Complete Plays, The Page 18
Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say.
Exeunt
SCENE V. JULIET’S CHAMBER.
Enter Nurse
Nurse
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 must needs 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?
Undraws the curtains
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 vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!
Enter Lady Capulet
Lady Capulet
What noise is here?
Nurse
O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet
What is the matter?
Nurse
Look, look! O heavy day!
Lady Capulet
O me, O me! My child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! Call help.
Enter Capulet
Capulet
For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse
She’s dead, deceased, she’s dead; alack the day!
Lady Capulet
Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
Capulet
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.
Nurse
O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet
O woful time!
Capulet
Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians
Friar Laurence
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Capulet
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.
Paris
Have I thought long to see this morning’s face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Lady Capulet
Accursed, 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!
Nurse
O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day, most woful 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 woful day, O woful day!
Paris
Beguiled, 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!
Capulet
Despised, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d!
Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
And with my child my joys are buried.
Friar Laurence
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 advanced:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
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 an lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
Capulet
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.
Friar Laurence
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 lour upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will.
Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar Laurence
First Musician
Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.
Nurse
Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up;
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.
Exit
First Musician
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Enter Peter
Peter
Musicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease, Heart’s ease:’ O, an you will have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’
First Musician
Why ‘Heart’s ease?’
Peter
O, musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full of woe:’ O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.
First Musician
Not a dump we; ’tis no time to play now.
Peter
You will not, then?
First Musician
No.
Peter
I will then give it you soundly.
First Musician
What will you give us?
Peter
No money, on my faith, but the gleek;
I will give you the minstrel.
First Musician
Then I will give you the serving-creature.
Peter
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?
First Musician
An you re us and fa us, you note us.
Second Musician
Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Peter
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:
&nb
sp; ‘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?
Musician
Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Peter
Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
Second Musician
I say ‘silver sound,’ because musicians sound for silver.
Peter
Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?
Third Musician
Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter
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.’
Exit
First Musician
What a pestilent knave is this same!
Second Musician
Hang him, Jack! Come, we’ll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
Exeunt
ACT V
SCENE I. MANTUA. A STREET.
Enter Romeo
Romeo
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 breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
That I revived, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d,
When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!
Enter Balthasar, booted
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.
Balthasar
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.
Romeo
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.
Balthasar
I do beseech you, sir, have patience:
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.
Romeo
Tush, thou art deceived:
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Balthasar
No, my good lord.
Romeo
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I’ll be with thee straight.
Exit Balthasar
Well, Juliet, I will lie 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-shaped 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 forerun 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!
Enter Apothecary
Apothecary
Who calls so loud?
Romeo
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 discharged of breath
As violently as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.
Apothecary
Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua’s law
Is death to any he that utters them.
Romeo
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 hangs 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.
Apothecary
My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Romeo
I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Apothecary
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.
Romeo
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.
Exeunt
SCENE II. FRIAR LAURENCE’S CELL.
Enter Friar John
Friar John
Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!
Enter Friar Laurence
Friar Laurence
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.
Friar John
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.
Friar Laurence
Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
Friar John
I could not send it,— here it is again,—
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.
Friar Laurence
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.
Friar John
Br
other, I’ll go and bring it thee.
Exit
Friar Laurence
Now must I to the monument alone;
Within 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 Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;
Poor living corse, closed in a dead man’s tomb!
Exit
SCENE III. A CHURCHYARD; IN IT A TOMB BELONGING TO THE CAPULETS.
Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch
Paris
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.
Page
[Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.
Retires
Paris
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 Page whistles
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.
Retires
Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch, mattock, & c
Romeo
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.