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 not could remove, Is now the two hours
traffic of our stage.
A dog of the house of Capulet moves me!
The quarrel is between our masters.
And us their men.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. And I am a pretty
piece of flesh, I am a pretty piece of Flesh! Here
comes of the house of Capulet!
Quarrel, I will back thee.
Boo! Ah, ha ha. Ooh. Boo! Ha ha ha.
I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to
them, if they bear it.
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 on our side, if I say ay?
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.
If you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man
Here comes our kinsmen say better!
Yes, sir better.
You lie. Draw, if you be men.
Part, fools! you know not what you do. Put up your
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.
Peace. Peace? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all
Montagues, and thee.
Bang Bang! Bang Bang!
Give me my long sword, ho!
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Throw your
mistemper'd weapons to the ground! On pain of
torture, from those bloody hands Throw your
mistemper'd weapons to the ground! Three civil
brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet,
and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our
streets, If ever you disturb our streets again, Your
lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I
am he was not at this fray.
Madam, underneath a grove of sycamore so early
walking did I see your son.
Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears
augmenting the fresh morning dew.
Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And
private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his
windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an
Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless
good counsel may the cause remove.
So please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance,
or be much denied.
Come, madam, let's away.
Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything
of nothing first create. heavy lightness. Serious
vanity. Misshapen chaos of well seeming forms.
Is the day so young?
But new struck cuz.
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.
Out of her favour, 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 any thing, of nothing first create! O
heavy lightness! Serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of
well-seeming forms! Feather of lead--
Dost thou not laugh?
No, cuz, I rather weep.
Good heart, at what?
At thy good heart's oppression.
Farewell, my cuz.
Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do
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 honourable 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; 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 marr'd are those so early made. This
night I hold an old accustom'd feast, At my poor
house look to behold this night Fresh female buds
that make dark heaven light. Hear all, all see,
Come, go with me.
Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.
A right good marks-man! And she's fair I love.
A right fair mark, fair cuz, is soonest hit.
Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With
Cupid's arrow; Nor bide the encounter of assailing
eyes, Nor open her lap to saint-seducing gold:
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.
Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.
Teach me how I should forget to think.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other
beauties. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in
prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented.
Good day, good fellow.
Now I'll tell you without asking the great rich
Capulet holds an old accustomed feast--A fair
assembly. Signior Placentio and his lovely daughters.
The lady widow of Vitravio; and her lovely nieces
At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair
Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired
beauties of Verona:
If you be not of the house of Montague come and crush
a cup of wine.
Go thither; and, with untainted eye, Compare her face
with some that I shall show, And I will make thee
think thy swan a crow.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to
rejoice in splendor of mine own.
J U L I E T ! ! ! ! Juliet! Juliet! Juliet! Nurse.
Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.
I bade her come. God forbid! Juliet! Juliet! Juliet!
Madam, I am here. What is your will?
Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret.
Nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's
hear our counsel. Nurse, Thou know'st my daughter's
of a pretty age.
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed.
By my count, I was your mother much upon these years,
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.
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; This precious
book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him,
only lacks a cover: So shall you share all that he
doth possess, By having him, making yourself 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 to
give strength to make it fly.
Madam, the guests are come.
Go! We follow thee. Juliet, Blah!
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
Young hearts run free. Never be caught up, caught up
like Rosaline and thee. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must
have you dance.
Not I, Not I believe me: you have dancing shoes With
nimble soles: I have a soul of lead
You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with
them above a common bound.
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Too rude,
too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick
love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Every man betake him to his legs.
But 'tis no wit to go.
Why, may one ask?
I dream'd a dream to-night.
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. She is
the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no
bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an
alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Over
men's noses as they lie asleep; Her chariot is an
empty hazel-nut Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
And in this state she gallops night by night Through
lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er
lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then
dreams he of cutting foreign throats, And being thus
frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again.
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--This is
Peace, good 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 wooes Even now the
frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs
away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-
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 despised life closed within my
breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But
He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my
sail! On, lusty gentlemen.
Your drugs are quick.
Ahhh! I have seen the day That I could tell A
whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would
Madam, your mother calls. Come, lets away.
Will you now deny to dance?
A man young lady, such a man.
What dares the slave Come hither, To fleer and scorn
at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my
kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.
Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?
Uncle, this is that villain Romeo, a Montague, our
Young Romeo is it?
Content thee, gentle cuz, content thee. Let him
alone; I would not for the wealth of all the town
Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be
patient, take no note of him
I'll not endure him.
He shall be endured
Uncle, 'tis a shame.
Go to! What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;
Make a mutiny among my guests?!
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I
ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
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.
Well, 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.
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus
from my lips, by yours, 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.
You kiss by the book.
Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Come lets
Is she a Capulet?
His name is Romeo, and he's a Montague; The only son
of your great enemy.
Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
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.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming
sweet convert to bitterous gall.
Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! 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! O, Romeo that she were An open
ass, and thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll
to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me
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 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; oh cast it off. It is my lady, O,
it is my love! O, that she knew she were!
She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel!
Romeo, O 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.
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, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in
a name? that which we call a rose By any other word
would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not
Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he
owes Without that title. O Romeo, doff thy name, And
for that name which is no part of thee Take all
I take thee at thy word.
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The
garden 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'er-perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love
can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen
are no let to me.
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
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 prorogued,
wanting of thy love.
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else
would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which
thou hast heard me speak to-night 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. O gentle Romeo, If
thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with
silver all these fruit-tree tops--
O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That
monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy
love prove likewise variable.
Well 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--
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
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.
O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it!
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night 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 rite; And all my fortunes at thy
foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the
I uh, by and by I come--But if thou mean'st not well,
I do beseech thee--
By and by, I come: -- To cease thy strief, and leave
me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.
So thrive my soul--
A thousand times good night! Exit, above
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.
Romeo! At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to
By the hour of nine.
I will not fail: 'tis twenty year till then.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
O, mighty is the powerful grace that lies in plants,
herbs, stones, and their true qualities: for nought
so vile that the earth doth live but to the earth
some special good doth give, nor aught so good, but
strain'd from that fair use revolts from true birth,
stumbling on abuse: virtue itself turns vice, being
misaplied; and vice sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this weak flower poison is
resident and medicine power: for this, being smelt,
with that part cheers each part; being tasted, slays
all senses with the heart. Two such empossed 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 marrow, father!
Benedicite! What early tounge so sweet saludeth me?
Good marrow, Romeo.
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head so soon to
bid good marrow to thy bed: or if not so so, then
here I hit it right, our Romeo hath not seen his bed
The last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
God pardon sin, was thou with Rosaline!?
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
I have been feasting with mine enemy, where on a
sudden one hath wounded me, that's by me wounded;
both our remeidies within thy help and holy physic
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; riddling
confession finds but riddling shrift.
Then plainly know my hearts dear love is set, on the
fair daughter of rich Capulet. We met, we wooed, we
made exchange of vow. I'll tell thee as we pass; but
this I pray, that thou consent to marry us today.
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.
Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
For doting; not for loving, pupil mine.
I pray thee, chde me not; whom I love now doth grace
for grace and love for love allow; the other did not
O, she new well. Thy love read by rote and could not
spell. Come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one
respect I'll thy assistant be; for this alliance may
so happy prove, to turn you household rachor to pure
O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not
Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.
Why that pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Tybalt, the kinsman of 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.
But alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with
a white wench's black eye; shot 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
Why, what is Tybalt?
More than prince of cats. He is the courageous
captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-
song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; he rests
his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your
bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist,
a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of
the first and second cause: the immortal passado!
punto reverso! the hai!
Here comes Romeo. Romeo!
Ho Ho, Capital Punks!
Signior Romeo, bon jour! 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
The slip, son, 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 court'sy.
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
A most courteous exposition.
Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Pink for flower.
Why, then is my pump well flowered.
Sure Witt! Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo;
now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by
Here's goodly gear!
I desire some confidence with you.
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! Romeo! Romeo! Romeo!
Will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner,
I will follow you.
Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,
If ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they
say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they
say: for the lady is young; and, therefore, if you
should deal double with her, truly it were an ill
thing, and very weak dealing.
Bid her to come to confession this afternoon; And
there she shall at Father Laurence' cell Be shrived
O honey nurse, what news? Nurse?
I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones
ache! what a jaunt have I!
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: I pray
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? Is the news
good, or bad? answer to that;
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,
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! O, my
back! Other' other side,--O, my back.
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! How oddly thou repliest! Your
love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your
O lady dear! Are you so hot? Henceforward do your
Here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?
Have you got leave to go to confession to-day?
Then hie you hence to Father Laurence' cell; There
stays a husband to make you a wife
These violent delights have violent ends. And in
their triumph die; like fire and powder, which as
they kiss consume. The sweetest honey is loathsome in
it's own deliciousness. Therefore love moderatley.
Romeo, shall thank the daughter for us both.
I pray thee good Mercutio let's retire. The day is
hot. the Capel's are abroad, and if we meet we shall
not 'scape a brawl, for in these hot day is the mad
Keep away the cats! 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?
Thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Verona.
By my head here come the Capulets.
By my heel, I care not.
Follow me close. Gentlemen, gooday. A word with one
OH, and but one word with one of us? Couple it with
something. Make it a word and a...a blow.
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir. And you
will give me occasion.
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
Mercutio! Thou art consortest with Romeo?
Consort? What does thou make us minstrels? An thou
make minstrels of us look to hear nothing of
discords. Here's my fiddlestick. Here's that shall
make you dance! Zounds, Consort!
Either withdraw unto some private place, or reason
coldly of your grievences, or else depart. Here all
eyes gaze on us.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I
will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Peace be with you sir, Here comes my 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
exuse the appertaning rage to such a greeting:
villiain am I none. Therefore farwell. I see thou
Knowest me not.
Boy this shall not excuse the injuries that thou has
done me! Turn and Draw! Turn and draw! Turn and draw!
Turn and draw! Turn and draw!
I do protest I never injured thee, but love thee
better than thou cans't devise. till thou shall know
the reason of my love. And so good Capulet who's name
I tender as dearly as mine own, Be satisfied. Be
Calm, Dishonorable, Vile Submission! Thou art my
souls hate! Tybalt! You ratcatcher, will you walk?
What wouldst thou have with me?
Good king of cat's, nothing but one of your nine
I am for you.
Forbear this outrage, good Mercutio.
Art thou hurt?
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Ay, a scratch, a
scratch. HA HA HA.
Courage man, the hurt can not be much.
'Twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find
me a grave man. A plague o' both your houses. They
have made worms meat of me. A plague on both your
Houses! Why the devil did you come between us? I was
hurt under your arm.
I thought all for the best.
A Plague o' both your houses.
Come gentle night. Come loving black-browned night
give me my Romeo. And when I shall die, take him and
cut him out into 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 love but not
possessed, and though I am sold, not yet enjoyed. O,
tedious is this day, as the night before some
festival to an impatient child that hath new robes
and may not wear them.
Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads
staying for thine to keep him company!
Thou, wretched boy shalt with him hence.
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him! Either
thou, or I, or both, must go with him! Either thou,
or I, or both, must go with him! I am Fortunes fool!
ROMEO! Away begone stand not amazed! Away!
Where are the vile beginners of this fray? Benvolio,
who began this bloody fray?
Romeo, he cries aloud, Hold friends. Tybalt her is
slain. Romeo's hand did slay. Romeo spoke him fair.
could not take truce with the unruly spleen of
Tybalt, deaf to peace.
It's the kinsman to the Montague, affection makes him
false! I beg for justice which thou prince must give,
Romeo slew Tybalt! Romeo must not live!
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
And for that offense Immediately we do exile him.
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> Romeo is banished!
Banishment? Be merciful, say death; for exile hath
more terror in his look much more than death. Do not
Affliction is enamoured of thy parts, and thou art
wedded to calamity. Hence from Verona art thou
banished. Be patient, for the world is broad and
There is no world without Verona walls, hence
banished is banished from the world and worlds exile
is death. Then banished is death mis-termed. Calling
death banished, thou cu'st my head off with a golden
axe and smiles upon the stroke that murders me.
O deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness! This is dear
mercy and thou sees it not. Hence!
I come for my lady Juliet.
Where is my Lady's lord?
Romeo, come forth.
Sir. Ah, sir. Death the end of all
Speakest thou of Juliet? Where is she? And how doth
she? And what say my concealed lady of our canceled
O, she says nothing sir, but weeps and weeps, and
then on Romeo cries and then falls down again.
As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun
did murder her, as that name's cursed hand did murder
I thought thy disposition better tempered! Thy Juliet
is alive. 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. Wherefore railest thou on thy
birth the heaven and earth? Since birth and heaven
and earth all three do meet in thee at once.
Sir, a ring my lady bid me give you.
How well my comfort is revived by this.
Hie you make haste! But look thou stay not till the
watch be set, for then thou canst not pass to Mantua
where thau shalt live till we can find a time to
blaze you marriage, reconcile your friends, beg
pardon of the Prince and call thee back with twenty
hundred times more joy, than thou wentst forth in
lamentation. Quick hence! Be gone by break of day!
Sojourn in Mantua.
O God. Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? O
serpent heart hid with a flowering face. Was ever
book containing such vile matter's so fairly bound?
O, that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous
She'll not come down tonight.
These times of woe afford no time to woo.
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly.
And so did I.
Well, we were born to die.
I'll know her mind early tomorrow, but tonight she's
mewed up to her heaviness.
I will makes a desperate tender of my child's love. I
think she will be ruled in all respect by me; Nay,
more, I doubt it not. But what say you to Thursday?
My lord, I... I would that Thursday were tomorrow.
A Thursday let it be then. Wife, you go to Juliet ere
you go to bed. Tell her, a Thursday she will be
married to this noble sir!
Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
That light is not daylight, I know it, I. It is some
meteor that the sun exhales to light thee on thy way
to Mantua. Therefore stay yet. Thou needest not be
Let me be taken, let me be put to death. I have more
care to stay then will to go. Come death, Welcome,
Juliet wills it so. How is't my soul? Let us talk it
is not day.
It is, It is! Hie hence, be gone, away. O, now be
gone. More light and light it grows.
More Light and light, more dark and dark our woes.
Madam! Your lady mother is coming to your chamber
Ho, daughter are you up?
Then window, let day in and let life out. O, think'st
thou we shall ever meet again?
I doubt it not. Trust me, love, 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. O fortune, fortune. Be fickle, fortune,
for then I hope that thou will not keep him long but
send him back.
Thou hast a careful father, child: One who, to put
thee from thy heaviness, hath sorted out a sudden day
of joy that thou expects nor I looked not for.
Madam, in happy time what day is that?
Marry my child next Thursday Morn. The gallant, young
and noble gentleman, Sir Paris, at Saint Peter's
Church, shall make thee there a joyful bride.
What? Now. St. Peter's Church, and Peter too, he
shall not make me there a joyful bride!
Here comes your father, tell him so yourself.
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.
How? Will she none? Is she not proud? Doth she not
count her blest, unworthy as she is, that we have
wrought so worth a gentleman to be her bride?
Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud
can I never be of what I hate!
Thanks me no thanking, nor proud me no prouds, But
fettle your joints 'gainst Thursday next.
Hear me with patience.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.
Fie, Fie, are you mad?
Hang thee, young baggage, disobedient wretch.
God in heaven bless her! You are to blame my lord, to
rate her so!
Peace you mumbling fool! I tell thee what-get thee to
church o' Thursday Or never after look me in the face
an you be mine, I give you to my friend. An you be
not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, Trust to
it. Bethink you. I'll not be forsworn!
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
Talk not to me, for Ill not speak a word. Do as thou
wilt for I have done with thee.
O God!--O Nurse, how shall this be prevented? What
sayest thou? Hast thou not a word of joy? Some
Faith, here it is. I think it best you marry with
this Paris. O, he's a lovely gentleman. 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
Speakest thou from thy heart?
And from my soul too. Else beshrew them both.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvelous much. Go in
and tell my lady I am gone, having displeased my
father to Father Lawrence to make confession and be
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalts death. Now, sir,
her father counts it dangerous that she doth give her
sorrow so much sway, and in his wisdom hastes our
marriage to stop the inundation of her tears. 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.
Well, that's a certain text.
Come you to make confession?
Are you at leisure Holy Father, now? Or shall I come
to you at evening mass?
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter now. We must
entreat the time alone.
God shield I Should disturb devotion. Juliet, on
Thursday early will I rouse Ye, Till then, adieu, and
keep this holy kiss.
Tell me not, Father, that thou hearest of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.
It strains me past the compass of my wits.
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help Do thou but
call my resolution wise, And with this I'll help it
Be not so long to speak I long to die.
I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate
and execution as that is desperate which we would
prevent. If, rather than to marry Paris, Thou hast
the strength of will to slay thyself, Then it is
likely thou wilt undertake a thing like death, to
chide away this shame. No warmth, no breath shall
testify thou livest . Each part, deprived of supple
government, shall stiff and stark and cold appear,
like death. Now when the bridegroom in the morning
comes to rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou
dead. Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
where all he kindred to the Capulet lie. In the
meantime, against thou shalt awake, shall Romeo by my
letters know our drift, and hither shall he come. And
that very night shall Romeo bear thee hence to
Mantua. Take thou this vial, being then in bed, and
this distilling liquor drink thou off. I'll send my
letters to thy lord post haste to Mantua.
What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be
married then tomorrow morning?
What, daughter are you busy? Need you my help?
No, madam. We have culled such necessaries as our
behoveful 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 in all this so sudden business.
Geth thee to be and rest, for thou has need.
Farewell. God knows when we shall meet again.
Romeo, I drink to thee.
As the custom is, in all her best array, bear her to
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me
above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreampt my
lady came and found me dead 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 shadow's are so rich in joy. News
from Verona. How now, Balthasar?! Dost thou not bring
me letters from the Priest? How doth my lady? Is my
Father well? How doth my lady Juliet? For nothing can
be ill if she be well.
If she is well then nothing can be ill. Her body
rests in Capel's monument, and her immortal part with
the angel's lives. I saw her laid low. Pardon me for
bringing these ill news.
Then I defy you, stars! JULIET! JULIET! I will hence
Your looks are pale and wild and do import some
Tush, thou art deceived. Hast thou no letters to me
from the priest?
[Balthsasr shakes his head no.]
No matter. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee
tonight. I will hence tonight.
Romeo is within Verona Wall's.
Let me have a dram of poison, such some speeding
gear, as will disperse itself through all the veins,
that the life weary taker may fall dead
Such mortal drugs I have, but Verona's law is death
to any that utters them.
The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law. 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.
Drink it off and, if you had the strength of twenty
men it would dispatch you straight.
Here is my gold. Worse poison to men's souls, than
these poor compounds that thou mayest not sell.
The letter was of dear import.
I could not send it nor get a messenger to bring it
The neglecting it may do much damage.
Live and be prosperous; and farewell good fellow.
Then I'll leave thee.
Tempt not a desperate man!
O my love, my wife, Death that hath sucked the honey
of thy breath, hath 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 advanced there. Ah, dear Juliet, why
art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that
unsubstantial death is amorous and keeps thee here in
the dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I still
will stay thee. Here, 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, O you
the doors to breath, seal with a righteous kiss. A
dateless bargain, to engrossing death.
Romeo. What's here? Poison. Drunk all, and left no
friendly drop to help me after. I will kiss thy lips.
Happily some poison yet doth hang on them. Thy lips
Thus..... with a kiss...... I die.
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 kinsman. All are Punished. ALL ARE PUNISHED!
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 punished. For never was a story of
more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo.