ROMEO

Is the day so young? Aye me, sad hours seem long: Was that my Father that went henec so fast? Out of her favour where I am in love. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes, see pathways to his will: Where shall we dine? Oh me: what fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have herd it all: Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: Why then, Oh brawling love, Oh loving hate, Oh any thing, of nothing first created: Oh heavy lightness, serious vanity, Mishapen Chaos of welseeing forms, Feather of led, 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? Good heart, at what? Why such is loves transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to have it preast With more of thine, this love that thou hast shown, Does 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 Coze. Tut I have lost my self, I am not here, This is not Romeo, he's some other where. What shall I groan and tell thee? A sick man in sadness makes his will: A word ill urged to one that is so ill: In sadness Cozin, I do love a woman. A right good mark man, and she's fair I love Well in that hit you miss, sheel not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dians wit: And in strong proof of chastity well armed: From loves weak childish Bow, she lives uncharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bid the encounter of assailing eyes. Nor open her lap to Sainct-seducing Gold: Oh she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she die, with beauty die her store. She hath, and in that sparing make huge wast? For beauty starved with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wisewi: sely 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. Oh teach me how I should forget to think. Your Plantan leaf is excellent for that. For your broken shin. Not mad, but bound more then a mad man is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipped and tormented: and Godden good fellow, I mine own fortune in my misery. I, if I know the Letters and the Language. Stay fellow, I can read. A fair assembly, whither should they come? Whither? to supper? Whose house? Indeed I should have asked you that before. 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 burned for liers. One fairer then my love: the all-seeing Sun Near saw her match, since first the world begun. I'll go along, no such sighed to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. What shall this speeh be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without Apology? Give me a Torch, I am not for this ambling. Being but heavy I will bear the light. Not I believe me, you have dancing shoes With nimble soles, I have a soale of Led So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. I am too soar enpearced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers, and to bound: I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe, Under loves heavy burden do I sink. Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks Like thorn. A Torch for me, let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heals: For I am proverbed with a Grandsier Phrase, I'll be a Candleholder and look on, The game was never so fair, and I am done. Nay that's not so. And we mean well in going to this Mask, But it's no wit to go. I dreamt a dream to night. Well what was yours? Peace, peace, Mercutio peace, Thou talkest of nothing. I fear too early, for my mind misgives, Some consequence yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this nights revels, and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast: By some vile forfeit of untimely death But he that hath the stirrage of my course, Direct my suit: on lusty Gentlemen. What Lady is that which dothni rich the hand Of yonder Knight? Oh she does teach the Torches to burn bright: It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, As a rich Jewel in and Aethiops ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too deer: So shows a Snowy Dove trooping with Crows, As yonder Lady over her fellows shows; The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now, forswear it sighed, For I never saw true Beauty till this night. If I profane with my unworthiest hand, This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips to blushing Pilgrim's did ready stand, To smooth that rough touch, with a tender kiss. Have not Saints lips, and holy Palmer's too? Oh then deer Saint, let lips do what hands do, They pray (grant thou) least faith turn to despair. Then move not while my prayers effect I take: Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purged. Sin from my lips? Oh trespass sweetly urged: Give me my sin again. What is her Mother? Is she a Capulet ? Oh deer account! My life is my foes debt. I so I fear, the more is my unrest. Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back dull earth, and find thy Centre out. He jests at Scars that never felt a wound, 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 then 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, Oh it is my Love, Oh that she knew she were, She speaks, yet she says nothing, what of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it: I am too bold it's 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 does 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. Oh that I were a Glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek. She speaks. O speak again bright Angel, for thou art As glorious to this night being over my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fallen back to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lazy puffing Clouds, And sails upon the bosom of the air. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? I take thee at thy word: Call me but Love, and I'll be new baptized, Hence forth I never will be Romeo. By a name, I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name deer Saint, is hateful to my self, Because it is and Enemy to thee, Had I it written, I would tear the word. Neither fair Maid, if either thee dislike. With Loves light wings Did I ore-perch 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. Alack there lies more peril in thine eye, Then twenty of their Swords, look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. I have nights 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, Then death prorogued wanting of thy Love. By Love that first did promp me to inquire, He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes, I am no Pilot, yet Wertenberg thou as far As that vast-shore-washet with the farthest Sea, I should adventure for such Merchandise. Lady, by yonder Moon I vow, That tips with silver all these Fruit ree tops. What shall I swear by? If my hearts deer love. Oh wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Wouldst thou withdraw it, For what purpose Love? Oh blessed blessed night, I am afeared Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering sweet to be substantial. So thrive my soul. It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver sweet, found Lovers tongues by night, Like softest Music to attending ears. My Niece. By the hour of nine. Let me stand here till thou remember it. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. I would I were thy Bird. Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow. Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest, The grey eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Eastern Clouds with streaks of light, And darkness fleckel'd Like a drunkard reels, From forth days pathway, made by Titan's wheels. Hence will I to my ghostly Fries close Cell, His help to crave, and my deer hap to tell. Good morrow Father. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. With Rosaline, my ghostly Father? No, I have forgotten that name, and that names woe. I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again: I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a S dden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man: for lo My intercession likewise steads my foe. Thou chidest me oft for loving Rosaline. And badst me bury Love. I pray thee chide me not, her I Love now Does grace for grace, and Love for Love allow: The other did not so. Oh let us hence, I stand on sudden hast. Pardon Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy. Meaning to curtsy. A most courteous exposition. Pink for flower. Why then is my Pump well flowered. Oh single soled jest, Solely singular for the singleness. Swits and spurs, Swits and spurs, or I'll cry a match. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the Goose. Nay, good Goose bite not. And is it not well served into a Sweet-Goose? I stretch it out for that word, broad, which added to the Goose, proves thee far and wide, abroad Goose. Here's goodly gear. A sail, a sail. One Gentlewoman, That God hath made, himself to mar. What hast thou found? I will follow you. A Gentleman Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute, then he will stand to in a Month. What wilt thou tell her Nurse? thou dost not mark me? Bid her devise some means to come to shrift this afternoon, And there she shall at Friar Laurence Cell Beshriu'd and married: here is for thy pains. Go too, I say you shall. What sayest thou my deer Nurse? I Nurse, what of that? Both with and R Commend me to thy Lady. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sighed: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then Loue-deuouring death do what he dare, It is enough. I may but call her mine. Tibalt, the reason that I have to love thee, Does much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: Villain am I none; Therefore farewell, I see thou knowest me not. I do protest I never injured thee, But loved thee better then thou canst devise: Till thou shalt know the reason of my love, And so good Capulet, which name I tender As dearly as my own, be satisfied. Gentle Mercutio, put thy Rapier up. Draw Benuolio, Beatrice down their weapons: Gentlemen, for shame forbear this outrage, Tibalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets. Hold Tybalt, good Mercutio. Courage man, the hurt cannot be much. I thought all for the best. This Gentleman the Princes near Alie, My very Friend hath God his mortal hurt In my behalf, my reputation stained With Tibalts slander, Tybalt that and hour Hath been my Cozin: Oh Sweet Juliet, Thy Beauty hath made me Effeminate, And in my temper softened Valours steel. This days black Fate, on more days does depend, This but begins, the woe others must end. He gone in triumph, and Mercutio slain? Away to heaven respective Lenity, And fire and Fury, be my conduct now. Now Tybalt take the Villain back again That late thou gavest me, for Mercutios 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. This shall determine that. Oh! I am Fortune's fool. Father what news? What is the Princes Doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? What less then Doomsday, Is the Princes Doom? Would, banishment? be merciful, say death: For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more then death: do not say banishment. There is no world without Ʋ erona walls, But Purgatory, Torture, hell it self: Hence banished, is banished from the world, And world's exile is death. Then banished, Is death, mistearm'd, calling death banished, Thou cuttest my head off with a golden Axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. It's 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 Honourable state, more Courtship lives In carrion Flies, then Romeo : they may seize On the white wonder of deer Juliets hand. And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin. This may Flies do, when I from this must fly, And sayest thou yet, that exile is not death? But Romeo may not, he is banished. Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though never so mean, But banished to kill me? Banished? Oh Friar, the damned use that word in hell: Howlings attends it, how hast thou the heart Being a Divine, a Ghostly Confessor, A Sin-Absoluer, and my Friend professed: To mangle me with that word, banished? Oh thou wilt speak again of banishment. Yet banished? hang up Philosophy: Unless Philosohpie can make a Juliet, Displant a Town, reverse a Princes Doom, It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. How should they, When wisemen have no eyes? Thou canst not speak of that y u dost not feel, Wertenberg thou as young as Juliet my Love: And hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting Like me, and Like me banished, Then mightest thou speak, Then mightest thou tear thy hair, And fallen upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of and unmade graven. Not I, Unless the breath of Hartsicke groans Mist-like enfold me from the search of eyes. Nurse. Speakest thou of Juliet ? how is it with her? Does not she think me and old Murderer, Now I have stained the Childhood of our joy, With blood removed, but little from her own? Where is she? and how does she? and what says My concealed Lady to our concealed Love? Do so, and bid my Sweet prepare to chide. How well my comfort is revived by this. But that a joy passed joy, calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to partly with thee: Farewell. It was the Lark the Herald of the Morn: No Nightingale: look Love what envious streaks Do lace the severing Clouds in yonder East: Nights Candles are burned out, and Jocund day Stands tip to on the misty Mountains tops, I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Let me be taken, let me be put to death, I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say you grey is not the morning's eye, It's but the pale reflex of Cinthia's brow. Nor that is not Lark whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads, I have more care to stay, then will to go: Come death and welcome, Juliet wills it so. How is't my soul, lets talk, it is not day. More light & light, more dark & dark our woes. Farewell, farewell, one kiss and I'll descend. Farewell: I will omit no opportunity, That may convey my greetings Love, to thee. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. And trust me Love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adue, adue. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosoms L sits lightly in his throne: And all thisan day and vccustom'd spirit, Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamed 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 and Emperor. Ah me, how sweet is love it self possessed, When but loves shadows are so rich in joy. News from Ʋ erona, how now Balthazer? Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Friar? How does my Lady? Is my Father well? How does my Lady Juliet ? that I ask again, For nothing can be ill, if she be well. Is it even so? Then I deny you Star . Thou knowest my lodging, get me ink and paper, And hire Post-Horses, I will hence to night. Tush, thou art deceived, Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no Letters to me from the Friar? More matter: Get thee gone, And hire those Horses, I'll be with thee straight. Well Juliet, I will lie with thee to night: Lets see for means: Oh mischief thou art swift, To enter in the thoughts of desperate men: I do remember and Appothecarie, And here about dwells, which late I noted In tattered weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of Simples, meager were him looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a Tortoyrs hung, And Allegater stuffed, and other skins Of ill shaped fish, 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 my self I said, And if a man did needs a poison now, Whose sale is persent death in Mantua, Here lives a Caitiff wretch would fell it him. Oh this same thought did but forerun my needs, And this same needy man must fell it me. As I remember, this should be the house, Being holy day, the beggars shop is shut. What ho? Appothecarie? Come hither man, I see that thou are poor, Hold, there is forty Ducats, let me have A dram of poison, such soon speeding gear, As will disperse it self through all the veins, That the life-wearie-taker may fallen dead, And that the Trunk may be discharged of breath, As violently, as hasty powder fier'd Does hurry from the fatal Canons womb. Art thou so bore and full of wretchedness, And fearest to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, Needs and oppression starveth in thy eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back: The world is not thy friend, not the world's law: The world affords no law to make thee rich. Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. I pray thy poverty, and not thy will. There's thy Gold, Worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Then these poor compounds that thou mayest not fell. I fell thee poison, thou hast sold me none, Farewell, buy food, and get thy self in flesh. Come Cordial, and not poison, go with me To Juliets graven, for there must I use thee. Give me that Mattock, & 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, What ere 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 Ladies face: But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger, A precious Ring: a Ring that I must use, In deer employment, therefore hence be gone: But if thou jealous dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, 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, Then empty Tigers, or the roaring Sea. 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. I must indeed, and therefore came I hither: Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, Fly hence and leave me, think upon those gone, Let them affright thee. I beseech thee Youth, Put not and other sin upon my head, By urging me to fury. Oh be gone, By heaven I love thee better then my self, For I come hither armed against my self: Stay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say, A mad men mercy bid thee run away. In faith I will, let me peruse this face: Mercutius kinsman, Noble County Paris, What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we road? 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? Oh give me thy hand, One, writ with me in sour misfortunes book. I'll bury thee in a triumphant graven. A Grave; Oh no, a Lanthorn; 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. How oft when men are at the point of death, Have they been merry? Which their Keepers call A lightning before death? O how may I Call this a lightning? Oh my Love, my Wife, Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy Beauty: Thou are not conquered: Beauty's ensign yet Is Crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, And Death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? Oh what more favour can I do to thee, Then with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, To sunder his that was thy enemy? Forgive me Cozen. Ah deer Juliet : Why art thou yet so fair? I will believe, Shall I believe, that unsubstantial death is amorous? And that the lean abhorred 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 dym night Depart again: come lie thou in my arms, Here's to thy health, where ere thou tumblest in. Oh true Appothecarie! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Depart again; here, here will I remain, With Worms that are thy Chambermaids: Oh 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, Oh you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death: Come bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide, Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run on The dashing Rocks, thy Seasick weary Bark: Here's to my Love. Oh true Appothecary: Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Not having that, which having, makes them short It's 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 strooken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a Mistress that is passing fair, What does her beauty serve but as a note, Where I may read who passed that passing fair. Farewell thou canst not teach me to forget, In bed a sleep while they do dream things true. the exchange of thy Loves faithful vow for mine. And stay thou 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 top gallant of my joy, Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell, be trusty and I'll quite thy pains: Farewell, commend me to thy Mistress. Warrant thee my man as true as steel. As if that name shot from the dead level of a Gun, Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murdered her kinsman. O tell me Friar, tell me, In what vile partly of this Anatomy Does my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack The hateful Mansion. So shalt thou show me friendship: take thou that, Live and be prosperous, and farewell good fellow. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee Boy. Out. Good morrow to you both, what counterfeit did I give you? I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, then he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. A thousand times the worse to want thy light, Love goes towards Love as schoolboys from ̄ their books But Love from ̄ Love, towards school with heavy looks. Then plainly know my hearts deer 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 to day.