Complete Plays, The Read online

  How nice the quarrel was, and urged 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.

  Lady Capulet

  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.

  Prince

  Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;

  Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

  Montague

  Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;

  His fault concludes but what the law should end,

  The life of Tybalt.

  Prince

  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.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II. CAPULET’S ORCHARD.

  Enter Juliet

  Juliet

  Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,

  Towards Phoebus’ lodging: such a wagoner

  As Phaethon 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.

  Enter Nurse, with cords

  Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords

  That Romeo bid thee fetch?

  Nurse

  Ay, ay, the cords.

  Throws them down

  Juliet

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

  Nurse

  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 kill’d, he’s dead!

  Juliet

  Can heaven be so envious?

  Nurse

  Romeo can,

  Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!

  Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!

  Juliet

  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.

  Nurse

  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.

  Juliet

  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!

  Nurse

  O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!

  O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!

  That ever I should live to see thee dead!

  Juliet

  What storm is this that blows so contrary?

  Is Romeo slaughter’d, and is Tybalt dead?

  My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?

  Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!

  For who is living, if those two are gone?

  Nurse

  Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;

  Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.

  Juliet

  O God! did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?

  Nurse

  It did, it did; alas the day, it did!

  Juliet

  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 moral 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!

  Nurse

  There’s no trust,

  No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,

  All forsworn, all naug
ht, all dissemblers.

  Ah, where’s my man? give me some aqua vitae:

  These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.

  Shame come to Romeo!

  Juliet

  Blister’d be thy tongue

  For such a wish! he was not born to shame:

  Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit;

  For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d

  Sole monarch of the universal earth.

  O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

  Nurse

  Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?

  Juliet

  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 lamentations might have moved?

  But with a rear-ward 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?

  Nurse

  Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse:

  Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

  Juliet

  Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,

  When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.

  Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,

  Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled:

  He made you for a highway to my bed;

  But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.

  Come, cords, come, nurse; I’ll to my wedding-bed;

  And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!

  Nurse

  Hie to your chamber: I’ll find Romeo

  To comfort you: I wot well where he is.

  Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:

  I’ll to him; he is hid at Laurence’ cell.

  Juliet

  O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,

  And bid him come to take his last farewell.

  Exeunt

  SCENE III. FRIAR LAURENCE’S CELL.

  Enter Friar Laurence

  Friar Laurence

  Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:

  Affliction is enamour’d of thy parts,

  And thou art wedded to calamity.

  Enter Romeo

  Romeo

  Father, what news? what is the prince’s doom?

  What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

  That I yet know not?

  Friar Laurence

  Too familiar

  Is my dear son with such sour company:

  I bring thee tidings of the prince’s doom.

  Romeo

  What less than dooms-day is the prince’s doom?

  Friar Laurence

  A gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,

  Not body’s death, but body’s banishment.

  Romeo

  Ha, banishment! be merciful, say ‘death;’

  For exile hath more terror in his look,

  Much more than death: do not say ‘banishment.’

  Friar Laurence

  Hence from Verona art thou banished:

  Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

  Romeo

  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 banishment,

  Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,

  And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.

  Friar Laurence

  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.

  Romeo

  ’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 my seize

  On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand

  And steal immortal blessing from her lips,

  Who even in pure and vestal modesty,

  Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;

  But Romeo may not; he is banished:

  Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:

  They are free men, but I am banished.

  And say’st 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’?

  Friar Laurence

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

  Romeo

  O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.

  Friar Laurence

  I’ll give thee armour to keep off that word:

  Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,

  To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

  Romeo

  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.

  Friar Laurence

  O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

  Romeo

  How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

  Friar Laurence

  Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

  Romeo

  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.

  Knocking within

  Friar Laurence

  Arise; one knocks; good Romeo,
hide thyself.

  Romeo

  Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,

  Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

  Knocking

  Friar Laurence

  Hark, how they knock! Who’s there? Romeo, arise;

  Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;

  Knocking

  Run to my study. By and by! God’s will,

  What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

  Knocking

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

  Nurse

  [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet.

  Friar Laurence

  Welcome, then.

  Enter Nurse

  Nurse

  O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,

  Where is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?

  Friar Laurence

  There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

  Nurse

  O, he is even in my mistress’ case,

  Just in her case! O woful sympathy!

  Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,

  Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.

  Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:

  For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand;

  Why should you fall into so deep an O?

  Romeo

  Nurse!

  Nurse

  Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death’s the end of all.

  Romeo

  Spakest 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 removed but little from her own?

  Where is she? and how doth she? and what says

  My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?

  Nurse

  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.

  Romeo

  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.

  Drawing his sword

  Friar Laurence

  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 amazed me: by my holy order,

  I thought thy disposition better temper’d.

  Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?

  And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,

  By doing damned hate upon thyself?