O
Romeo
,
Romeo
,
Whoever
would
have
thought
it
?
Romeo
!
What
devil
art
thou
that
dost
torment
me
thus
?
This
torture
should
be
roared
in
dismal
hell
.
Hath
Romeo
slain
himself
?
Say
thou
but
Ay
,
And
that
bare
vowel
I
shall
poison
more
Than
the
death-darting
eye
of
cockatrice
.
I
am
not
I
if
there
be
such
an
I
,
Or
those
eyes
shut
that
makes
thee
answer
Ay
.
If
he
be
slain
,
say
Ay
,
or
if
not
,
No
.
Brief
sounds
determine
my
weal
or
woe
.
I
saw
the
wound
.
I
saw
it
with
mine
eyes
(
God
save
the
mark
!
)
here
on
his
manly
breast
—
A
piteous
corse
,
a
bloody
piteous
corse
,
Pale
,
pale
as
ashes
,
all
bedaubed
in
blood
,
All
in
gore
blood
.
I
swoonèd
at
the
sight
.
O
break
,
my
heart
,
poor
bankrout
,
break
at
once
!
To
prison
,
eyes
;
ne’er
look
on
liberty
.
Vile
earth
to
earth
resign
;
end
motion
here
,
And
thou
and
Romeo
press
one
heavy
bier
.
O
Tybalt
,
Tybalt
,
the
best
friend
I
had
!
O
courteous
Tybalt
,
honest
gentleman
,
That
ever
I
should
live
to
see
thee
dead
!
What
storm
is
this
that
blows
so
contrary
?
ACT 3. SC. 2
Is
Romeo
slaughtered
and
is
Tybalt
dead
?
My
dearest
cousin
,
and
my
dearer
lord
?
Then
,
dreadful
trumpet
,
sound
the
general
doom
,
For
who
is
living
if
those
two
are
gone
?
Tybalt
is
gone
and
Romeo
banishèd
.
Romeo
that
killed
him
—
he
is
banishèd
.
O
God
,
did
Romeo’s
hand
shed
Tybalt’s
blood
?
It
did
,
it
did
,
alas
the
day
,
it
did
.
O
serpent
heart
hid
with
a
flow’ring
face
!
Did
ever
dragon
keep
so
fair
a
cave
?
Beautiful
tyrant
,
fiend
angelical
!
Dove-feathered
raven
,
wolvish-ravening
lamb
!
Despisèd
substance
of
divinest
show
!
Just
opposite
to
what
thou
justly
seem’st
,
A
damnèd
saint
,
an
honorable
villain
.
O
nature
,
what
hadst
thou
to
do
in
hell
When
thou
didst
bower
the
spirit
of
a
fiend
In
mortal
paradise
of
such
sweet
flesh
?
Was
ever
book
containing
such
vile
matter
So
fairly
bound
?
O
,
that
deceit
should
dwell
In
such
a
gorgeous
palace
!
There’s
no
trust
,
No
faith
,
no
honesty
in
men
.
All
perjured
,
All
forsworn
,
all
naught
,
all
dissemblers
.
Ah
,
where’s
my
man
?
Give
me
some
aqua
vitae
.
These
griefs
,
these
woes
,
these
sorrows
make
me
old
.
Shame
come
to
Romeo
!
Blistered
be
thy
tongue
For
such
a
wish
!
He
was
not
born
to
shame
.
Upon
his
brow
shame
is
ashamed
to
sit
,
For
’tis
a
throne
where
honor
may
be
crowned
ACT 3. SC. 2
Sole
monarch
of
the
universal
Earth
.
O
,
what
a
beast
was
I
to
chide
at
him
!
Will
you
speak
well
of
him
that
killed
your
cousin
?
Shall
I
speak
ill
of
him
that
is
my
husband
?
Ah
,
poor
my
lord
,
what
tongue
shall
smooth
thy
name
When
I
,
thy
three-hours
wife
,
have
mangled
it
?
But
wherefore
,
villain
,
didst
thou
kill
my
cousin
?
That
villain
cousin
would
have
killed
my
husband
.
Back
,
foolish
tears
,
back
to
your
native
spring
;
Your
tributary
drops
belong
to
woe
,
Which
you
,
mistaking
,
offer
up
to
joy
.
My
husband
lives
,
that
Tybalt
would
have
slain
,
And
Tybalt’s
dead
,
that
would
have
slain
my
husband
.
All
this
is
comfort
.
Wherefore
weep
I
then
?
Some
word
there
was
,
worser
than
Tybalt’s
death
,
That
murdered
me
.
I
would
forget
it
fain
,
But
,
O
,
it
presses
to
my
memory
Like
damnèd
guilty
deeds
to
sinners’
minds
:
Tybalt
is
dead
and
Romeo
banishèd
.
That
banishèd
,
that
one
word
banishèd
,
Hath
slain
ten
thousand
Tybalts
.
Tybalt’s
death
Was
woe
enough
if
it
had
ended
there
;
Or
,
if
sour
woe
delights
in
fellowship
And
needly
will
be
ranked
with
other
griefs
,
Why
followed
not
,
when
she
said
Tybalt’s
dead
,
Thy
father
or
thy
mother
,
nay
,
or
both
,
Which
modern
lamentation
might
have
moved
?
But
with
a
rearward
following
Tybalt’s
death
,
Romeo
is
banishèd
.
To
speak
that
word
Is
father
,
mother
,
Tybalt
,
Romeo
,
Juliet
,
All
slain
,
all
dead
.
Romeo
is
banishèd
.
There
is
no
end
,
no
limit
,
measure
,
bound
,
ACT 3. SC. 3
In
that
word’s
death
.
No
words
can
that
woe
sound
.
Where
is
my
father
and
my
mother
,
nurse
?
Weeping
and
wailing
over
Tybalt’s
corse
.
Will
you
go
to
them
?
I
will
bring
you
thither
.
Wash
they
his
wounds
with
tears
?
Mine
shall
be
spent
,
When
theirs
are
dry
,
for
Romeo’s
banishment
.
—
Take
up
those
cords
.
The
Nurse
picks
up
the
rope
ladder
.
Poor
ropes
,
you
are
beguiled
,
Both
you
and
I
,
for
Romeo
is
exiled
.
He
made
you
for
a
highway
to
my
bed
,
But
I
,
a
maid
,
die
maiden-widowèd
.
Come
,
cords
—
come
,
nurse
.
I’ll
to
my
wedding
bed
,
And
death
,
not
Romeo
,
take
my
maidenhead
!
Hie
to
your
chamber
.
I’ll
find
Romeo
To
comfort
you
.
I
wot
well
where
he
is
.
Hark
you
,
your
Romeo
will
be
here
at
night
.
I’ll
to
him
.
He
is
hid
at
Lawrence’
cell
.
O
,
find
him
!
Giving
the
Nurse
a
ring
.
Give
this
ring
to
my
true
knight
And
bid
him
come
to
take
his
last
farewell
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
.
Romeo
,
come
forth
;
come
forth
,
thou
fearful
man
.
Affliction
is
enamored
of
thy
parts
,
And
thou
art
wedded
to
calamity
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
Enter
Romeo
.
Father
,
what
news
?
What
is
the
Prince’s
doom
?
What
sorrow
craves
acquaintance
at
my
hand
That
I
yet
know
not
?
Too
familiar
Is
my
dear
son
with
such
sour
company
.
I
bring
thee
tidings
of
the
Prince’s
doom
.
What
less
than
doomsday
is
the
Prince’s
doom
?
A
gentler
judgment
vanished
from
his
lips
:
Not
body’s
death
,
but
body’s
banishment
.
Ha
,
banishment
?
Be
merciful
,
say
death
,
For
exile
hath
more
terror
in
his
look
,
Much
more
than
death
.
Do
not
say
banishment
.
Here
from
Verona
art
thou
banishèd
.
Be
patient
,
for
the
world
is
broad
and
wide
.
There
is
no
world
without
Verona
walls
But
purgatory
,
torture
,
hell
itself
.
Hence
banishèd
is
banished
from
the
world
,
And
world’s
exile
is
death
.
Then
banishèd
Is
death
mistermed
.
Calling
death
banishèd
,
Thou
cutt’st
my
head
off
with
a
golden
ax
And
smilest
upon
the
stroke
that
murders
me
.
O
deadly
sin
,
O
rude
unthankfulness
!
Thy
fault
our
law
calls
death
,
but
the
kind
prince
,
Taking
thy
part
,
hath
rushed
aside
the
law
And
turned
that
black
word
death
to
banishment
.
This
is
dear
mercy
,
and
thou
seest
it
not
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
’Tis
torture
and
not
mercy
.
Heaven
is
here
Where
Juliet
lives
,
and
every
cat
and
dog
And
little
mouse
,
every
unworthy
thing
,
Live
here
in
heaven
and
may
look
on
her
,
But
Romeo
may
not
.
More
validity
,
More
honorable
state
,
more
courtship
lives
In
carrion
flies
than
Romeo
.
They
may
seize
On
the
white
wonder
of
dear
Juliet’s
hand
And
steal
immortal
blessing
from
her
lips
,
Who
even
in
pure
and
vestal
modesty
Still
blush
,
as
thinking
their
own
kisses
sin
;
But
Romeo
may
not
;
he
is
banishèd
.
Flies
may
do
this
,
but
I
from
this
must
fly
.
They
are
free
men
,
but
I
am
banishèd
.
And
sayest
thou
yet
that
exile
is
not
death
?
Hadst
thou
no
poison
mixed
,
no
sharp-ground
knife
,
No
sudden
mean
of
death
,
though
ne’er
so
mean
,
But
banishèd
to
kill
me
?
Banishèd
?
O
friar
,
the
damnèd
use
that
word
in
hell
.
Howling
attends
it
.
How
hast
thou
the
heart
,
Being
a
divine
,
a
ghostly
confessor
,
A
sin
absolver
,
and
my
friend
professed
,
To
mangle
me
with
that
word
banishèd
?
Thou
fond
mad
man
,
hear
me
a
little
speak
.
O
,
thou
wilt
speak
again
of
banishment
.
I’ll
give
thee
armor
to
keep
off
that
word
,
Adversity’s
sweet
milk
,
philosophy
,
To
comfort
thee
,
though
thou
art
banishèd
.
Yet
banishèd
?
Hang
up
philosophy
.
Unless
philosophy
can
make
a
Juliet
,
ACT 3. SC. 3
Displant
a
town
,
reverse
a
prince’s
doom
,
It
helps
not
,
it
prevails
not
.
Talk
no
more
.
O
,
then
I
see
that
madmen
have
no
ears
.
How
should
they
when
that
wise
men
have
no
eyes
?
Let
me
dispute
with
thee
of
thy
estate
.
Thou
canst
not
speak
of
that
thou
dost
not
feel
.
Wert
thou
as
young
as
I
,
Juliet
thy
love
,
An
hour
but
married
,
Tybalt
murderèd
,
Doting
like
me
,
and
like
me
banishèd
,
Then
mightst
thou
speak
,
then
mightst
thou
tear
thy
hair
And
fall
upon
the
ground
as
I
do
now
,
Romeo
throws
himself
down
.
Taking
the
measure
of
an
unmade
grave
.
Knock
within
.
Arise
.
One
knocks
.
Good
Romeo
,
hide
thyself
.
Not
I
,
unless
the
breath
of
heartsick
groans
,
Mistlike
,
enfold
me
from
the
search
of
eyes
.
Knock
.
Hark
,
how
they
knock
!
—
Who’s
there
?
—
Romeo
,
arise
.
Thou
wilt
be
taken
.
—
Stay
awhile
.
—
Stand
up
.
Knock
.
Run
to
my
study
.
—
By
and
by
.
—
God’s
will
,
What
simpleness
is
this
?
—
I
come
,
I
come
.
Knock
.
Who
knocks
so
hard
?
Whence
come
you
?
What’s
your
will
?
ACT 3. SC. 3
,
within
Let
me
come
in
,
and
you
shall
know
my
errand
.
I
come
from
Lady
Juliet
.
,
admitting
the
Nurse
Welcome
,
then
.
Enter
Nurse
.
O
holy
friar
,
O
,
tell
me
,
holy
friar
,
Where’s
my
lady’s
lord
?
Where’s
Romeo
?
There
on
the
ground
,
with
his
own
tears
made
drunk
.
O
,
he
is
even
in
my
mistress’
case
,
Just
in
her
case
.
O
woeful
sympathy
!
Piteous
predicament
!
Even
so
lies
she
,
Blubb’ring
and
weeping
,
weeping
and
blubb’ring
.
—
Stand
up
,
stand
up
.
Stand
an
you
be
a
man
.
For
Juliet’s
sake
,
for
her
sake
,
rise
and
stand
.
Why
should
you
fall
into
so
deep
an
O
?
Nurse
.
Ah
sir
,
ah
sir
,
death’s
the
end
of
all
.
,
rising
up
Spakest
thou
of
Juliet
?
How
is
it
with
her
?
Doth
not
she
think
me
an
old
murderer
,
Now
I
have
stained
the
childhood
of
our
joy
With
blood
removed
but
little
from
her
own
?
Where
is
she
?
And
how
doth
she
?
And
what
says
My
concealed
lady
to
our
canceled
love
?
O
,
she
says
nothing
,
sir
,
but
weeps
and
weeps
,
And
now
falls
on
her
bed
,
and
then
starts
up
,
And
Tybalt
calls
,
and
then
on
Romeo
cries
,
And
then
down
falls
again
.
ACT 3. SC. 3
As
if
that
name
,
Shot
from
the
deadly
level
of
a
gun
,
Did
murder
her
,
as
that
name’s
cursèd
hand
Murdered
her
kinsman
.
—
O
,
tell
me
,
friar
,
tell
me
,
In
what
vile
part
of
this
anatomy
Doth
my
name
lodge
?
Tell
me
,
that
I
may
sack
The
hateful
mansion
.
He
draws
his
dagger
.
Hold
thy
desperate
hand
!
Art
thou
a
man
?
Thy
form
cries
out
thou
art
.
Thy
tears
are
womanish
;
thy
wild
acts
denote
The
unreasonable
fury
of
a
beast
.
Unseemly
woman
in
a
seeming
man
,
And
ill-beseeming
beast
in
seeming
both
!
Thou
hast
amazed
me
.
By
my
holy
order
,
I
thought
thy
disposition
better
tempered
.
Hast
thou
slain
Tybalt
?
Wilt
thou
slay
thyself
,
And
slay
thy
lady
that
in
thy
life
lives
,
By
doing
damnèd
hate
upon
thyself
?
Why
railest
thou
on
thy
birth
,
the
heaven
,
and
earth
,
Since
birth
and
heaven
and
earth
all
three
do
meet
In
thee
at
once
,
which
thou
at
once
wouldst
lose
?
Fie
,
fie
,
thou
shamest
thy
shape
,
thy
love
,
thy
wit
,
Which
,
like
a
usurer
,
abound’st
in
all
And
usest
none
in
that
true
use
indeed
Which
should
bedeck
thy
shape
,
thy
love
,
thy
wit
.
Thy
noble
shape
is
but
a
form
of
wax
,
Digressing
from
the
valor
of
a
man
;
Thy
dear
love
sworn
but
hollow
perjury
,
Killing
that
love
which
thou
hast
vowed
to
cherish
;
Thy
wit
,
that
ornament
to
shape
and
love
,
Misshapen
in
the
conduct
of
them
both
,
Like
powder
in
a
skilless
soldier’s
flask
,
Is
set
afire
by
thine
own
ignorance
,
And
thou
dismembered
with
thine
own
defense
.
What
,
rouse
thee
,
man
!
Thy
Juliet
is
alive
,
For
whose
dear
sake
thou
wast
but
lately
dead
:
ACT 3. SC. 3
There
art
thou
happy
.
Tybalt
would
kill
thee
,
But
thou
slewest
Tybalt
:
there
art
thou
happy
.
The
law
that
threatened
death
becomes
thy
friend
And
turns
it
to
exile
:
there
art
thou
happy
.
A
pack
of
blessings
light
upon
thy
back
;
Happiness
courts
thee
in
her
best
array
;
But
,
like
a
misbehaved
and
sullen
wench
,
Thou
pouts
upon
thy
fortune
and
thy
love
.
Take
heed
,
take
heed
,
for
such
die
miserable
.
Go
,
get
thee
to
thy
love
,
as
was
decreed
.
Ascend
her
chamber
.
Hence
and
comfort
her
.
But
look
thou
stay
not
till
the
watch
be
set
,
For
then
thou
canst
not
pass
to
Mantua
,
Where
thou
shalt
live
till
we
can
find
a
time
To
blaze
your
marriage
,
reconcile
your
friends
,
Beg
pardon
of
the
Prince
,
and
call
thee
back
With
twenty
hundred
thousand
times
more
joy
Than
thou
went’st
forth
in
lamentation
.
—
Go
before
,
nurse
.
Commend
me
to
thy
lady
,
And
bid
her
hasten
all
the
house
to
bed
,
Which
heavy
sorrow
makes
them
apt
unto
.
Romeo
is
coming
.
O
Lord
,
I
could
have
stayed
here
all
the
night
To
hear
good
counsel
.
O
,
what
learning
is
!
—
My
lord
,
I’ll
tell
my
lady
you
will
come
.
Do
so
,
and
bid
my
sweet
prepare
to
chide
.
Here
,
sir
,
a
ring
she
bid
me
give
you
,
sir
.
Nurse
gives
Romeo
a
ring
.
Hie
you
,
make
haste
,
for
it
grows
very
late
.
She
exits
.
How
well
my
comfort
is
revived
by
this
!
ACT 3. SC. 4
Go
hence
,
good
night
—
and
here
stands
all
your
state
:
Either
be
gone
before
the
watch
be
set
Or
by
the
break
of
day
disguised
from
hence
.
Sojourn
in
Mantua
.
I’ll
find
out
your
man
,
And
he
shall
signify
from
time
to
time
Every
good
hap
to
you
that
chances
here
.
Give
me
thy
hand
.
’Tis
late
.
Farewell
.
Good
night
.
But
that
a
joy
past
joy
calls
out
on
me
,
It
were
a
grief
so
brief
to
part
with
thee
.
Farewell
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
old
Capulet
,
his
Wife
,
and
Paris
.
Things
have
fallen
out
,
sir
,
so
unluckily
That
we
have
had
no
time
to
move
our
daughter
.
Look
you
,
she
loved
her
kinsman
Tybalt
dearly
,
And
so
did
I
.
Well
,
we
were
born
to
die
.
’Tis
very
late
.
She’ll
not
come
down
tonight
.
I
promise
you
,
but
for
your
company
,
I
would
have
been
abed
an
hour
ago
.
These
times
of
woe
afford
no
times
to
woo
.
—
Madam
,
good
night
.
Commend
me
to
your
daughter
.
I
will
,
and
know
her
mind
early
tomorrow
.
Tonight
she’s
mewed
up
to
her
heaviness
.
Sir
Paris
,
I
will
make
a
desperate
tender
Of
my
child’s
love
.
I
think
she
will
be
ruled
ACT 3. SC. 5
In
all
respects
by
me
.
Nay
,
more
,
I
doubt
it
not
.
—
Wife
,
go
you
to
her
ere
you
go
to
bed
.
Acquaint
her
here
of
my
son
Paris’
love
,
And
bid
her
—
mark
you
me
?
—
on
Wednesday
next
—
But
soft
,
what
day
is
this
?
Monday
,
my
lord
.
Monday
,
ha
ha
!
Well
,
Wednesday
is
too
soon
.
O’
Thursday
let
it
be
.
—
O’
Thursday
,
tell
her
,
She
shall
be
married
to
this
noble
earl
.
—
Will
you
be
ready
?
Do
you
like
this
haste
?
We’ll
keep
no
great
ado
:
a
friend
or
two
.
For
hark
you
,
Tybalt
being
slain
so
late
,
It
may
be
thought
we
held
him
carelessly
,
Being
our
kinsman
,
if
we
revel
much
.
Therefore
we’ll
have
some
half
a
dozen
friends
,
And
there
an
end
.
But
what
say
you
to
Thursday
?
My
lord
,
I
would
that
Thursday
were
tomorrow
.
Well
,
get
you
gone
.
O’
Thursday
be
it
,
then
.
To
Lady
Capulet
.
Go
you
to
Juliet
ere
you
go
to
bed
.
Prepare
her
,
wife
,
against
this
wedding
day
.
—
Farewell
,
my
lord
.
—
Light
to
my
chamber
,
ho
!
—
Afore
me
,
it
is
so
very
late
that
we
May
call
it
early
by
and
by
.
—
Good
night
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Enter
Romeo
and
Juliet
aloft
.
Wilt
thou
be
gone
?
It
is
not
yet
near
day
.
It
was
the
nightingale
,
and
not
the
lark
,
That
pierced
the
fearful
hollow
of
thine
ear
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
Nightly
she
sings
on
yond
pomegranate
tree
.
Believe
me
,
love
,
it
was
the
nightingale
.
It
was
the
lark
,
the
herald
of
the
morn
,
No
nightingale
.
Look
,
love
,
what
envious
streaks
Do
lace
the
severing
clouds
in
yonder
east
.
Night’s
candles
are
burnt
out
,
and
jocund
day
Stands
tiptoe
on
the
misty
mountain-tops
.
I
must
be
gone
and
live
,
or
stay
and
die
.
Yond
light
is
not
daylight
,
I
know
it
,
I
.
It
is
some
meteor
that
the
sun
exhaled
To
be
to
thee
this
night
a
torchbearer
And
light
thee
on
thy
way
to
Mantua
.
Therefore
stay
yet
.
Thou
need’st
not
to
be
gone
.
Let
me
be
ta’en
;
let
me
be
put
to
death
.
I
am
content
,
so
thou
wilt
have
it
so
.
I’ll
say
yon
gray
is
not
the
morning’s
eye
;
’Tis
but
the
pale
reflex
of
Cynthia’s
brow
.
Nor
that
is
not
the
lark
whose
notes
do
beat
The
vaulty
heaven
so
high
above
our
heads
.
I
have
more
care
to
stay
than
will
to
go
.
Come
death
and
welcome
.
Juliet
wills
it
so
.
How
is
’t
,
my
soul
?
Let’s
talk
.
It
is
not
day
.
It
is
,
it
is
.
Hie
hence
,
begone
,
away
!
It
is
the
lark
that
sings
so
out
of
tune
,
Straining
harsh
discords
and
unpleasing
sharps
.
Some
say
the
lark
makes
sweet
division
.
This
doth
not
so
,
for
she
divideth
us
.
Some
say
the
lark
and
loathèd
toad
changed
eyes
.
O
,
now
I
would
they
had
changed
voices
too
,
Since
arm
from
arm
that
voice
doth
us
affray
,
Hunting
thee
hence
with
hunt’s-up
to
the
day
.
O
,
now
begone
.
More
light
and
light
it
grows
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
More
light
and
light
,
more
dark
and
dark
our
woes
.
Enter
Nurse
.
Madam
.
Nurse
?
Your
lady
mother
is
coming
to
your
chamber
.
The
day
is
broke
;
be
wary
;
look
about
.
She
exits
.
Then
,
window
,
let
day
in
,
and
let
life
out
.
Farewell
,
farewell
.
One
kiss
and
I’ll
descend
.
They
kiss
,
and
Romeo
descends
.
Art
thou
gone
so
?
Love
,
lord
,
ay
husband
,
friend
!
I
must
hear
from
thee
every
day
in
the
hour
,
For
in
a
minute
there
are
many
days
.
O
,
by
this
count
I
shall
be
much
in
years
Ere
I
again
behold
my
Romeo
.
Farewell
.
I
will
omit
no
opportunity
That
may
convey
my
greetings
,
love
,
to
thee
.
O
,
think’st
thou
we
shall
ever
meet
again
?
I
doubt
it
not
;
and
all
these
woes
shall
serve
For
sweet
discourses
in
our
times
to
come
.
O
God
,
I
have
an
ill-divining
soul
!
Methinks
I
see
thee
,
now
thou
art
so
low
,
As
one
dead
in
the
bottom
of
a
tomb
.
Either
my
eyesight
fails
or
thou
lookest
pale
.
And
trust
me
,
love
,
in
my
eye
so
do
you
.
Dry
sorrow
drinks
our
blood
.
Adieu
,
adieu
.
He
exits
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
O
Fortune
,
Fortune
,
all
men
call
thee
fickle
.
If
thou
art
fickle
,
what
dost
thou
with
him
That
is
renowned
for
faith
?
Be
fickle
,
Fortune
,
For
then
I
hope
thou
wilt
not
keep
him
long
,
But
send
him
back
.
Enter
Lady
Capulet
.
Ho
,
daughter
,
are
you
up
?
Who
is
’t
that
calls
?
It
is
my
lady
mother
.
Is
she
not
down
so
late
or
up
so
early
?
What
unaccustomed
cause
procures
her
hither
?
Juliet
descends
.
Why
,
how
now
,
Juliet
?
Madam
,
I
am
not
well
.
Evermore
weeping
for
your
cousin’s
death
?
What
,
wilt
thou
wash
him
from
his
grave
with
tears
?
An
if
thou
couldst
,
thou
couldst
not
make
him
live
.
Therefore
have
done
.
Some
grief
shows
much
of
love
,
But
much
of
grief
shows
still
some
want
of
wit
.
Yet
let
me
weep
for
such
a
feeling
loss
.
So
shall
you
feel
the
loss
,
but
not
the
friend
Which
you
weep
for
.
Feeling
so
the
loss
,
I
cannot
choose
but
ever
weep
the
friend
.
Well
,
girl
,
thou
weep’st
not
so
much
for
his
death
As
that
the
villain
lives
which
slaughtered
him
.
What
villain
,
madam
?
ACT 3. SC. 5
That
same
villain
,
Romeo
.
,
aside
Villain
and
he
be
many
miles
asunder
.
—
God
pardon
him
.
I
do
with
all
my
heart
,
And
yet
no
man
like
he
doth
grieve
my
heart
.
That
is
because
the
traitor
murderer
lives
.
Ay
,
madam
,
from
the
reach
of
these
my
hands
.
Would
none
but
I
might
venge
my
cousin’s
death
!
We
will
have
vengeance
for
it
,
fear
thou
not
.
Then
weep
no
more
.
I’ll
send
to
one
in
Mantua
,
Where
that
same
banished
runagate
doth
live
,
Shall
give
him
such
an
unaccustomed
dram
That
he
shall
soon
keep
Tybalt
company
.
And
then
,
I
hope
,
thou
wilt
be
satisfied
.
Indeed
,
I
never
shall
be
satisfied
With
Romeo
till
I
behold
him
—
dead
—
Is
my
poor
heart
,
so
for
a
kinsman
vexed
.
Madam
,
if
you
could
find
out
but
a
man
To
bear
a
poison
,
I
would
temper
it
,
That
Romeo
should
,
upon
receipt
thereof
,
Soon
sleep
in
quiet
.
O
,
how
my
heart
abhors
To
hear
him
named
and
cannot
come
to
him
To
wreak
the
love
I
bore
my
cousin
Upon
his
body
that
hath
slaughtered
him
.
Find
thou
the
means
,
and
I’ll
find
such
a
man
.
But
now
I’ll
tell
thee
joyful
tidings
,
girl
.
And
joy
comes
well
in
such
a
needy
time
.
What
are
they
,
beseech
your
Ladyship
ladyship
?
Well
,
well
,
thou
hast
a
careful
father
,
child
,
ACT 3. SC. 5
One
who
,
to
put
thee
from
thy
heaviness
,
Hath
sorted
out
a
sudden
day
of
joy
That
thou
expects
not
,
nor
I
looked
not
for
.
Madam
,
in
happy
time
!
What
day
is
that
?
Marry
,
my
child
,
early
next
Thursday
morn
The
gallant
,
young
,
and
noble
gentleman
,
The
County
Paris
,
at
Saint
Peter’s
Church
Shall
happily
make
thee
there
a
joyful
bride
.
Now
,
by
Saint
Peter’s
Church
,
and
Peter
too
,
He
shall
not
make
me
there
a
joyful
bride
!
I
wonder
at
this
haste
,
that
I
must
wed
Ere
he
that
should
be
husband
comes
to
woo
.
I
pray
you
,
tell
my
lord
and
father
,
madam
,
I
will
not
marry
yet
,
and
when
I
do
I
swear
It
shall
be
Romeo
,
whom
you
know
I
hate
,
Rather
than
Paris
.
These
are
news
indeed
!
Here
comes
your
father
.
Tell
him
so
yourself
,
And
see
how
he
will
take
it
at
your
hands
.
Enter
Capulet
and
Nurse
.
When
the
sun
sets
,
the
earth
doth
drizzle
dew
,
But
for
the
sunset
of
my
brother’s
son
It
rains
downright
.
How
now
,
a
conduit
,
girl
?
What
,
still
in
tears
?
Evermore
show’ring
?
In
one
little
body
Thou
counterfeits
a
bark
,
a
sea
,
a
wind
.
For
still
thy
eyes
,
which
I
may
call
the
sea
,
Do
ebb
and
flow
with
tears
;
the
bark
thy
body
is
,
Sailing
in
this
salt
flood
;
the
winds
thy
sighs
,
Who
,
raging
with
thy
tears
and
they
with
them
,
Without
a
sudden
calm
,
will
overset
ACT 3. SC. 5
Thy
tempest-tossèd
body
.
—
How
now
,
wife
?
Have
you
delivered
to
her
our
decree
?
Ay
,
sir
,
but
she
will
none
,
she
gives
you
thanks
.
I
would
the
fool
were
married
to
her
grave
.
Soft
,
take
me
with
you
,
take
me
with
you
,
wife
.
How
,
will
she
none
?
Doth
she
not
give
us
thanks
?
Is
she
not
proud
?
Doth
she
not
count
her
blessed
,
Unworthy
as
she
is
,
that
we
have
wrought
So
worthy
a
gentleman
to
be
her
bride
?
Not
proud
you
have
,
but
thankful
that
you
have
.
Proud
can
I
never
be
of
what
I
hate
,
But
thankful
even
for
hate
that
is
meant
love
.
How
,
how
,
how
,
how
?
Chopped
logic
?
What
is
this
?
Proud
,
and
I
thank
you
,
and
I
thank
you
not
,
And
yet
not
proud
?
Mistress
minion
you
,
Thank
me
no
thankings
,
nor
proud
me
no
prouds
,
But
fettle
your
fine
joints
’gainst
Thursday
next
To
go
with
Paris
to
Saint
Peter’s
Church
,
Or
I
will
drag
thee
on
a
hurdle
thither
.
Out
,
you
green-sickness
carrion
!
Out
,
you
baggage
!
You
tallow
face
!
Fie
,
fie
,
what
,
are
you
mad
?
,
kneeling
Good
father
,
I
beseech
you
on
my
knees
,
Hear
me
with
patience
but
to
speak
a
word
.
Hang
thee
,
young
baggage
,
disobedient
wretch
!
I
tell
thee
what
:
get
thee
to
church
o’
Thursday
,
Or
never
after
look
me
in
the
face
.
Speak
not
;
reply
not
;
do
not
answer
me
.
My
fingers
itch
.
—
Wife
,
we
scarce
thought
us
blessed
ACT 3. SC. 5
That
God
had
lent
us
but
this
only
child
,
But
now
I
see
this
one
is
one
too
much
,
And
that
we
have
a
curse
in
having
her
.
Out
on
her
,
hilding
.
God
in
heaven
bless
her
!
You
are
to
blame
,
my
lord
,
to
rate
her
so
.
And
why
,
my
Lady
Wisdom
?
Hold
your
tongue
.
Good
Prudence
,
smatter
with
your
gossips
,
go
.
I
speak
no
treason
.
O
,
God
’i’
g’
eden
!
May
not
one
speak
?
Peace
,
you
mumbling
fool
!
Utter
your
gravity
o’er
a
gossip’s
bowl
,
For
here
we
need
it
not
.
You
are
too
hot
.
God’s
bread
,
it
makes
me
mad
.
Day
,
night
,
hour
,
tide
,
time
,
work
,
play
,
Alone
,
in
company
,
still
my
care
hath
been
To
have
her
matched
.
And
having
now
provided
A
gentleman
of
noble
parentage
,
Of
fair
demesnes
,
youthful
,
and
nobly
ligned
,
Stuffed
,
as
they
say
,
with
honorable
parts
,
Proportioned
as
one’s
thought
would
wish
a
man
—
And
then
to
have
a
wretched
puling
fool
,
A
whining
mammet
,
in
her
fortune’s
tender
,
To
answer
I’ll
not
wed
.
I
cannot
love
.
I
am
too
young
.
I
pray
you
,
pardon
me
.
But
,
an
you
will
not
wed
,
I’ll
pardon
you
!
Graze
where
you
will
,
you
shall
not
house
with
me
.
Look
to
’t
;
think
on
’t
.
I
do
not
use
to
jest
.
Thursday
is
near
.
Lay
hand
on
heart
;
advise
.
An
you
be
mine
,
I’ll
give
you
to
my
friend
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
An
you
be
not
,
hang
,
beg
,
starve
,
die
in
the
streets
,
For
,
by
my
soul
,
I’ll
ne’er
acknowledge
thee
,
Nor
what
is
mine
shall
never
do
thee
good
.
Trust
to
’t
;
bethink
you
.
I’ll
not
be
forsworn
.
He
exits
.
Is
there
no
pity
sitting
in
the
clouds
That
sees
into
the
bottom
of
my
grief
?
—
O
sweet
my
mother
,
cast
me
not
away
.
Delay
this
marriage
for
a
month
,
a
week
,
Or
,
if
you
do
not
,
make
the
bridal
bed
In
that
dim
monument
where
Tybalt
lies
.
Talk
not
to
me
,
for
I’ll
not
speak
a
word
.
Do
as
thou
wilt
,
for
I
have
done
with
thee
.
She
exits
.
,
rising
O
God
!
O
nurse
,
how
shall
this
be
prevented
?
My
husband
is
on
Earth
,
my
faith
in
heaven
.
How
shall
that
faith
return
again
to
Earth
Unless
that
husband
send
it
me
from
heaven
By
leaving
Earth
?
Comfort
me
;
counsel
me
.
—
Alack
,
alack
,
that
heaven
should
practice
stratagems
Upon
so
soft
a
subject
as
myself
.
—
What
sayst
thou
?
Hast
thou
not
a
word
of
joy
?
Some
comfort
,
nurse
.
Faith
,
here
it
is
.
Romeo
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
,
ACT 3. SC. 5
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
.
Speak’st
thou
from
thy
heart
?
And
from
my
soul
too
,
else
beshrew
them
both
.
Amen
.
What
?
Well
,
thou
hast
comforted
me
marvelous
much
.
Go
in
and
tell
my
lady
I
am
gone
,
Having
displeased
my
father
,
to
Lawrence’
cell
To
make
confession
and
to
be
absolved
.
Marry
,
I
will
;
and
this
is
wisely
done
.
She
exits
.
Ancient
damnation
,
O
most
wicked
fiend
!
Is
it
more
sin
to
wish
me
thus
forsworn
Or
to
dispraise
my
lord
with
that
same
tongue
Which
she
hath
praised
him
with
above
compare
So
many
thousand
times
?
Go
,
counselor
.
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
.
She
exits
.
ACT
4
Scene
1
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
and
County
Paris
.
On
Thursday
,
sir
?
The
time
is
very
short
.
My
father
Capulet
will
have
it
so
,
And
I
am
nothing
slow
to
slack
his
haste
.
You
say
you
do
not
know
the
lady’s
mind
?
Uneven
is
the
course
.
I
like
it
not
.
Immoderately
she
weeps
for
Tybalt’s
death
,
And
therefore
have
I
little
talk
of
love
,
For
Venus
smiles
not
in
a
house
of
tears
.
Now
,
sir
,
her
father
counts
it
dangerous
That
she
do
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
.
,
aside
I
would
I
knew
not
why
it
should
be
slowed
.
—
Look
,
sir
,
here
comes
the
lady
toward
my
cell
.
Enter
Juliet
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
Happily
met
,
my
lady
and
my
wife
.
That
may
be
,
sir
,
when
I
may
be
a
wife
.
That
may
be
must
be
,
love
,
on
Thursday
next
.
What
must
be
shall
be
.
That’s
a
certain
text
.
Come
you
to
make
confession
to
this
father
?
To
answer
that
,
I
should
confess
to
you
.
Do
not
deny
to
him
that
you
love
me
.
I
will
confess
to
you
that
I
love
him
.
So
will
you
,
I
am
sure
,
that
you
love
me
.
If
I
do
so
,
it
will
be
of
more
price
Being
spoke
behind
your
back
than
to
your
face
.
Poor
soul
,
thy
face
is
much
abused
with
tears
.
The
tears
have
got
small
victory
by
that
,
For
it
was
bad
enough
before
their
spite
.
Thou
wrong’st
it
more
than
tears
with
that
report
.
That
is
no
slander
,
sir
,
which
is
a
truth
,
And
what
I
spake
,
I
spake
it
to
my
face
.
Thy
face
is
mine
,
and
thou
hast
slandered
it
.
It
may
be
so
,
for
it
is
not
mine
own
.
—
ACT 4. SC. 1
Are
you
at
leisure
,
holy
father
,
now
,
Or
shall
I
come
to
you
at
evening
Mass
?
My
leisure
serves
me
,
pensive
daughter
,
now
.
—
My
lord
,
we
must
entreat
the
time
alone
.
God
shield
I
should
disturb
devotion
!
—
Juliet
,
on
Thursday
early
will
I
rouse
you
.
Till
then
,
adieu
,
and
keep
this
holy
kiss
.
He
exits
.
O
,
shut
the
door
,
and
when
thou
hast
done
so
,
Come
weep
with
me
,
past
hope
,
past
care
,
past
help
.
O
Juliet
,
I
already
know
thy
grief
.
It
strains
me
past
the
compass
of
my
wits
.
I
hear
thou
must
,
and
nothing
may
prorogue
it
,
On
Thursday
next
be
married
to
this
County
.
Tell
me
not
,
friar
,
that
thou
hearest
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
.
She
shows
him
her
knife
.
God
joined
my
heart
and
Romeo’s
,
thou
our
hands
;
And
ere
this
hand
,
by
thee
to
Romeo’s
sealed
,
Shall
be
the
label
to
another
deed
,
Or
my
true
heart
with
treacherous
revolt
Turn
to
another
,
this
shall
slay
them
both
.
Therefore
out
of
thy
long-experienced
time
Give
me
some
present
counsel
,
or
,
behold
,
’Twixt
my
extremes
and
me
this
bloody
knife
Shall
play
the
umpire
,
arbitrating
that
Which
the
commission
of
thy
years
and
art
Could
to
no
issue
of
true
honor
bring
.
Be
not
so
long
to
speak
.
I
long
to
die
If
what
thou
speak’st
speak
not
of
remedy
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
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
darest
,
I’ll
give
thee
remedy
.
O
,
bid
me
leap
,
rather
than
marry
Paris
,
From
off
the
battlements
of
any
tower
,
Or
walk
in
thievish
ways
,
or
bid
me
lurk
Where
serpents
are
.
Chain
me
with
roaring
bears
,
Or
hide
me
nightly
in
a
charnel
house
,
O’ercovered
quite
with
dead
men’s
rattling
bones
,
With
reeky
shanks
and
yellow
chapless
skulls
.
Or
bid
me
go
into
a
new-made
grave
And
hide
me
with
a
dead
man
in
his
shroud
(
Things
that
to
hear
them
told
have
made
me
tremble
)
,
And
I
will
do
it
without
fear
or
doubt
,
To
live
an
unstained
wife
to
my
sweet
love
.
Hold
,
then
.
Go
home
;
be
merry
;
give
consent
To
marry
Paris
.
Wednesday
is
tomorrow
.
Tomorrow
night
look
that
thou
lie
alone
;
Let
not
the
Nurse
lie
with
thee
in
thy
chamber
.
Holding
out
a
vial
.
Take
thou
this
vial
,
being
then
in
bed
,
And
this
distilling
liquor
drink
thou
off
;
When
presently
through
all
thy
veins
shall
run
A
cold
and
drowsy
humor
;
for
no
pulse
Shall
keep
his
native
progress
,
but
surcease
.
No
warmth
,
no
breath
shall
testify
thou
livest
.
ACT 4. SC. 1
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
,
deprived
of
supple
government
,
Shall
,
stiff
and
stark
and
cold
,
appear
like
death
,
And
in
this
borrowed
likeness
of
shrunk
death
Thou
shalt
continue
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
uncovered
on
the
bier
Thou
shalt
be
borne
to
that
same
ancient
vault
Where
all
the
kindred
of
the
Capulets
lie
.
In
the
meantime
,
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
inconstant
toy
nor
womanish
fear
Abate
thy
valor
in
the
acting
it
.
Give
me
,
give
me
!
O
,
tell
not
me
of
fear
!
,
giving
Juliet
the
vial
Hold
,
get
you
gone
.
Be
strong
and
prosperous
In
this
resolve
.
I’ll
send
a
friar
with
speed
To
Mantua
with
my
letters
to
thy
lord
.
Love
give
me
strength
,
and
strength
shall
help
afford
.
Farewell
,
dear
father
.
They
exit
in
different
directions
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
Scene
2
Enter
Father
Capulet
,
Mother
,
Nurse
,
and
Servingmen
,
two
or
three
.
So
many
guests
invite
as
here
are
writ
.
One
or
two
of
the
Servingmen
exit
with
Capulet’s
list
.
Sirrah
,
go
hire
me
twenty
cunning
cooks
.
You
shall
have
none
ill
,
sir
,
for
I’ll
try
if
they
can
lick
their
fingers
.
How
canst
thou
try
them
so
?
Marry
,
sir
,
’tis
an
ill
cook
that
cannot
lick
his
own
fingers
.
Therefore
he
that
cannot
lick
his
fingers
goes
not
with
me
.
Go
,
begone
.
Servingman
exits
.
We
shall
be
much
unfurnished
for
this
time
.
—
What
,
is
my
daughter
gone
to
Friar
Lawrence
?
Ay
,
forsooth
.
Well
,
he
may
chance
to
do
some
good
on
her
.
A
peevish
self-willed
harlotry
it
is
.
Enter
Juliet
.
See
where
she
comes
from
shrift
with
merry
look
.
How
now
,
my
headstrong
,
where
have
you
been
gadding
?
Where
I
have
learned
me
to
repent
the
sin
Of
disobedient
opposition
To
you
and
your
behests
,
and
am
enjoined
By
holy
Lawrence
to
fall
prostrate
here
Kneeling
.
To
beg
your
pardon
.
Pardon
,
I
beseech
you
.
Henceforward
I
am
ever
ruled
by
you
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
Send
for
the
County
.
Go
tell
him
of
this
.
I’ll
have
this
knot
knit
up
tomorrow
morning
.
I
met
the
youthful
lord
at
Lawrence’
cell
And
gave
him
what
becomèd
love
I
might
,
Not
stepping
o’er
the
bounds
of
modesty
.
Why
,
I
am
glad
on
’t
.
This
is
well
.
Stand
up
.
Juliet
rises
.
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
.
Nurse
,
will
you
go
with
me
into
my
closet
To
help
me
sort
such
needful
ornaments
As
you
think
fit
to
furnish
me
tomorrow
?
No
,
not
till
Thursday
.
There
is
time
enough
.
Go
,
nurse
.
Go
with
her
.
We’ll
to
church
tomorrow
.
Juliet
and
the
Nurse
exit
.
We
shall
be
short
in
our
provision
.
’Tis
now
near
night
.
Tush
,
I
will
stir
about
,
And
all
things
shall
be
well
,
I
warrant
thee
,
wife
.
Go
thou
to
Juliet
.
Help
to
deck
up
her
.
I’ll
not
to
bed
tonight
.
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
up
him
Against
tomorrow
.
My
heart
is
wondrous
light
Since
this
same
wayward
girl
is
so
reclaimed
.
They
exit
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
Scene
3
Enter
Juliet
and
Nurse
.
Ay
,
those
attires
are
best
.
But
,
gentle
nurse
,
I
pray
thee
leave
me
to
myself
tonight
,
For
I
have
need
of
many
orisons
To
move
the
heavens
to
smile
upon
my
state
,
Which
,
well
thou
knowest
,
is
cross
and
full
of
sin
.
Enter
Lady
Capulet
.
What
,
are
you
busy
,
ho
?
Need
you
my
help
?
No
,
madam
,
we
have
culled
such
necessaries
As
are
behooveful
for
our
state
tomorrow
.
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
.
Good
night
.
Get
thee
to
bed
and
rest
,
for
thou
hast
need
.
Lady
Capulet
and
the
Nurse
exit
.
Farewell
.
—
God
knows
when
we
shall
meet
again
.
I
have
a
faint
cold
fear
thrills
through
my
veins
That
almost
freezes
up
the
heat
of
life
.
I’ll
call
them
back
again
to
comfort
me
.
—
Nurse
!
—
What
should
she
do
here
?
My
dismal
scene
I
needs
must
act
alone
.
Come
,
vial
.
She
takes
out
the
vial
.
What
if
this
mixture
do
not
work
at
all
?
Shall
I
be
married
then
tomorrow
morning
?
She
takes
out
her
knife
and
puts
it
down
beside
her
.
No
,
no
,
this
shall
forbid
it
.
Lie
thou
there
.
What
if
it
be
a
poison
which
the
Friar
ACT 4. SC. 3
Subtly
hath
ministered
to
have
me
dead
,
Lest
in
this
marriage
he
should
be
dishonored
Because
he
married
me
before
to
Romeo
?
I
fear
it
is
.
And
yet
methinks
it
should
not
,
For
he
hath
still
been
tried
a
holy
man
.
How
if
,
when
I
am
laid
into
the
tomb
,
I
wake
before
the
time
that
Romeo
Come
to
redeem
me
?
There’s
a
fearful
point
.
Shall
I
not
then
be
stifled
in
the
vault
,
To
whose
foul
mouth
no
healthsome
air
breathes
in
,
And
there
die
strangled
ere
my
Romeo
comes
?
Or
,
if
I
live
,
is
it
not
very
like
The
horrible
conceit
of
death
and
night
,
Together
with
the
terror
of
the
place
—
As
in
a
vault
,
an
ancient
receptacle
Where
for
this
many
hundred
years
the
bones
Of
all
my
buried
ancestors
are
packed
;
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
—
O
,
if
I
wake
,
shall
I
not
be
distraught
,
Environèd
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
desp’rate
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
,
Romeo
,
Romeo
!
Here’s
drink
.
I
drink
to
thee
.
She
drinks
and
falls
upon
her
bed
within
the
curtains
.
ACT 4. SC. 4
Scene
4
Enter
Lady
Capulet
and
Nurse
.
Hold
,
take
these
keys
,
and
fetch
more
spices
,
nurse
.
They
call
for
dates
and
quinces
in
the
pastry
.
Enter
old
Capulet
.
Come
,
stir
,
stir
,
stir
!
The
second
cock
hath
crowed
.
The
curfew
bell
hath
rung
.
’Tis
three
o’clock
.
—
Look
to
the
baked
meats
,
good
Angelica
.
Spare
not
for
cost
.
Go
,
you
cot-quean
,
go
,
Get
you
to
bed
.
Faith
,
you’ll
be
sick
tomorrow
For
this
night’s
watching
.
No
,
not
a
whit
.
What
,
I
have
watched
ere
now
All
night
for
lesser
cause
,
and
ne’er
been
sick
.
Ay
,
you
have
been
a
mouse-hunt
in
your
time
,
But
I
will
watch
you
from
such
watching
now
.
Lady
Capulet
and
Nurse
exit
.
A
jealous
hood
,
a
jealous
hood
!
Enter
three
or
four
Servingmen
with
spits
and
logs
and
baskets
.
Now
fellow
,
What
is
there
?
Things
for
the
cook
,
sir
,
but
I
know
not
what
.
Make
haste
,
make
haste
.
First
Servingman
exits
.
Sirrah
,
fetch
drier
logs
.
Call
Peter
.
He
will
show
thee
where
they
are
.
ACT 4. SC. 5
I
have
a
head
,
sir
,
that
will
find
out
logs
And
never
trouble
Peter
for
the
matter
.
Mass
,
and
well
said
.
A
merry
whoreson
,
ha
!
Thou
shalt
be
loggerhead
.
Second
Servingman
exits
.
Good
faith
,
’tis
day
.
The
County
will
be
here
with
music
straight
,
Play
music
.
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
.
He
exits
.
Scene
5
,
approaching
the
bed
Mistress
!
What
,
mistress
!
Juliet
!
—
Fast
,
I
warrant
her
,
she
—
Why
,
lamb
,
why
,
lady
!
Fie
,
you
slugabed
!
Why
,
love
,
I
say
!
Madam
!
Sweetheart
!
Why
,
bride
!
—
What
,
not
a
word
?
—
You
take
your
pennyworths
now
.
Sleep
for
a
week
,
for
the
next
night
,
I
warrant
,
The
County
Paris
hath
set
up
his
rest
That
you
shall
rest
but
little
.
—
God
forgive
me
,
Marry
,
and
amen
!
How
sound
is
she
asleep
!
I
needs
must
wake
her
.
—
Madam
,
madam
,
madam
!
Ay
,
let
the
County
take
you
in
your
bed
,
ACT 4. SC. 5
He’ll
fright
you
up
,
i’
faith
.
—
Will
it
not
be
?
She
opens
the
bed’s
curtains
.
What
,
dressed
,
and
in
your
clothes
,
and
down
again
?
I
must
needs
wake
you
.
Lady
,
lady
,
lady
!
—
Alas
,
alas
!
Help
,
help
!
My
lady’s
dead
.
—
O
,
weraday
,
that
ever
I
was
born
!
—
Some
aqua
vitae
,
ho
!
—
My
lord
!
My
lady
!
Enter
Lady
Capulet
.
What
noise
is
here
?
O
lamentable
day
!
What
is
the
matter
?
Look
,
look
!
—
O
heavy
day
!
O
me
!
O
me
!
My
child
,
my
only
life
,
Revive
,
look
up
,
or
I
will
die
with
thee
.
Help
,
help
!
Call
help
.
Enter
Capulet
.
For
shame
,
bring
Juliet
forth
.
Her
lord
is
come
.
She’s
dead
,
deceased
.
She’s
dead
,
alack
the
day
!
Alack
the
day
,
she’s
dead
,
she’s
dead
,
she’s
dead
.
Ha
,
let
me
see
her
!
Out
,
alas
,
she’s
cold
.
Her
blood
is
settled
,
and
her
joints
are
stiff
.
Life
and
these
lips
have
long
been
separated
.
Death
lies
on
her
like
an
untimely
frost
Upon
the
sweetest
flower
of
all
the
field
.
O
lamentable
day
!
ACT 4. SC. 5
O
woeful
time
!
Death
,
that
hath
ta’en
her
hence
to
make
me
wail
,
Ties
up
my
tongue
and
will
not
let
me
speak
.
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
and
the
County
Paris
,
with
Musicians
.
Come
,
is
the
bride
ready
to
go
to
church
?
Ready
to
go
,
but
never
to
return
.
—
O
son
,
the
night
before
thy
wedding
day
Hath
Death
lain
with
thy
wife
.
There
she
lies
,
Flower
as
she
was
,
deflowerèd
by
him
.
Death
is
my
son-in-law
;
Death
is
my
heir
.
My
daughter
he
hath
wedded
.
I
will
die
And
leave
him
all
.
Life
,
living
,
all
is
Death’s
.
Have
I
thought
long
to
see
this
morning’s
face
,
And
doth
it
give
me
such
a
sight
as
this
?
Accursed
,
unhappy
,
wretched
,
hateful
day
!
Most
miserable
hour
that
e’er
time
saw
In
lasting
labor
of
his
pilgrimage
!
But
one
,
poor
one
,
one
poor
and
loving
child
,
But
one
thing
to
rejoice
and
solace
in
,
And
cruel
death
hath
catched
it
from
my
sight
!
O
woe
,
O
woeful
,
woeful
,
woeful
day
!
Most
lamentable
day
,
most
woeful
day
That
ever
,
ever
I
did
yet
behold
!
O
day
,
O
day
,
O
day
,
O
hateful
day
!
Never
was
seen
so
black
a
day
as
this
!
O
woeful
day
,
O
woeful
day
!
Beguiled
,
divorcèd
,
wrongèd
,
spited
,
slain
!
ACT 4. SC. 5
Most
detestable
death
,
by
thee
beguiled
,
By
cruel
,
cruel
thee
quite
overthrown
!
O
love
!
O
life
!
Not
life
,
but
love
in
death
!
Despised
,
distressèd
,
hated
,
martyred
,
killed
!
Uncomfortable
time
,
why
cam’st
thou
now
To
murder
,
murder
our
solemnity
?
O
child
!
O
child
!
My
soul
and
not
my
child
!
Dead
art
thou
!
Alack
,
my
child
is
dead
,
And
with
my
child
my
joys
are
burièd
.
Peace
,
ho
,
for
shame
!
Confusion’s
cure
lives
not
In
these
confusions
.
Heaven
and
yourself
Had
part
in
this
fair
maid
.
Now
heaven
hath
all
,
And
all
the
better
is
it
for
the
maid
.
Your
part
in
her
you
could
not
keep
from
death
,
But
heaven
keeps
his
part
in
eternal
life
.
The
most
you
sought
was
her
promotion
,
For
’twas
your
heaven
she
should
be
advanced
;
And
weep
you
now
,
seeing
she
is
advanced
Above
the
clouds
,
as
high
as
heaven
itself
?
O
,
in
this
love
you
love
your
child
so
ill
That
you
run
mad
,
seeing
that
she
is
well
.
She’s
not
well
married
that
lives
married
long
,
But
she’s
best
married
that
dies
married
young
.
Dry
up
your
tears
,
and
stick
your
rosemary
On
this
fair
corse
,
and
,
as
the
custom
is
,
And
in
her
best
array
,
bear
her
to
church
,
For
though
fond
nature
bids
us
all
lament
,
Yet
nature’s
tears
are
reason’s
merriment
.
All
things
that
we
ordainèd
festival
Turn
from
their
office
to
black
funeral
:
Our
instruments
to
melancholy
bells
,
Our
wedding
cheer
to
a
sad
burial
feast
,
Our
solemn
hymns
to
sullen
dirges
change
,
ACT 4. SC. 5
Our
bridal
flowers
serve
for
a
buried
corse
,
And
all
things
change
them
to
the
contrary
.
Sir
,
go
you
in
,
and
,
madam
,
go
with
him
,
And
go
,
Sir
Paris
.
Everyone
prepare
To
follow
this
fair
corse
unto
her
grave
.
The
heavens
do
lour
upon
you
for
some
ill
.
Move
them
no
more
by
crossing
their
high
will
.
All
but
the
Nurse
and
the
Musicians
exit
.
Faith
,
we
may
put
up
our
pipes
and
be
gone
.
Honest
good
fellows
,
ah
,
put
up
,
put
up
,
For
,
well
you
know
,
this
is
a
pitiful
case
.
Ay
,
by
my
troth
,
the
case
may
be
amended
.
Nurse
exits
.
Enter
Peter
.
Musicians
,
O
musicians
,
Heart’s
ease
,
Heart’s
ease
.
O
,
an
you
will
have
me
live
,
play
Heart’s
ease
.
Why
Heart’s
ease
?
O
musicians
,
because
my
heart
itself
plays
My
heart
is
full
.
O
,
play
me
some
merry
dump
to
comfort
me
.
Not
a
dump
,
we
.
’Tis
no
time
to
play
now
.
You
will
not
then
?
No
.
I
will
then
give
it
you
soundly
.
What
will
you
give
us
?
No
money
,
on
my
faith
,
but
the
gleek
.
I
will
give
you
the
minstrel
.
Then
will
I
give
you
the
serving-creature
.
ACT 4. SC. 5
Then
will
I
lay
the
serving-creature’s
dagger
on
your
pate
.
I
will
carry
no
crochets
.
I’ll
re
you
,
I’ll
fa
you
.
Do
you
note
me
?
An
you
re
us
and
fa
us
,
you
note
us
.
Pray
you
,
put
up
your
dagger
and
put
out
your
wit
.
Then
have
at
you
with
my
wit
.
I
will
dry-beat
you
with
an
iron
wit
,
and
put
up
my
iron
dagger
.
Answer
me
like
men
.
Sings
.
When
griping
griefs
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
?
Marry
,
sir
,
because
silver
hath
a
sweet
sound
.
Prates
.
—
What
say
you
,
Hugh
Rebeck
?
I
say
silver
sound
because
musicians
sound
for
silver
.
Prates
too
.
—
What
say
you
,
James
Soundpost
?
Faith
,
I
know
not
what
to
say
.
O
,
I
cry
you
mercy
.
You
are
the
singer
.
I
will
say
for
you
.
It
is
music
with
her
silver
sound
because
musicians
have
no
gold
for
sounding
:
Sings
.
Then
music
with
her
silver
sound
With
speedy
help
doth
lend
redress
.
He
exits
.
What
a
pestilent
knave
is
this
same
!
Hang
him
,
Jack
.
Come
,
we’ll
in
here
,
tarry
for
the
mourners
,
and
stay
dinner
.
They
exit
.
ACT
5
Scene
1
Enter
Romeo
.
If
I
may
trust
the
flattering
truth
of
sleep
,
My
dreams
presage
some
joyful
news
at
hand
.
My
bosom’s
lord
sits
lightly
in
his
throne
,
And
all
this
day
an
unaccustomed
spirit
Lifts
me
above
the
ground
with
cheerful
thoughts
.
I
dreamt
my
lady
came
and
found
me
dead
(
Strange
dream
that
gives
a
dead
man
leave
to
think
!
)
And
breathed
such
life
with
kisses
in
my
lips
That
I
revived
and
was
an
emperor
.
Ah
me
,
how
sweet
is
love
itself
possessed
When
but
love’s
shadows
are
so
rich
in
joy
!
Enter
Romeo’s
man
Balthasar
,
in
riding
boots
.
News
from
Verona
!
—
How
now
,
Balthasar
?
Dost
thou
not
bring
me
letters
from
the
Friar
?
How
doth
my
lady
?
Is
my
father
well
?
How
doth
my
Juliet
?
That
I
ask
again
,
For
nothing
can
be
ill
if
she
be
well
.
Then
she
is
well
and
nothing
can
be
ill
.
Her
body
sleeps
in
Capels’
monument
,
And
her
immortal
part
with
angels
lives
.
ACT 5. SC. 1
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
.
Is
it
e’en
so
?
—
Then
I
deny
you
,
stars
!
—
Thou
knowest
my
lodging
.
Get
me
ink
and
paper
,
And
hire
post-horses
.
I
will
hence
tonight
.
I
do
beseech
you
,
sir
,
have
patience
.
Your
looks
are
pale
and
wild
and
do
import
Some
misadventure
.
Tush
,
thou
art
deceived
.
Leave
me
,
and
do
the
thing
I
bid
thee
do
.
Hast
thou
no
letters
to
me
from
the
Friar
?
No
,
my
good
lord
.
No
matter
.
Get
thee
gone
,
And
hire
those
horses
.
I’ll
be
with
thee
straight
.
Balthasar
exits
.
Well
,
Juliet
,
I
will
lie
with
thee
tonight
.
Let’s
see
for
means
.
O
mischief
,
thou
art
swift
To
enter
in
the
thoughts
of
desperate
men
.
I
do
remember
an
apothecary
(
And
hereabouts
he
dwells
)
which
late
I
noted
In
tattered
weeds
,
with
overwhelming
brows
,
Culling
of
simples
.
Meager
were
his
looks
.
Sharp
misery
had
worn
him
to
the
bones
.
And
in
his
needy
shop
a
tortoise
hung
,
An
alligator
stuffed
,
and
other
skins
Of
ill-shaped
fishes
;
and
about
his
shelves
,
A
beggarly
account
of
empty
boxes
,
Green
earthen
pots
,
bladders
,
and
musty
seeds
,
Remnants
of
packthread
,
and
old
cakes
of
roses
Were
thinly
scattered
to
make
up
a
show
.
Noting
this
penury
,
to
myself
I
said
ACT 5. SC. 1
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
forerun
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
!
Enter
Apothecary
.
Who
calls
so
loud
?
Come
hither
,
man
.
I
see
that
thou
art
poor
.
He
offers
money
.
Hold
,
there
is
forty
ducats
.
Let
me
have
A
dram
of
poison
,
such
soon-speeding
gear
As
will
disperse
itself
through
all
the
veins
,
That
the
life-weary
taker
may
fall
dead
,
And
that
the
trunk
may
be
discharged
of
breath
As
violently
as
hasty
powder
fired
Doth
hurry
from
the
fatal
cannon’s
womb
.
Such
mortal
drugs
I
have
,
but
Mantua’s
law
Is
death
to
any
he
that
utters
them
.
Art
thou
so
bare
and
full
of
wretchedness
,
And
fearest
to
die
?
Famine
is
in
thy
cheeks
,
Need
and
oppression
starveth
in
thy
eyes
,
Contempt
and
beggary
hangs
upon
thy
back
.
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
.
My
poverty
,
but
not
my
will
,
consents
.
I
pay
thy
poverty
and
not
thy
will
.
ACT 5. SC. 2
,
giving
him
the
poison
Put
this
in
any
liquid
thing
you
will
And
drink
it
off
,
and
if
you
had
the
strength
Of
twenty
men
,
it
would
dispatch
you
straight
.
,
handing
him
the
money
There
is
thy
gold
,
worse
poison
to
men’s
souls
,
Doing
more
murder
in
this
loathsome
world
Than
these
poor
compounds
that
thou
mayst
not
sell
.
I
sell
thee
poison
;
thou
hast
sold
me
none
.
Farewell
,
buy
food
,
and
get
thyself
in
flesh
.
Apothecary
exits
.
Come
,
cordial
and
not
poison
,
go
with
me
To
Juliet’s
grave
,
for
there
must
I
use
thee
.
He
exits
.
Scene
2
Enter
Friar
John
.
Holy
Franciscan
friar
,
brother
,
ho
!
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
.
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
.
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
,
Sealed
up
the
doors
and
would
not
let
us
forth
,
So
that
my
speed
to
Mantua
there
was
stayed
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
Who
bare
my
letter
,
then
,
to
Romeo
?
I
could
not
send
it
—
here
it
is
again
—
Returning
the
letter
.
Nor
get
a
messenger
to
bring
it
thee
,
So
fearful
were
they
of
infection
.
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
.
Brother
,
I’ll
go
and
bring
it
thee
.
He
exits
.
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
,
closed
in
a
dead
man’s
tomb
!
He
exits
.
Scene
3
Enter
Paris
and
his
Page
.
Give
me
thy
torch
,
boy
.
Hence
and
stand
aloof
.
Yet
put
it
out
,
for
I
would
not
be
seen
.
Under
yond
yew
trees
lay
thee
all
along
,
Holding
thy
ear
close
to
the
hollow
ground
.
So
shall
no
foot
upon
the
churchyard
tread
(
Being
loose
,
unfirm
,
with
digging
up
of
graves
)
ACT 5. SC. 3
But
thou
shalt
hear
it
.
Whistle
then
to
me
As
signal
that
thou
hearest
something
approach
.
Give
me
those
flowers
.
Do
as
I
bid
thee
.
Go
.
,
aside
I
am
almost
afraid
to
stand
alone
Here
in
the
churchyard
.
Yet
I
will
adventure
.
He
moves
away
from
Paris
.
,
scattering
flowers
Sweet
flower
,
with
flowers
thy
bridal
bed
I
strew
(
O
woe
,
thy
canopy
is
dust
and
stones
!
)
Which
with
sweet
water
nightly
I
will
dew
,
Or
,
wanting
that
,
with
tears
distilled
by
moans
.
The
obsequies
that
I
for
thee
will
keep
Nightly
shall
be
to
strew
thy
grave
and
weep
.
Page
whistles
.
The
boy
gives
warning
something
doth
approach
.
What
cursèd
foot
wanders
this
way
tonight
,
To
cross
my
obsequies
and
true
love’s
rite
?
What
,
with
a
torch
?
Muffle
me
,
night
,
awhile
.
He
steps
aside
.
Enter
Romeo
and
Balthasar
.
Give
me
that
mattock
and
the
wrenching
iron
.
Hold
,
take
this
letter
.
Early
in
the
morning
See
thou
deliver
it
to
my
lord
and
father
.
Give
me
the
light
.
Upon
thy
life
I
charge
thee
,
Whate’er
thou
hearest
or
seest
,
stand
all
aloof
And
do
not
interrupt
me
in
my
course
.
Why
I
descend
into
this
bed
of
death
Is
partly
to
behold
my
lady’s
face
,
But
chiefly
to
take
thence
from
her
dead
finger
A
precious
ring
,
a
ring
that
I
must
use
In
dear
employment
.
Therefore
hence
,
begone
.
But
,
if
thou
,
jealous
,
dost
return
to
pry
In
what
I
farther
shall
intend
to
do
,
ACT 5. SC. 3
By
heaven
,
I
will
tear
thee
joint
by
joint
And
strew
this
hungry
churchyard
with
thy
limbs
.
The
time
and
my
intents
are
savage-wild
,
More
fierce
and
more
inexorable
far
Than
empty
tigers
or
the
roaring
sea
.
I
will
be
gone
,
sir
,
and
not
trouble
you
.
So
shalt
thou
show
me
friendship
.
Take
thou
that
.
Giving
money
.
Live
and
be
prosperous
,
and
farewell
,
good
fellow
.
,
aside
For
all
this
same
,
I’ll
hide
me
hereabout
.
His
looks
I
fear
,
and
his
intents
I
doubt
.
He
steps
aside
.
,
beginning
to
force
open
the
tomb
Thou
detestable
maw
,
thou
womb
of
death
,
Gorged
with
the
dearest
morsel
of
the
earth
,
Thus
I
enforce
thy
rotten
jaws
to
open
,
And
in
despite
I’ll
cram
thee
with
more
food
.
This
is
that
banished
haughty
Montague
That
murdered
my
love’s
cousin
,
with
which
grief
It
is
supposèd
the
fair
creature
died
,
And
here
is
come
to
do
some
villainous
shame
To
the
dead
bodies
.
I
will
apprehend
him
.
Stepping
forward
.
Stop
thy
unhallowed
toil
,
vile
Montague
.
Can
vengeance
be
pursued
further
than
death
?
Condemnèd
villain
,
I
do
apprehend
thee
.
Obey
and
go
with
me
,
for
thou
must
die
.
I
must
indeed
,
and
therefore
came
I
hither
.
Good
gentle
youth
,
tempt
not
a
desp’rate
man
.
Fly
hence
and
leave
me
.
Think
upon
these
gone
.
Let
them
affright
thee
.
I
beseech
thee
,
youth
,
ACT 5. SC. 3
Put
not
another
sin
upon
my
head
By
urging
me
to
fury
.
O
,
begone
!
By
heaven
,
I
love
thee
better
than
myself
,
For
I
come
hither
armed
against
myself
.
Stay
not
,
begone
,
live
,
and
hereafter
say
A
madman’s
mercy
bid
thee
run
away
.
I
do
defy
thy
commination
And
apprehend
thee
for
a
felon
here
.
Wilt
thou
provoke
me
?
Then
have
at
thee
,
boy
!
They
draw
and
fight
.
O
Lord
,
they
fight
!
I
will
go
call
the
watch
.
He
exits
.
O
,
I
am
slain
!
If
thou
be
merciful
,
Open
the
tomb
;
lay
me
with
Juliet
.
He
dies
.
In
faith
,
I
will
.
—
Let
me
peruse
this
face
.
Mercutio’s
kinsman
,
noble
County
Paris
!
What
said
my
man
when
my
betossèd
soul
Did
not
attend
him
as
we
rode
?
I
think
He
told
me
Paris
should
have
married
Juliet
.
Said
he
not
so
?
Or
did
I
dream
it
so
?
Or
am
I
mad
,
hearing
him
talk
of
Juliet
,
To
think
it
was
so
?
—
O
,
give
me
thy
hand
,
One
writ
with
me
in
sour
misfortune’s
book
!
I’ll
bury
thee
in
a
triumphant
grave
.
—
He
opens
the
tomb
.
A
grave
?
O
,
no
.
A
lantern
,
slaughtered
youth
,
For
here
lies
Juliet
,
and
her
beauty
makes
This
vault
a
feasting
presence
full
of
light
.
—
Death
,
lie
thou
there
,
by
a
dead
man
interred
.
Laying
Paris
in
the
tomb
.
How
oft
when
men
are
at
the
point
of
death
ACT 5. SC. 3
Have
they
been
merry
,
which
their
keepers
call
A
light’ning
before
death
!
O
,
how
may
I
Call
this
a
light’ning
?
—
O
my
love
,
my
wife
,
Death
,
that
hath
sucked
the
honey
of
thy
breath
,
Hath
had
no
power
yet
upon
thy
beauty
.
Thou
art
not
conquered
.
Beauty’s
ensign
yet
Is
crimson
in
thy
lips
and
in
thy
cheeks
,
And
death’s
pale
flag
is
not
advancèd
there
.
—
Tybalt
,
liest
thou
there
in
thy
bloody
sheet
?
O
,
what
more
favor
can
I
do
to
thee
Than
with
that
hand
that
cut
thy
youth
in
twain
To
sunder
his
that
was
thine
enemy
?
Forgive
me
,
cousin
.
—
Ah
,
dear
Juliet
,
Why
art
thou
yet
so
fair
?
Shall
I
believe
That
unsubstantial
death
is
amorous
,
And
that
the
lean
abhorrèd
monster
keeps
Thee
here
in
dark
to
be
his
paramour
?
For
fear
of
that
I
still
will
stay
with
thee
And
never
from
this
palace
of
dim
night
Depart
again
.
Here
,
here
will
I
remain
With
worms
that
are
thy
chambermaids
.
O
,
here
Will
I
set
up
my
everlasting
rest
And
shake
the
yoke
of
inauspicious
stars
From
this
world-wearied
flesh
!
Eyes
,
look
your
last
.
Arms
,
take
your
last
embrace
.
And
,
lips
,
O
,
you
The
doors
of
breath
,
seal
with
a
righteous
kiss
A
dateless
bargain
to
engrossing
death
.
Kissing
Juliet
.
Come
,
bitter
conduct
,
come
,
unsavory
guide
!
Thou
desperate
pilot
,
now
at
once
run
on
The
dashing
rocks
thy
seasick
weary
bark
!
Here’s
to
my
love
.
Drinking
.
O
true
apothecary
,
Thy
drugs
are
quick
.
Thus
with
a
kiss
I
die
.
He
dies
.
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
with
lantern
,
crow
,
and
spade
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
Saint
Francis
be
my
speed
!
How
oft
tonight
Have
my
old
feet
stumbled
at
graves
!
—
Who’s
there
?
Here’s
one
,
a
friend
,
and
one
that
knows
you
well
.
Bliss
be
upon
you
.
Tell
me
,
good
my
friend
,
What
torch
is
yond
that
vainly
lends
his
light
To
grubs
and
eyeless
skulls
?
As
I
discern
,
It
burneth
in
the
Capels’
monument
.
It
doth
so
,
holy
sir
,
and
there’s
my
master
,
One
that
you
love
.
Who
is
it
?
Romeo
.
How
long
hath
he
been
there
?
Full
half
an
hour
.
Go
with
me
to
the
vault
.
I
dare
not
,
sir
.
My
master
knows
not
but
I
am
gone
hence
,
And
fearfully
did
menace
me
with
death
If
I
did
stay
to
look
on
his
intents
.
Stay
,
then
.
I’ll
go
alone
.
Fear
comes
upon
me
.
O
,
much
I
fear
some
ill
unthrifty
thing
.
As
I
did
sleep
under
this
yew
tree
here
,
I
dreamt
my
master
and
another
fought
,
And
that
my
master
slew
him
.
,
moving
toward
the
tomb
Romeo
!
—
Alack
,
alack
,
what
blood
is
this
which
stains
The
stony
entrance
of
this
sepulcher
?
What
mean
these
masterless
and
gory
swords
ACT 5. SC. 3
To
lie
discolored
by
this
place
of
peace
?
Romeo
!
O
,
pale
!
Who
else
?
What
,
Paris
too
?
And
steeped
in
blood
?
Ah
,
what
an
unkind
hour
Is
guilty
of
this
lamentable
chance
!
The
lady
stirs
.
O
comfortable
friar
,
where
is
my
lord
?
I
do
remember
well
where
I
should
be
,
And
there
I
am
.
Where
is
my
Romeo
?
I
hear
some
noise
.
—
Lady
,
come
from
that
nest
Of
death
,
contagion
,
and
unnatural
sleep
.
A
greater
power
than
we
can
contradict
Hath
thwarted
our
intents
.
Come
,
come
away
.
Thy
husband
in
thy
bosom
there
lies
dead
,
And
Paris
,
too
.
Come
,
I’ll
dispose
of
thee
Among
a
sisterhood
of
holy
nuns
.
Stay
not
to
question
,
for
the
watch
is
coming
.
Come
,
go
,
good
Juliet
.
I
dare
no
longer
stay
.
Go
,
get
thee
hence
,
for
I
will
not
away
.
He
exits
.
What’s
here
?
A
cup
closed
in
my
true
love’s
hand
?
Poison
,
I
see
,
hath
been
his
timeless
end
.
—
O
churl
,
drunk
all
,
and
left
no
friendly
drop
To
help
me
after
!
I
will
kiss
thy
lips
.
Haply
some
poison
yet
doth
hang
on
them
,
To
make
me
die
with
a
restorative
.
She
kisses
him
.
Thy
lips
are
warm
!
Enter
Paris’s
Page
and
Watch
.
Lead
,
boy
.
Which
way
?
Yea
,
noise
?
Then
I’ll
be
brief
.
O
,
happy
dagger
,
This
is
thy
sheath
.
There
rust
,
and
let
me
die
.
She
takes
Romeo’s
dagger
,
stabs
herself
,
and
dies
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
This
is
the
place
,
there
where
the
torch
doth
burn
.
The
ground
is
bloody
.
—
Search
about
the
churchyard
.
Go
,
some
of
you
;
whoe’er
you
find
,
attach
.
Some
watchmen
exit
.
Pitiful
sight
!
Here
lies
the
County
slain
,
And
Juliet
bleeding
,
warm
,
and
newly
dead
,
Who
here
hath
lain
this
two
days
burièd
.
—
Go
,
tell
the
Prince
.
Run
to
the
Capulets
.
Raise
up
the
Montagues
.
Some
others
search
.
Others
exit
.
We
see
the
ground
whereon
these
woes
do
lie
,
But
the
true
ground
of
all
these
piteous
woes
We
cannot
without
circumstance
descry
.
Enter
Watchmen
with
Romeo’s
man
Balthasar
.
Here’s
Romeo’s
man
.
We
found
him
in
the
churchyard
.
Hold
him
in
safety
till
the
Prince
come
hither
.
Enter
Friar
Lawrence
and
another
Watchman
.
Here
is
a
friar
that
trembles
,
sighs
,
and
weeps
.
We
took
this
mattock
and
this
spade
from
him
As
he
was
coming
from
this
churchyard’s
side
.
A
great
suspicion
.
Stay
the
Friar
too
.
Enter
the
Prince
with
Attendants
.
What
misadventure
is
so
early
up
That
calls
our
person
from
our
morning
rest
?
ACT 5. SC. 3
Enter
Capulet
and
Lady
Capulet
.
What
should
it
be
that
is
so
shrieked
abroad
?
O
,
the
people
in
the
street
cry
Romeo
,
Some
Juliet
,
and
some
Paris
,
and
all
run
With
open
outcry
toward
our
monument
.
What
fear
is
this
which
startles
in
our
ears
?
Sovereign
,
here
lies
the
County
Paris
slain
,
And
Romeo
dead
,
and
Juliet
,
dead
before
,
Warm
and
new
killed
.
Search
,
seek
,
and
know
how
this
foul
murder
comes
.
Here
is
a
friar
,
and
slaughtered
Romeo’s
man
,
With
instruments
upon
them
fit
to
open
These
dead
men’s
tombs
.
O
heavens
!
O
wife
,
look
how
our
daughter
bleeds
!
This
dagger
hath
mista’en
,
for
,
lo
,
his
house
Is
empty
on
the
back
of
Montague
,
And
it
mis-sheathèd
in
my
daughter’s
bosom
.
O
me
,
this
sight
of
death
is
as
a
bell
That
warns
my
old
age
to
a
sepulcher
.
Enter
Montague
.
Come
,
Montague
,
for
thou
art
early
up
To
see
thy
son
and
heir
now
early
down
.
Alas
,
my
liege
,
my
wife
is
dead
tonight
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
Grief
of
my
son’s
exile
hath
stopped
her
breath
.
What
further
woe
conspires
against
mine
age
?
Look
,
and
thou
shalt
see
.
,
seeing
Romeo
dead
O
thou
untaught
!
What
manners
is
in
this
,
To
press
before
thy
father
to
a
grave
?
Seal
up
the
mouth
of
outrage
for
awhile
,
Till
we
can
clear
these
ambiguities
And
know
their
spring
,
their
head
,
their
true
descent
,
And
then
will
I
be
general
of
your
woes
And
lead
you
even
to
death
.
Meantime
forbear
,
And
let
mischance
be
slave
to
patience
.
—
Bring
forth
the
parties
of
suspicion
.
I
am
the
greatest
,
able
to
do
least
,
Yet
most
suspected
,
as
the
time
and
place
Doth
make
against
me
,
of
this
direful
murder
.
And
here
I
stand
,
both
to
impeach
and
purge
Myself
condemnèd
and
myself
excused
.
Then
say
at
once
what
thou
dost
know
in
this
.
I
will
be
brief
,
for
my
short
date
of
breath
Is
not
so
long
as
is
a
tedious
tale
.
Romeo
,
there
dead
,
was
husband
to
that
Juliet
,
And
she
,
there
dead
,
that
Romeo’s
faithful
wife
.
I
married
them
,
and
their
stol’n
marriage
day
Was
Tybalt’s
doomsday
,
whose
untimely
death
Banished
the
new-made
bridegroom
from
this
city
,
For
whom
,
and
not
for
Tybalt
,
Juliet
pined
.
You
,
to
remove
that
siege
of
grief
from
her
,
Betrothed
and
would
have
married
her
perforce
To
County
Paris
.
Then
comes
she
to
me
,
And
with
wild
looks
bid
me
devise
some
mean
ACT 5. SC. 3
To
rid
her
from
this
second
marriage
,
Or
in
my
cell
there
would
she
kill
herself
.
Then
gave
I
her
(
so
tutored
by
my
art
)
A
sleeping
potion
,
which
so
took
effect
As
I
intended
,
for
it
wrought
on
her
The
form
of
death
.
Meantime
I
writ
to
Romeo
That
he
should
hither
come
as
this
dire
night
To
help
to
take
her
from
her
borrowed
grave
,
Being
the
time
the
potion’s
force
should
cease
.
But
he
which
bore
my
letter
,
Friar
John
,
Was
stayed
by
accident
,
and
yesternight
Returned
my
letter
back
.
Then
all
alone
At
the
prefixèd
hour
of
her
waking
Came
I
to
take
her
from
her
kindred’s
vault
,
Meaning
to
keep
her
closely
at
my
cell
Till
I
conveniently
could
send
to
Romeo
.
But
when
I
came
,
some
minute
ere
the
time
Of
her
awakening
,
here
untimely
lay
The
noble
Paris
and
true
Romeo
dead
.
She
wakes
,
and
I
entreated
her
come
forth
And
bear
this
work
of
heaven
with
patience
.
But
then
a
noise
did
scare
me
from
the
tomb
,
And
she
,
too
desperate
,
would
not
go
with
me
But
,
as
it
seems
,
did
violence
on
herself
.
All
this
I
know
,
and
to
the
marriage
Her
nurse
is
privy
.
And
if
aught
in
this
Miscarried
by
my
fault
,
let
my
old
life
Be
sacrificed
some
hour
before
his
time
Unto
the
rigor
of
severest
law
.
We
still
have
known
thee
for
a
holy
man
.
—
Where’s
Romeo’s
man
?
What
can
he
say
to
this
?
I
brought
my
master
news
of
Juliet’s
death
,
And
then
in
post
he
came
from
Mantua
To
this
same
place
,
to
this
same
monument
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
This
letter
he
early
bid
me
give
his
father
And
threatened
me
with
death
,
going
in
the
vault
,
If
I
departed
not
and
left
him
there
.
Give
me
the
letter
.
I
will
look
on
it
.
—
He
takes
Romeo’s
letter
.
Where
is
the
County’s
page
,
that
raised
the
watch
?
—
Sirrah
,
what
made
your
master
in
this
place
?
He
came
with
flowers
to
strew
his
lady’s
grave
And
bid
me
stand
aloof
,
and
so
I
did
.
Anon
comes
one
with
light
to
ope
the
tomb
,
And
by
and
by
my
master
drew
on
him
,
And
then
I
ran
away
to
call
the
watch
.
This
letter
doth
make
good
the
Friar’s
words
,
Their
course
of
love
,
the
tidings
of
her
death
;
And
here
he
writes
that
he
did
buy
a
poison
Of
a
poor
’pothecary
,
and
therewithal
Came
to
this
vault
to
die
and
lie
with
Juliet
.
Where
be
these
enemies
?
—
Capulet
,
Montague
,
See
what
a
scourge
is
laid
upon
your
hate
,
That
heaven
finds
means
to
kill
your
joys
with
love
,
And
I
,
for
winking
at
your
discords
too
,
Have
lost
a
brace
of
kinsmen
.
All
are
punished
.
O
brother
Montague
,
give
me
thy
hand
.
This
is
my
daughter’s
jointure
,
for
no
more
Can
I
demand
.
But
I
can
give
thee
more
,
For
I
will
ray
her
statue
in
pure
gold
,
That
whiles
Verona
by
that
name
is
known
,
There
shall
no
figure
at
such
rate
be
set
As
that
of
true
and
faithful
Juliet
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
As
rich
shall
Romeo’s
by
his
lady’s
lie
,
Poor
sacrifices
of
our
enmity
.
A
glooming
peace
this
morning
with
it
brings
.
The
sun
for
sorrow
will
not
show
his
head
.
Go
hence
to
have
more
talk
of
these
sad
things
.
Some
shall
be
pardoned
,
and
some
punishèd
.
For
never
was
a
story
of
more
woe
Than
this
of
Juliet
and
her
Romeo
.
All
exit
.
all or part of a full metrical line
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a short line which cannot be joined with other lines to form a full metrical line, or which may not be definitively identified as verse or prose
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