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-cross'd lovers take their life ;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 
Do with their death bury their parents' strife .
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love ,
And the continuance of their parents' rage ,
Which , but their children's end , nought could remove ,
Is now the two hours' traffick of our stage ;
The which if you with patient ears attend ,
What here shall miss , our toil shall strive to mend .

Gregory , o' 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 o' the 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 runnest 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 cruel with the maids ; I will cut off their heads .

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 two of the house of the Montagues .


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 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 ?

Is the law of our side if I say ay ?

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 .

If you do , sir , I am for you : I serve as good a man as you .

No better .

Well , sir .

Say , 'better ;' here comes one of my master's kinsmen .

Yes , better , sir .

You lie .

Draw , if you be men . Gregory , remember thy swashing blow .

Part , fools !
Put up your swords ; you know not what you do .

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 !


Clubs , bills , and partisans ! strike ! beat them down !
Down with the Capulets ! down with the Montagues !


What noise is this ? Give me my long sword , ho !

A crutch , a crutch ! Why call you for a sword ?

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 .


Rebellious subjects , enemies to peace ,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained 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 mis-temper'd weapons to the ground ,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince .
Three civil brawls , bred of an airy word ,
By thee , old Capulet , and Montague ,
Have thrice disturb'd 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 ,
Canker'd with peace , to part your canker'd 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 further pleasure in this case ,
To old Free-town , our common judgment-place .
Once more , on pain of death , all men depart .


Who set this ancient quarrel new a-broach ?
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 prepar'd ,
Which , as he breath'd defiance to my ears ,
He swung about his head , and cut the winds ,
Who , nothing hurt withal hiss'd 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 to-day ?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray .

Madam , an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east ,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ;
Where , underneath the grove of sycamore 
That westward rooteth from the city's 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 ,
That most are busied when they're most alone ,
Pursu'd my humour not pursuing his ,
And gladly shunn'd 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 :
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
Should in the furthest 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 humour 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 importun'd him by any means ?

Both by myself and many other friends :
But he , his own affections' counsellor ,
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 sun .
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow ,
We would as willingly give cure as know .

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 .

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 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 !
Mis-shapen 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 ?

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 press'd 
With more of thine : this love that thou hast shown 
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own .
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ;
Being purg'd , a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ;
Being vex'd , a sea nourish'd with lovers' 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 .

Bid a sick man in sadness make his will ;
Ah ! word ill urg'd to one that is so ill .
In sadness , cousin , I do love a woman .

I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd .

A right good mark-man ! 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 arm'd ,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd .
She will not stay the siege of loving terms ,
Nor bide the 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 , starv'd 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 rul'd 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 put 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 pass'd that passing fair ?
Farewell : thou canst not teach me to forget .

I'll pay that doctrine , or else die in debt .


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 liv'd 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 marr'd are those so early made .
Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she ,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth :
But woo her , gentle Paris , get her heart ,
My will to her consent is but a part ;
An she agree , within her scope of choice 
Lies my consent and fair according voice .
This night I hold an old accustom'd 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-apparel'd April on the heel 
Of limping winter treads , even such delight 
Among fresh female 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 reckoning none .
Come , go with me .

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 .


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 .


Tut ! man , one fire burns out another's burning ,
One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ;
Turn giddy , and be holp 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 ;
Shut up in prison , kept without my food ,
Whipp'd and tormented , and Good den , good fellow .

God gi' good den . I pray , sir , can you read ?

Ay , mine own fortune in my misery .

Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : but , I pray , can you read any thing you see ?

Ay , if I know the letters and the language .

Ye say honestly ; rest you merry !


Stay , fellow ; I can read .
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 ; 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 you 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 !


At this same ancient feast of Capulet's ,
Sups the fair Rosaline , whom thou so lov'st ,
With all the admired 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 fires !
And these , who often drown'd 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 pois'd with herself in either eye ;
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd 
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 shows best .

I'll go along , no such sight to be shown ,
But to rejoice in splendour of mine own .


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 !


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 remember'd me , thou's hear our counsel .
Thou know'st 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 is not fourteen . How long is it now 
To Lammas-tide ?

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 wean'd , 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 dove-house 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 dove-house : 'twas no need , I trow ,
To bid me trudge :
And since that time it is eleven years ;
For then she could stand high lone ; nay , by the 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 !
A' 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 halidom ,
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 cockerel's stone ;
A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly :
'Yea ,' quoth my husband , 'fall'st upon thy face ?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou com'st 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 .

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 honour that I dream not of .

An honour ! were not I thine only nurse ,
I would say thou hadst suck'd 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 obscur'd 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 
For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many 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 .


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 . Juliet , the county stays .

Go , girl , seek happy nights to happy days .


What ! shall this speech be spoke for our excuse ,
Or shall we on without apology ?

The date is out of such prolixity :
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf ,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath ,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ;
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 enpierced 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 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 .
Give me a case to put my visage in :

A visor for a visor ! what care I ,
What curious eye doth quote deformities ?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me .

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 proverb'd 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 ,
Of save your reverence love , wherein thou stick'st 
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 , like lamps 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 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 .

Queen Mab ! What's she ?

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 
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep :
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ;
The cover , of the wings of grasshoppers ;
The traces , of the smallest spider's web ;
The collars , of the moonshine's watery beams ;
Her whip , of cricket's bone ; the lash , of film ;
Her waggoner , a small grey-coated gnat ,
Not half so big as a round little worm 
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid ;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut ,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub ,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers .
And in this state she gallops night by night 
Through lovers' brains , and then they dream of love ;
O'er courtiers' knees , that dream on curtsies 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 .
Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose ,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ;
And sometimes comes she with a tithe pig's tail ,
Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep ,
Then dreams he of another benefice ;
Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck ,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats ,
Of breaches , ambuscadoes , Spanish bladed ,
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 ;
And bakes the elf-locks 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 anger'd , puffs away from thence ,
Turning his face 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 despised life clos'd 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 .


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 lovest me , let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell . Antony ! 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 .

Welcome , gentlemen ! ladies that have their toes 
Unplagu'd with corns will walk a bout with you .
Ah ha ! 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 ye 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 .
You are welcome , gentlemen ! Come , musicians , play .
A hall ! a hall ! give room , and foot it , girls .

More light , ye knaves ! and turn the tables up ,
And quench the fire , the room has grown too hot .
Ah ! sirrah , this unlook'd-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 mask'd .

'Tis more , 'tis more ; his son is older , sir .
His son is thirty .

Will you tell me that ?
His son was but a ward two years ago .

What lady is 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 
Like 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 blessed my rude hand .
Did my heart love till now ? forswear it , sight !
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night .

This , by his voice , should be a Montague .
Fetch me my rapier , boy . What ! dares the slave 
Come hither , cover'd with an antick face ,
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 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-govern'd 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 endur'd :
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 !
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 wilful choler meeting 
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting .
I will withdraw ; but this intrusion shall 
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall .


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 tenderkiss .

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 .

Then move not , while my prayers' effect I take .
Thus from my lips , by thine , my sin is purg'd .


Then have my lips the sin that they have took .

Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly urg'd !
Give me my sin again .

You kiss by the book .

Madam , your mother craves a word with you .

What is her mother ?

Marry , bachelor ,
Her mother is the lady of the house ,
And a good lady , and a wise , and virtuous :
I nurs'd her daughter , that you talk'd withal ;
I tell you he that can lay hold of her 
Shall have the chinks .

Is she a Capulet ?
O dear account ! my life is my foe's debt .

Away , be gone ; 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 .


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 there , that would not dance ?

I know not .

Go , ask his name .If he be married ,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed .

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 loathed enemy .

What's this , what's this ?

A rime I learn'd even now 
Of one I danc'd withal .


Anon , anon !
Come , let's away ; the strangers are all gone .

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie ,
And young affection gapes to be his heir ;
That fair for which love groan'd for and would die ,
With tender Juliet match'd , is now not fair .
Now Romeo is belov'd and loves again ,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks ,
But to his foe suppos'd 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 us'd to swear ;
And she as much in love , her means much less 
To meet her new-beloved any where :
But passion lends them power , time means , to meet ,
Tempering extremity with extreme sweet .

Can I go forward when my heart is here ?
Turn back , dull earth , and find thy centre out .

Romeo ! my cousin Romeo !

He is wise ;
And , on my life , hath stol'n him home to bed .

He ran this way , and leap'd this orchard wall :
Call , good Mercutio .

Nay , I'll conjure too .
Romeo ! humours ! madman ! passion ! lover !
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh :
Speak but one rime and I am satisfied ;
Cry but 'Ay me !' couple but 'love' and 'dove ;' 
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word .
One nickname for her purblind son and heir ,
Young Adam Cupid , he that shot so trim 
When King Cophetua lov'd 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 conjur'd it down ;
That were some spite : my invocation 
Is fair and honest , and in his mistress' name 
I conjure only but to raise up him .

Come , he hath hid himself among these trees ,
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 et c tera , thou a poperin 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 .


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 ; 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 .
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 eyes 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 !

She speaks :
O ! speak again , bright angel ; for thou art 
As glorious to this night , being o'er my head ,
As is a winged messenger of heaven 
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes 
Of mortals , that fall back to gaze on him 
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing 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 .

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 name would smell as sweet ;
So Romeo would , were he not Romeo call'd ,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes 
Without that title . Romeo , doff thy name ;
And for that 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 baptiz'd ;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo .

What man art thou , that , thus bescreen'd in night ,
So stumblest on my counsel ?

By a name 
I know not how to tall 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 not yet drunk a hundred words 
Of that tongue's uttering , yet I know the sound :
Art thou not Romeo , and a Montague ?

Neither , fair maid , if either thee dislike .

How cam'st 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 .

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 prorogued , 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 wash'd with the furthest sea ,
I would adventure for such merchandise .

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 ; at lovers' perjuries ,
They say , Jove laughs . O gentle Romeo !
If thou dost love , pronounce it faithfully :
Or if thou think'st 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 haviour light :
But trust me , gentleman , I'll prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange .
I should have been more strange , I must confess ,
But that thou over-heard'st , ere I was 'ware ,
My true love's passion : therefore pardon me ,
And not impute this yielding to light love ,
Which the dark night hath so discovered .

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 .

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 to-night :
It is too rash , too unadvis'd , 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 to-night ?

The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine .

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 .

I hear some noise within ; dear love , adieu !
Anon , good nurse ! Sweet Montague , be true .
Stay but a little , I will come again .


O blessed , blessed night ! I am afeard ,
Being in night , all this is but a dream ,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial .


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 world .

Madam !

I come , anon .But if thou mean'st not well ,
I do beseech thee ,

Madam !

By and by ; I come :
To cease thy suit , and leave me to my grief :
To-morrow will I send .

So thrive my soul ,

A thousand times good-night !


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 .

Hist ! Romeo , hist ! O ! for a falconer'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's name .

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 !

At what o'clock to-morrow 
Shall I send to thee ?

At the hour of nine .

I will not fail ; 'tis twenty years 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 ,
Remembering how I love thy company .

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 further than a wanton's bird ,
Who lets it hop a little from her hand ,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves ,
And with a silk 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 .


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 father's cell ,
His help to crave , and my dear hap to tell .


The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night ,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light ,
And flecked 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 ,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours 
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced 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 herbs , plants , stones , and their true qualities :
For nought so vile that on 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 misapplied ,
And vice sometime's by action dignified .
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 , slays all senses with the heart .
Two such opposed foes 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 distemper'd 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 unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain 
Doth couch his limbs , there golden sleep doth reign :
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 
Thou art up-rous'd by some distemperature ;
Or if not so , then here I hit it right ,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night .

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 , blessed 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 combin'd , save what thou must combine 
By holy marriage : when and where and how 
We met we woo'd and made exchange of vow ,
I'll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray ,
That thou consent to marry us to-day .

Holy Saint Francis ! what a change is here ;
Is Rosaline , whom 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 wash'd 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 ring yet in my ancient ears ;
Lo ! here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet .
If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine ,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline :
And art thou chang'd ? pronounce this sentence then :
Women may fall , when there's no strength in men .

Thou chidd'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 not ; she , whom 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 and 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' rancour to pure love .

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 home to-night ?

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 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 .

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 encounter Tybalt ?

Why , what is Tybalt ?

More than prince of cats , I can tell you . O ! he is the courageous captain of compliments . He fights as you sing prick-song , keeps time , distance , and proportion ; rests me 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 . Ah ! the immortal passado ! the punto reverso ! the hay !

The what ?

The pox of such antick , lisping , affecting fantasticoes , these new tuners of accents !'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 pardonnez-mois , who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench ? O , their bons , their bons !


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 but a kitchen-wench ; marry , she had a better love to be-rime her ; Dido a dowdy ; Cleopatra a gipsy ; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots ; Thisbe , a grey eye or so , but not to the purpose . 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 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 .

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 .

Well said ; follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out the pump , that , when the single sole of it is worn , the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular .

O single-soled jest ! solely singular for the singleness .

Come between us , good Benvolio ; my wit faints .

Switch and spurs , switch and spurs ; or I'll cry a match .

Nay , if thy wits run the wild-goose chase , I have 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 here 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 in to 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 by nature : for this drivelling 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 .

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 ye good morrow , gentlemen .

God ye good den , fair gentlewoman .

Is it good den ?

'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 for himself to mar .

By my troth , it is well said ; 'for himself to mar ,' quoth a' ?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 .

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 .


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 .


Marry , farewell ! 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 a' speak anything against me , I'll take him down , an a' were lustier than he is , and twenty such Jacks ; and if I cannot , I'll find those that shall . Scurvy knave ! I am none of his flirt-gills ; I am none of his skeins-mates .

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 .

Now , afore God , I am so vexed , that every part about me quivers . Scurvy knave ! Pray you , sir , a word ; and as I told you , my young lady bade me inquire you out ; what she bid me say I will keep to myself ; but first let me tell ye , if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise , as they say , it were a very gross kind of behaviour , 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 Laurence' cell ,
Be shriv'd and married . Here is for thy pains .

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 top-gallant 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 .

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 ?

I 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's 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 had 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 .


The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse ;
In half an hour she promis'd 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 glide than the sun's beams ,
Driving back shadows over lowering hills :
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd 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'd 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 .


O God ! she comes . O honey nurse ! what news ?

Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away .

Peter , stay at the gate .


Now , good sweet nurse ; O Lord ! why look'st thou sad ?
Though news be sad , yet tell them merrily ;
If good , thou sham'st 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 jaunce have I had !

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 
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 ; O ! my back , my back !
Beshrew your heart for sending me about ,
To catch my death with jauncing 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 ;
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 to-day ?

I have .

Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' 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 .


So smile the heaven 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 ,
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 .


Here comes the lady : O ! so light a foot 
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint :
A lover may bestride the gossamer 
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 are his thanks too much .

Ah ! Juliet , if the measure of thy joy 
Be heap'd like mine , and that thy skill be more 
To blazon it , then sweeten with thy breath 
This neighbour air , and let rich music's tongue 
Unfold the imagin'd 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 half my sum of 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 .


I pray thee , good Mercutio , let's retire :
The day is hot , the Capulets 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 those 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 an egg is full of meat , and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling . Thou hast quarrelled 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 riband ? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling !

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 !

By my head , here come the Capulets .

By my heel , I care not .


Follow me close , for I will speak to them . Gentlemen , good den ! 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 consort'st 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 .

Men's eyes were made to look , and let them gaze ;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure , I .


Well , peace be with you , sir . Here comes my man .

But I'll be hang'd , 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 hate 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 know'st me not .

Boy , this shall not excuse the injuries 
That thou hast done me ; therefore turn and draw .

I do protest I never injur'd 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 my own , be satisfied .

O calm , dishonourable , vile submission !
Alla stoccata carries it away .

Tybalt , you rat-catcher , 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 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 .

Gentle Mercutio , put thy rapier up .

Come , sir , your passado .


Draw , Benvolio ; beat down their weapons .
Gentlemen , for shame , forbear this outrage !
Tybalt , Mercutio , the prince expressly hath 
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets .
Hold , Tybalt ! good Mercutio !


I am hurt .
A plague o' both your 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 .


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 to-morrow , 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 .

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 !


This gentleman , the prince's near ally ,
My very friend , hath got his mortal hurt 
In my behalf ; my reputation stain'd 
With Tybalt's slander , Tybalt , that an hour 
Hath been my kinsman . O sweet Juliet !
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate ,
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel !


O Romeo , Romeo ! brave Mercutio's dead ;
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd 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 .


Here comes the furious Tybalt back again .

Alive ! in triumph ! and Mercutio slain !
Away to heaven , respective lenity ,
And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now !
Now , Tybalt , take the villain back again 
That late thou gav'st 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 .

Thou wretched boy , that didst consort him here ,
Shalt with him hence .

This shall determine that .


Romeo , away ! be gone !
The citizens are up , and Tybalt slain .
Stand not amaz'd : the prince will doom thee death 
If thou art taken : hence ! be gone ! away !

O ! I am Fortune's fool .

Why dost thou stay ?

Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio ?
Tybalt , that murderer , which way ran he ?

There lies that Tybalt .

Up , sir , go with me .
I charge thee in the prince's name , obey .


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 spill'd 
Of my dear kinsman . Prince , as thou art true ,
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 , bade him bethink 
How nice the quarrel was , and urg'd withal 
Your high displeasure : all this , uttered 
With gentle breath , calm look , knees humbly bow'd ,
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 entertain'd 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 .

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 offence 
Immediately we do exile him hence :
I have an interest in your hate's 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's found , that hour is his last .
Bear hence this body and attend our will :
Mercy but murders , pardoning those that kill .


Gallop apace , you fiery-footed steeds ,
Towards Ph bus' lodging ; such a waggoner 
As Ph thon would whip you to the west ,
And bring in cloudy night immediately .
Spread thy close curtain , love-performing night !
That runaway's eyes may wink , and Romeo 
Leap to these arms , untalk'd of and unseen !
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 
By their own beauties ; 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 ,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods :
Hood my unmann'd blood , bating in my cheeks ,
With thy black mantle ; till strange love , grown 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 on a raven's back .
Come , gentle night ; come , loving , black-brow'd night ,
Give me my Romeo : and , when he 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 possess'd it , and , though I am sold ,
Not yet enjoy'd . 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 . 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 bade thee fetch ?

Ay , ay , the cords .


Ah me ! what news ? why dost thou wring thy hands ?

Ah well-a-day ! 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 ;
Who ever would have thought it ? Romeo !

What devil art thou that dost torment me thus ?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell .
Hath Romeo slain himself ? say thou but 'I ,' 
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 make thee answer 'I .' 
If he be slain , say 'I ;' or if not 'no :' 
Brief sounds determine of 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 bedaub'd in blood ,
All in gore blood ; I swounded at the sight .

O break , my heart !poor bankrupt , 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 ?
Is Romeo slaughter'd , 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 banished ;
Romeo , that kill'd him , he is banished .

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 flowering face !
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ?
Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical !
Dove-feather'd raven ! wolvish-ravening lamb !
Despised substance of divinest show !
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st ;
A damned saint , an honourable 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 naught ,
All perjur'd , all dissemblers , all forsworn .
Ah ! where's my man ? give me some aqua vit :
These griefs , these woes , these sorrows make me old .
Shame come to Romeo !

Blister'd be thy tongue 
For such a wish ! he was not born to shame :
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ;
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd 
Sole monarch of the universal earth .
O ! what a beast was I to chide at him .

Will you speak well of him that kill'd 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 kill'd 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 murder'd me : I would forget it fain ;
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 Tybalts . Tybalt's death 
Was woe enough , if it had ended there :
Or , if sour woe delights in fellowship ,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs ,
Why follow'd not , when she said 'Tybalt's dead ,' 
Thy father , or thy mother , nay , or both ,
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd ?
But with a rearward following Tybalt's 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 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 . Poor ropes , you are beguil'd ,
Both you and I , for Romeo is exil'd :
He made you for a highway to my bed ,
But I , a maid , die maiden-widowed .
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 ye , your Romeo will be here to-night :
I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell .

O ! find him ; give this ring to my true knight ,
And bid him come to take his last farewell .


Romeo , come forth ; come forth , thou fearful man :
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts ,
And thou art wedded to calamity .


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 vanish'd 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 .' 

Hence from Verona art thou banished .
Be patient , for the world is broad and wide .

There is no world without Verona walls ,
But purgatory , torture , hell itself .
Hence banished is banish'd from the world ,
And world's exile is death ; then 'banished ,' 
Is death mis-term'd . Calling death 'banished ,' 
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe ,
And smil'st 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 rush'd aside the law ,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment :
This is dear mercy , and thou seest it not .

'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 honourable 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 ;
Flies may do this , but I from this must fly :
They are free men , but I am banished .
And sayst thou yet that exile is not death ?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd , no sharp-ground knife ,
No sudden mean of death , though ne'er so mean ,
But 'banished' to kill me ? 'Banished !' 
O friar ! the damned use that word in hell ;
Howlings attend it : how hast thou the heart ,
Being a divine , a ghostly confessor ,
A sin-absolver , and my friend profess'd ,
To mangle me with that word 'banished ?' 

Thou fond mad man , hear me but speak a word .

O ! thou wilt speak again of banishment .

I'll give thee armour to keep off that word ;
Adversity's sweet milk , philosophy ,
To comfort thee , though thou art banished .

Yet 'banished !' Hang up philosophy !
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet ,
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 murdered ,
Doting like me , and like me banished ,
Then mightst thou speak , then mightst thou tear thy hair ,
And fall upon the ground , as I do now ,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave .


Arise ; one knocks : good Romeo , hide thyself .

Not I ; unless the breath of heart-sick groans ,
Mist-like , infold me from the search of eyes .


Hark ! how they knock . Who's there ? Romeo arise ;
Thou wilt be taken . Stay awhile ! Stand up ;

Run to my study . By and by ! God's will !
What wilfulness is this ! I come , I come !

Who knocks so hard ? whence come you ? what's your will ?

Let me come in , and you shall know my errand :
I come from Lady Juliet .

Welcome , then .


O holy friar ! O ! tell me , holy friar ,
Where is 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 ,
Blubbering and weeping , weeping and blubbering .
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 ! Well , death's the end of all .

Spak'st thou of Juliet ? how is it with her ?
Doth she not think me an old murderer ,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy .
With blood remov'd but little from her own ?
Where is she ? and how doth she ? and what says 
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd 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 .

As if that name ,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun ,
Did murder her ; as that name's cursed hand 
Murder'd 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 .


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 ;
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both !
Thou hast amaz'd me : by my holy order ,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd .
Hast thou slain Tybalt ? wilt thou slay thyself ?
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives ,
By doing damned hate upon thyself ?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth , the heaven , and earth ?
Since birth , and heaven , and earth , all three do meet 
In thes at once , which thou at once wouldst lose .
Fie , fie ! thou sham'st 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 valour of a man ;
Thy dear love , sworn , but hollow perjury ,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd 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 ,
To set a-fire by thine own ignorance ,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence .
What ! rouse thee , man ; thy Juliet is alive ,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead ;
There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee ,
But thou slew'st Tybalt ; there art thou happy too :
The law that threaten'd 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 misbehav'd and sullen wench ,
Thou pout'st 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 stay'd 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 .
Hie you , make haste , for it grows very late .


How well my comfort is reviv'd by this !

Go hence ; good-night ; and here stands all your state :
Either be gone before the watch be set ,
Or by the break of day disguis'd 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 ; goodnight .

But that a joy past joy calls out on me ,
It were a grief so brief to part with thee :
Farewell .


Things have fall'n out , sir , so unluckily ,
That we have had no time to move our daughter :
Look you , she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly ,
And so did I : well , we were born to die .
'Tis very late , she'll not come down to night :
I promise you , but for your company ,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago .

These times of woe afford no time to woo .
Madam , good-night : commend me to your daughter .

I will , and know her mind early to-morrow ;
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness .

Sir Paris , I will make a desperate tender 
Of my child's love : I think she will be rul'd 
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 to-morrow .

Well , get you gone : o' Thursday be it then .
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 very late ,
That we may call it early by and by .
Good-night .


Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day :
It was the nightingale , and not the lark ,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ;
Nightly she sings on you 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 .

Yon light is not daylight , I know it , I :
It is some meteor that the sun exhales ,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer ,
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 grey 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 , 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 doth not so , for she divideth us :
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes ;
O ! now I would they had chang'd voices too ,
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray ,
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day .
O ! now be gone ; more light and light it grows .

More light and light ; more dark and dark our woes .


Madam !

Nurse !

Your lady mother is coming to your chamber :
The day is broke ; be wary , look about .


Then , window , let day in , and let life out .

Farewell , farewell ! one kiss , and I'll descend .


Art thou gone so ? my lord , my love , my 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 time 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 look'st pale .

And trust me , love , in my eye so do you :
Dry sorrow drinks our blood . Adieu ! adieu !


O fortune , fortune ! all men call thee fickle :
If thou art fickle , what dost thou with him 
That is renown'd for faith ? Be fickle , fortune ;
For then , I hope , thou wilt not keep him long ,
But send him back .

Ho , daughter ! are you up ?

Who is't that calls ? is it my lady mother ?
Is she not down so late , or up so early ?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither ?


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 ?
And 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 slaughter'd him .

What villain , madam ?

That same villain , Romeo .

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 banish'd runsgate doth live ;
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd 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 vex'd :
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 nam'd , and cannot come to him ,
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt 
Upon his body that hath slaughter'd 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 , I beseech your ladyship ?

Well , well , thou hast a careful father , child ;
One who , to put thee from thy heaviness ,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy 
That thou expect'st not , nor I look'd 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 .


When the sun sets , the air 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 showering ? In one little body 
Thou counterfeit'st 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 
Thy tempest-tossed body . How now , wife !
Have you deliver'd 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 bless'd ,
Unworthy as she is , that we have wrought 
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ?

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 now ! how now , chop-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 ?

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 bless'd 
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 ye good den .

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 match'd ; and having now provided 
A gentleman of noble parentage ,
Of fair demesnes , youthful , and nobly train'd ,
Stuff'd , as they say , with honourable parts ,
Proportion'd 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 ;
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 .


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 .


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 practise 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 ,
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 .

Speakest thou from thy heart ?

And from my soul too ;
Or else beshrew them both .

Amen !

What !

Well , thou hast comforted me marvellous much .
Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone ,
Having displeas'd my father , to Laurence' cell ,
To make confession and to be absolv'd .

Marry , I will ; and this is wisely done .


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 prais'd him with above compare 
So many thousand times ? Go , counsellor ;
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain .
I'll to the friar , to know his remedy :
If all else fail , myself have power to die .


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'd of love ;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears .
Now , sir , her father counts it dangerous 
That she doth give her sorrow so much sway ,
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage 
To stop the inundation of her tears ;
Which , too much minded by herself alone ,
May be put from her by society .
Now do you know the reason of this haste .

I would I knew not why it should be slow'd .
Look , sir , here comes the lady towards my cell .


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 ye , 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 abus'd 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 slander'd it .

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 ?

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 .


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

Ah ! 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 hear'st of this ,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it :
If , in thy wisdom , thou canst give no help ,
Do thou but call my resolution wise ,
And with this knife I'll help it presently ,
God join'd my heart and Romeo's , thou our hands ;
And ere this hand , by thee to Romeo seal'd ,
Shall be the label to another deed ,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
Turn to another , this shall slay them both .
Therefore , out of thy long-experienc'd time ,
Give me some present counsel ; or behold ,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
Shall play the umpire , arbitrating that 
Which the 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 speak'st speak not of remedy .

Hold , daughter ; I do spy a kind of hope ,
Which craves as desperate an execution 
As that is desperate which we would prevent .
If , rather than to marry County Paris ,
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself ,
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake 
A thing like death to chide away this shame ,
That cop'st with death himself to 'scape from it ;
And , if thou dar'st , I'll give thee remedy .

O ! bid me leap , rather than marry Paris ,
From off the battlements of yonder tower ;
Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid me lurk 
Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house ,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones ,
With reeky shanks , and yellow chapless 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 unstain'd wife to my sweet love .

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

Give me , give me ! O ! tell me not of fear !

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 !


So many guests invite as here are writ .

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 , be gone .

We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time .
What ! is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence ?

Ay , forsooth .

Well , he may chance to do some good on her :
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is .

See where she comes from shrift with merry look .


How now , my headstrong ! where have you been gadding ?

Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin 
Of disobedient opposition 
To you and your behests ; and am enjoin'd 
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here ,
And beg your pardon . Pardon , I beseech you !
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you .

Send for the county ; go tell him of this :
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning .

I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell ;
And gave him what becomed love I might ,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty .

Why , I'm glad on't ; this is well : stand up :
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 to-morrow ?

No , not till Thursday ; there is time enough .

Go , nurse , go with her . We'll to church to-morrow .


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 to-night ; let me alone ;
I'll play the housewife for this once . What , ho !
They are all forth : well , I will walk myself 
To County Paris ; to prepare him up 
Against to-morrow . My heart is wondrous light ,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd .


Ay , those attires are best ; but , gentle nurse ,
I pray thee , leave me to myself to-night ;
For I have need of many orisons 
To move the heavens to smile upon my state ,
Which , well thou know'st , is cross and full of sin .


What ! are you busy , ho ? need you my help ?

No , madam ; we have cull'd such necessaries 
As are behoveful for our state to-morrow :
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 .


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 .
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 minister'd to have me dead ,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd 
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 .
I will not entertain so bad a thought .
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 these many hundred years , the bones 
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ;
Where bloody Tybalt , yet but green in earth ,
Lies festering 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 ,
Environed with all these hideous fears ,
And madly play with my forefathers' joints ,
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ?
And , in this rage , with some great kinsman's bone ,
As with a club , dash out my desperate brains ?
O , look ! methinks I see my cousin's ghost 
Seeking out Romeo , that did spit his body 
Upon a rapier's point . Stay , Tybalt , stay !
Romeo , I come ! this do I drink to thee .


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

They call for dates and quinces in the pastry .


Come , stir , stir , stir ! the second cock hath crow'd ,
The curfew bell hath rung , 'tis three o'clock :
Look to the bak'd meats , good Angelica :
Spare not for cost .

Go , go , you cot-quean , go ;
Get you to bed ; faith , you'll be sick to-morrow 
For this night's watching .

No , not a whit ; what ! I have watch'd 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 .


A jealous-hood , a jealous-hood !


Now , fellow ,

What's there ?

Things for the cook , sir ; but I know not what .

Make haste , make haste .

Sirrah , fetch drier logs :
Call Peter , he will show thee where they are .

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 logger-head . Good faith ! 'tis day :
The county will be here with music straight ,
For so he said he would .

I hear him near .
Nurse ! Wife ! what , ho ! What , nurse , I say !


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 .

Mistress ! what , mistress ! Juliet ! fast , I warrant her , she :
Why , lamb ! why , lady ! fie , you slug-a-bed !
Why , love , I say ! madam ! sweet-heart ! why , bride !
What ! not a word ? you take your pennyworths now :
Sleep for a week ; for the next night , I warrant ,
The County Paris hath set up his rest ,
That you shall rest but little . God forgive me ,
Marry , and amen , how sound is she asleep !
I needs must wake her . Madam , madam , madam !
Ay , let the county take you in your bed ;
He'll fright you up , i' faith . Will it not be ?
What , dress'd ! and in your clothes ! and down again !
I must needs wake you . Lady ! lady ! lady !
Alas ! alas ! Help ! help ! my lady's dead !
O ! well-a-day , that ever I was born .
Some aqua-vit , ho ! My lord ! my lady !


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 .


For shame ! bring Juliet forth ; her lord is come .

She's dead , deceas'd , 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 !

O woeful time !

Death , that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail ,
Ties up my tongue , and will not let me speak .


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 , deflowered by him .
Death is my son-in-law , Death is my heir ;
My daughter he hath wedded : I will die ,
And leave him all ; life , 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 ?

Accurs'd , unhappy , wretched , hateful-day !
Most miserable hour , that e'er time saw 
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage !
But one , poor one , one poor and loving child ,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in ,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight !

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 !

Beguil'd , divorced , wronged , spited , slain !
Most detestable death , by thee beguil'd ,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown !
O love ! O life ! not life , but love in death !

Despis'd , distressed , hated , martyr'd , kill'd !
Uncomfortable time , why cam'st thou now 
To murder , murder our solemnity ?
O child ! O child ! my soul , and not my child !
Dead art thou ! dead ! alack , my child is dead ;
And with my child my joys are buried !

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 advanc'd ;
And weep ye now , seeing she is advanc'd 
Above the clouds , as high as heaven itself ?
O ! in this love , you love your child so ill ,
That you run mad , seeing that she is well :
She's not well married that lives married long ;
But she's best married that dies married young .
Dry up your tears , and stick your rosemary 
On this fair corse ; and , as the custom is ,
In all her best array bear her to church ;
For though fond nature bids us all lament ,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment .

All things that we ordained festival ,
Turn from their office to black funeral ;
Our instruments to melancholy bells ,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast ,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ,
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 ; every one prepare 
To follow this fair corse unto her grave .
The heavens do lower upon you for some ill ;
Move them no more by crossing their high will .


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 .


Musicians ! O ! musicians , 'Heart's ease , Heart's ease :' O ! an ye will have me live , play 'Heart's ease .' 

Why 'Heart's ease ?' 

O ! musicians , because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe ;' 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 .

Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate , I will carry no crotchets :
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 :

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

Why 'silver sound ?' why 'music with her silver sound ?' What say you , Simon Catling ?

Marry , sir , because silver hath a sweet sound .

Pretty ! What say you , Hugh Rebeck ?

I say 'silver sound ,' because musicians sound for silver .

Pretty 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 :

Then music with her silver sound 
With speedy help doth lend redress .

What a pestilent knave is this same !

Hang him , Jack ! Come , we'll in here ; tarry for the mourners , and stay dinner .


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 unaccustom'd spirit 
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts .
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead ;
Strange dream , that gives a dead man leave to think ,
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips ,
That I reviv'd , and was an emperor .
Ah me ! how sweet is love itself possess'd ,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy !


News from Verona ! How now , Balthasar ?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar ?
How doth my lady ? Is my father well ?
How fares my Juliet ? That I ask again ;

For nothing can be ill if she be well .

Then she is well , and nothing can be ill ;
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument ,
And her immortal part with angels lives .
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault ,
And presently took post to tell it you .
O ! pardon me for bringing these ill news ,
Since you did leave it for my office , sir .

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

I do beseech you , sir , have patience :
Your looks are pale and wild , and do import 
Some misadventure .

Tush , thou art deceiv'd ;
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 .

Well , Juliet , I will he with thee to-night .
Let's see for means : O mischief ! thou art swift 
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men .
I do remember an apothecary ,
And hereabouts he dwells , which late I noted 
In tatter'd weeds , with overwhelming brows ,
Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks ,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones :
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung ,
An alligator stuff'd , and other skins 
Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
A beggarly account of empty boxes ,
Green earthen pots , bladders , and musty seeds ,
Remnants of packthread , and old cakes of roses ,
Were thinly scatter'd , to make up a show .
Noting this penury , to myself I said 
An if a man did need a poison now ,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua ,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him .
O ! this same thought did but fore-run my need ,
And this same needy man must sell it me .
As I remember , this should be the house :
Being holiday , the beggar's shop is shut .
What , ho ! apothecary !


Who calls so loud ?

Come hither , man . I see that thou art poor ;
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 discharg'd of breath 
As violently as hasty powder fir'd 
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 fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks ,
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes ,
Contempt and beggary hang 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 .

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 .

There is thy gold , worse poison to men's souls ,
Doing more murders 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 .
Come , cordial and not poison , go with me 
To Juliet's grave , for there must I use thee .


Holy Franciscan friar ! brother , ho !


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 bare-foot brother out ,
One of our order , to associate me ,
Here in this city visiting the sick ,
And finding him , the searchers of the town ,
Suspecting that we both were in a house 
Where the infectious pestilence did reign ,
Seal'd up the doors , and would not let us forth ;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd .

Who bare my letter then to Romeo ?

I could not send it , here it is again ,
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 .


Now must I to the monument alone ;
Within these 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 Mantus ,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come :
Poor living corse , clos'd in a dead man's tomb !


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 thine ear close to the hollow ground :
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread ,
Being loose , unfirm with digging up of graves ,
But thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me ,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach .
Give me those flowers . Do as I bid thee ; go .

I am almost afraid to stand alone 
Here in the churchyard ; yet I will adventure .


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 distill'd by moans :
The obsequies that I for thee will keep 
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep .

The boy gives warning something doth approach .
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night ,
To cross my obsequies and true love's rite ?
What ! with a torch ?muffle me , night , awhile .

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 hear'st 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 , 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 
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 :
Live , and be prosperous ; and farewell , good fellow .

For all this same , I'll hide me here about :
His looks I fear , and his intents I doubt .


Thou detestable maw , thou womb of death ,
Gorg'd 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 banish'd haughty Montague ,
That murder'd my love's cousin , with which grief 
It is supposed the fair creature died ;
And here is come to do some villanous shame 
To the dead bodies : I will apprehend him .

Stop thy unhallow'd toil , vile Montague ,
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ?
Condemned 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 desperate man ;
Fly hence and leave me : think upon these gone ;
Let them affright thee . I beseech thee , youth ,
Put not another sin upon my head 
By urging me to fury : O ! be gone :
By heaven , I love thee better than myself .
For I come hither arm'd against myself :
Stay not , be gone ; live , and hereafter say 
A madman's mercy bade thee run away .

I do defy thy conjurations ,
And apprehend thee for a felon here .

Wilt thou provoke me ? then have at thee , boy !


O Lord ! they fight : I will go call the watch .


O , I am slain !If thou be merciful ,
Open the tomb , lay me with Juliet .


In faith , I will . Let me peruse this face :
Mercutio's kinsman , noble County Paris !
What said my man when my betossed 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 ;
A grave ? O , no ! a lanthorn , slaughter'd 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 interr'd ,

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 ? O my love ! my wife !
Death , that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath ,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty :
Thou art not conquer'd ; 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 ?
O ! what more favour 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 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 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 !
Come , bitter conduct , come , unsavoury guide !
Thou desperate pilot , now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark !
Here's to my love !

O true apothecary !
Thy drugs are quick . Thus with a kiss I die .

Saint Francis be my speed ! how oft to-night 
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 Capel's 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 unlucky thing .

As I did sleep under this yew-tree here ,
I dreamt my master and another fought ,
And that my master slew him .

Romeo !
Alack , alack ! what blood is this which stains 
The stony entrance of this sepulchre ?
What mean these masterless and gory swords 
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace ?

Romeo ! O , pale ! Who else ? what ! Paris too ?
And steep'd 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 .

What's here ? a cup , clos'd 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 .

Thy lips are warm !

Lead , boy : which way ?

Yea , noise ? then I'll be brief . O happy dagger !

This is thy sheath ;

there rest , and let me die .

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 .

Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ,
And Juliet bleeding , warm , and newly dead ,
Who here hath lain these two days buried .
Go , tell the prince , run to the Capulets ,
Raise up the Montagues , some others search :

We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes 
We cannot without circumstance descry .


Here's Romeo's man ; we found him in the churchyard .

Hold him in safety , till the prince come hither .


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 side .

A great suspicion : stay the friar too .


What misadventure is so early up ,
That calls our person from our morning's rest ?


What should it be , that they so shriek abroad ?

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 kill'd .

Search , seek , and know how this foul murder comes .

Here is a friar , and slaughter'd Romeo's man ;
With instruments upon them , fit to open 
These dead men's tombs .

O , heaven !O wife ! look how our daughter bleeds !
This dagger hath mista'en !for , lo , his house 
Is empty on the back of Montague 
And is mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom .

O me ! this sight of death is as a bell ,
That warns my old age to a sepulchre .


Come , Montague : for thou art early up ,
To see thy son and heir more early down .

Alas ! my liege , my wife is dead to-night ;
Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath .
What further woe conspires against mine age ?

Look , and thou shalt see .

O thou untaught ! what manners is in this ,
To press before thy father to a grave ?

Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while ,
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 condemned and myself excus'd .

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 stolen marriage-day 
Was Tybalt's doomsday , whose untimely death 
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city ;
For whom , and not for Tybalt , Juliet pin'd .
You , to remove that siege of grief from her ,
Betroth'd , and would have married her perforce ,
To County Paris : then comes she to me ,
And , with wild looks bid me devise some mean 
To rid her from this second marriage ,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself .
Then gave I her ,so tutor'd 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 borrow'd grave ,
Being the time the potion's force should cease .
But he which bore my letter , Friar John ,
Was stay'd by accident , and yesternight 
Return'd my letter back . Then , all alone ,
At the prefixed 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 sacrific'd , some hour before his time ,
Unto the rigour of severest law .

We still have known thee for a holy man .
Where's Romeo's man ? what can he say in 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 .
This letter he early bid me give his father ,
And threaten'd me with death , going in the vault ,
If I departed not and left him there .

Give me the letter ; I will look on it .
Where is the county's page that rais'd 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 punish'd .

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 raise her statue in pure gold ;
That while Verona by that name is known .
There shall no figure at such rate be set 
As that of true and faithful Juliet .

As rich shall Romeo by his lady 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 pardon'd , and some punished :
For never was a story of more woe 
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo .