JULIET

How now, who calls? Madam I am here, what is your will? And stint thou too. I pray thee Nurse, say I. It is and hour that I dream not of. I'll look to Like, if looking liking move. But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Then your consent gives strength to make fly. Come hither Nurse, What is yond Gentleman: What's he that now is going out of door? What man art thou, that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of thy tongues uttering, yet I know the found. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? Well do not swear, although I joy in thee: I have no joy of this contract to night, It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, Too Like the lightning which does 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: Goodnight, goodnight, as sweet repose and rest, Come to thy heart, as that within my breast. What satisfaction canst thou have to night? Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands. What devil art thou, That dost torment me thus? This torture should be roared in dismal hell, Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I, And that bore vowel I shall poison more Then the death-darting eye of Cockatrice, I am not I, if there be such and I. Or those eyes shot, that makes thee answer I: If he be slain say I, or if not, no. Brief, sounds, determine of my weal or woe. It is, it is, High hence be gone away: It is the Lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords, and unpleasing Sharps. Some say the Lark makes sweet Division; This does not so: for she divideth us. Some say, the Lark and loathed Toad change eyes, Oh now I would they had changed voices too: Since arm from arm that voice does us affray, Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-up to the day, Oh now be gone, more light and it light grows. Is there no pity sitting in the Clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? Oh 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. Good Pilgrim, You do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly devotion shows in this, For Saints have hands, that Pilgrim's hands do tuch, And palm to palm, is holy Palmer's kiss. I Pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Saints do not move, Though grant for prayers sake. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. You kiss by' the book. What's he that follows here that would not dance? Go ask his name: if he be married, My graven is Like to be my wedded bed. 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 loathed Enemy. A rhyme, I learn even now Of one I dan'st withal. Ay me. Oh 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. 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, If they do see thee, they will murder thee. I would not for the world they saw thee here. By whose direction foundest thou out this place? Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a Maiden blush be paint my cheek, For that which thou hast herd me speak to night, Fain would I dwell on form, feign, feign, deny What I have spoke, but farewell Compliment, Dost thou Love? I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word, yet if thou swearest, Thou mayest prove false: at Lovers perjuries They say Jove laughed, 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 saire Montague I am too found: And therefore thou mayest think my behaviour light, But trust me Gentleman, I'll prove more true, Then those that have coying to be strange, I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou over heardest ere I was beware My true Loves passion, therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light Love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. Oh swear not by the Moon, the inconstant Moon, That monthly changes in her circled Orb, Least that thy Love prove likewise variable. 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. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. 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: I hear some noise within deer Love adue: Anon good Nurse, sweet Montague be true: Stay but a little, I will come again. Three words deer Romeo, And goodnight indeed, If that thy bent of Love be Honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the right, And all my Fortune's at thy foot I'll lay, And follow thee my Lord throughout the world. I come, anon: but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech there (By and by I come) To cease thy strife, and leave me to my grief, To morrow will I send. Hist Romeo hist: Oh for a Falkners 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, then With repetition of my Romeo. Romeo. What a clock to morrow Shall I send to thee? I will not fail, it's twenty years till then, I have forgotten why I did call thee back. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I Love thy company. It's almost morning, I would have thee gone, And yet no further then a wantons Bird, That let's it hop a little from his hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted Gives, And with a silken thread plucks it back again, So loving Jealous of his liberty. Sweet so would I, Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing: Good night, good night. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. The clock strook nine, when I did send the Nurse, In half and hour she promised to return, Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so: O she is lame, Loves Herald should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides then the Suns beams, Driving back shadows over lowering 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 days journey, and from nine till twelve, I 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 led. Oh God she comes, Oh honey Nurse what news? Hast thou met with him? send thy man away. Now good sweet Nurse: Oh 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 would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay come I pray thee speak, good good Nurse speak. 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, Is longer then the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good or bade? answer to that, Say either, and I'll stay the circustance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bade? No no: but all this this did I know before What says he of our marriage? what of that? I'faith: I am sorry that that thou art so well. Sweet sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what says my Love? Where is my Mother? Why she is within, where should she be? How oddly thou repliest: Your Love says Like and honest Gentleman Where is your Mother? Here's such a coil, come what says Romeo ? I have. Good even to my ghostly Confessor. As much to him, else in his thanks too much. Conceit more rich in matter then 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 such excess, I cannot sum up some of half my wealth. Gallop apace, you fiery footed fleedes, Towards Phaebus lodging, such a Wagoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in Cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close Curtain Loue-performing night, That runaways eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalked of and unseen, Lovers can see to do their Amorous rights, And by their own Beauty's: or if Love be blind, 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 baiting 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 then new Snow upon a Ravens back: Come gentle night, come loving blackebrow'd 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. Oh 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 and impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them, Oh here comes my Nurse: And she brings news and every tongue that speaks But Romeos, name, speaks heavenly eloquence: Now Nurse, what news? what hast thou there? The Cords that Romeo bid thee fetch? Can heaven be so envious? Oh break my heart, Poor Banckrout break at once, To prison eyes, never look on liberty. Vile earth to earth resign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo press on heavy beer. What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughtered? and is Tybalt dead? My dearest Cozen, and my dearer Lord: Then dreadful Trumpet found the general doom, For who is living, if those two are gone: Oh God! Did Rom'os hand shed Tybalts blood It did, it did, alas the day, it did. Did ever Dragon keep so fair a Cave? Beautiful Tyrant, fiend Angelical: Ravenous Doue-feather'd Raven, Woluish-rauening Lamb, Despised substance of Divinest show: Just opposite to what thou justly seemest, A dimne Saint, and Honourable Villain: Oh 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? Oh that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous Palace. Blistered be thy tongue For such a wish, he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to fit; For it's a throne where Honour may be Grown Sole Monarch of the universal earth: Oh what a beast was I to chide him? 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 Cozin? That Villain Cozin 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 Tibalt would have slain, And Tibalt dead that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort, wherefore weep I then? Some words there was worse then Tybalts death That murdered me, I would forget it feign, But o, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners minds, Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished: That banished, that one word banished, Hath slain ten thousand Tibalts: Tibalts 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 Tibalts dead, Thy Father or thy Mother, nay or both, Which modern lamentation might have moved. But which a rearward following Tybalts death Romeo is banished to speak that word, Is Father, Mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead: Romeo is banished, There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that words death, no words can that woe found. Where is my Father and my Mother Nurse? Oh find him, give this Ring to my true Knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewell. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day: It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark, That pier'st the fearful hollow of thine ear, Nightly she sings on yond Pomegranate tree, Believe me Love, it was the Nightingale. Yond light is not daylight, I know it I: It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales, To be to thee this night a Torchbearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefore stay yet, thou needest not to be gone, Nurse. Then window let day in, and let life out. 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, Oh by this count I shall be much in years, Ere I again behold my Romeo. Oh thinkest thou we shall ever meet again? Oh 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. Madam I am not well. Yet let me weep, for such a feeling lose. Feeling so the lose, I cannot choose but ever weep the Friend. What Villain, Madam? Villain and he, be many Miles asunder: God pardon, I do with all my heart: And yet no man Like he, does grieve my heart. I Madam from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my Cozins death. 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. Oh how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him, To wreak the Love I boar my Cozin, Upon his body that hath slaughtered him. And joy comes well, in such a needy time, What are they, beseech your Ladyship? Madam in happy time, what day is this? Now by Saint Peters Church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful Bride. I wonder at this hast, that I must wed Ere he that should be Husband comes to woe: 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 then Paris. These are news indeed. Not proud you have, But thankful that you have: Proud can I never be of what I have, But thankful even for hate, that is meant Love. Good Father, I beseech you on my knees Hear me with patience, but to speak a word. Oh God! Oh 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: Hlacke, alack that heaven should practice stratagems Upon so soft a subject as my self. What sayest thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort Nurse. Speakest thou from thy heart? Amen. Well, thou hast comforted me marue'lous much, Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone, Having displeased my Father, to Laurence Cell, To make confession, and to be absolved. Ancient damnation, Oh most wicked fiend! It is 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 Counsellor, Thou and my bosom henchforth shall be twain: I'll to the Friar to know his remedy, If all else fail, my self have power to die. That may be sir, when I may be a wife. What must be shall be. To answer that, I should confess to you. I will confess to you that I Love him. If I do so, it will be of more price, Benig spoke behind your back, then to your face. The tears have God small victory by that: For it was bade enough before their spite. That is no slander sir, which is a truth, And what I spoke, I spoke it to thy face. It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, Holy Father now, Or shall I come to you at evening Mass? Oh shut the door, and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me, passed hope, passed care, passed help. 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' his knife, I'll help it presently. God joined my heart, and Romeos, thou our hands, And ere this hand by thee to Romeo 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 expetien'st time, Give me some present counsel, or behold Betwixt my extremes and me, this bloody knife Shall play the vmpeere, arbitrating that, Which the commission of thy years and art, Could to no issue of true honour bring: Be not so long to speak, I long to die, If what thou speakest, speak not of remedy. O bid me leap, rather then marry Paris, From of 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, Orecouered quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reckie shanks and yellow chapels sculls: Or bid me go into a new made graven, And hide me with a dead man in his graven, Things that to hear them told, have made me tremble, And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live and unstained wife to my sweet Love. Give me, give me, Oh tell not me ofcare. Where I have learned me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition: To you and your behests, and am enjoined By holy Laurence, to fallen prostrate here, To beg your pardon: pardon I beseech you, Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. I met the youthful Lord at Laurence Cell, And gave him what becomed Love I might, Not stepping over the bounds of modesty. Nurse will you go with me into my Closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments, As you think fit to furnish me to morrow? I those attires are best, but gentle Nurse I pray thee leave me to my self to night: For I have needs of many Orisons, To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin. No Madam, we have cul'd such necessaries As are behooveful for our state to morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone; And let the Nurse this night fit up with you, For I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. 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 fire: 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, what if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to morrow morning? No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there, What if it be a poison which the Friar Subtly hath ministered to have me dead, Least in this marriage he should be dishonoured, Because he married me before to Romeo ? I fear it is, and yet me thinks 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 health some 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, and ancient receptacle, Where for these many hundred years the bones Of all my buried Ancestors are packed, Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shrow, 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. Oh if I walk, shall I not be distracted, Environed with all these hideous fears, And madly play with my forefathers joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shrow? And in this rage, with some great kinsmans bone, As (with a club) dash out my desperate brains. Oh look, me thinks I see my Cozins Ghost, Seeking out Romeo that did spit his body Upon my Rapiers point: stay Tybalt, stay; Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, here's drink: I drink to thee. Oh comfortable Friar, where's my Lord? I do remember well where I should be: And there I am, where is my Romeo? Go get thee hence, for I will notuaway, What's here? A cup closed in my true lo es hand? Poison I see hath been his timeless end Oh churl, drink all? and lest no friendly drop, To help me after, I will kiss thy lips, Haply some poison yet does hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm. Yea noise? Then I'll be brief. Oh happy Dagger. It's in thy sheath, there rust and let me die. It's but thy name that is my Enemy: Thou art thy self, though not a Montague, What's Montague ? it is nor hand nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, Oh be some other name Belonging to a man. What? in a names that which we call a Rose, By any other word would smell as sweet, So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain that deer perfection which he owes, Without that title Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy name which is no partly of thee, Take all my self. A thousand times goodnight. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent When theirs are dry for Romeo's banishment. Take up those Cords, 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 widowed. Come Cord, come Nurse, I'll to my wedding bed, And death not Romeo, take my Maiden head. Love give me strength, And strength shall help afford: Farewell deer father. High to high Fortune, honest Nurse, farewell. Who is't that calls? Is it my Lady Mother. Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustomed cause procures her hither? Oh God! I have and ill Divining soul, Me thinks 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.