The Family Shakspeare

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

That Romeo bade thee fetch?

Nurse.

Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down. Jul. Ah 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!

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd
your cousin?

Jul. 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.

Alack the day!—he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse.

Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot : O Romeo! Romeo!
Who ever would have thought it? - Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
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,-
'Twas here, e'en here, upon his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swoonded at the sight.

Jul. 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!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd 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.

Jul. O heaven!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's

And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my hus-
band:

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 horrid 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 2 lamentation might have mov'd?
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. Jul. 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.

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

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

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exíle is death: - then banishment
Is death mis-term'd: calling death - banishment,
Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. 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.

Rom. '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 4,
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;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when 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 cruel friar, how hast thou the heart,

Being a divine, a ghostly cónfessor,

A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,

To mangle me with that word—banishment?

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,

word.

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. 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.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men
have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what 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,

And then down falls again.

Rom.

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

Doth my name lodge?
The hateful mansion.

Fri.

anatomy

tell me, that I may sack
[Drawing his Sword.
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 too that lives in thee,

Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy By doing violence upon thyself?

Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fye, fye! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like an 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,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set on 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 lights upon thy back:
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behav'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.

Nurse. I could have staid all night, To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

[Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: Good night: and here stands all your state 5;

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

SCENE IV.

[Exeunt.

To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate 7 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?

The whole of your fortune depends on this.
• Shut up.
7 Bold.

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?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree :

Rom. 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.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. And light thee on thy way to Mantua:

Rom. 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! 8 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care 9 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.

Jul. 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 division1; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had changed voices too;

O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. Rom. More light and light? -more dark and dark our woes.

1 Division was the technical phrase for musical composition.

Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. [ROMEO descends.

Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord! my friend!

I must hear from thee every day i' 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.

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall

serve

For sweet discourses in our time to come,

Jul. Alas, I have an ill-divining soul: Methinks, I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale. Rom. And trust me, love, in mine eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu! [Exit ROMEO. Jul. 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.

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up. Jul. 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 2 her hither?

I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much
for his death,

As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, madam?
La. Cap.
That same villain, Romeo.
Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder.
Heaven pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.
La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer
lives.

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands.

'Would, none but I might 'venge my cousin's death! La. Cap. 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 runagate doth live,

2 Brings.

That shall bestow on him so sure a draught, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company : And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

Jul. 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!

La. Cap. Find thou the means, and I'll find such

a man.

But now, I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needful time:

What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

La. Cap. 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.

Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
La. Cap. 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.

Jul. 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!
La. Cap. Here comes your father: tell him so
yourself,

And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and Nurse.

Cap. 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?
Ever more 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,

And yet not proud; — Mistress minion, you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to St. Peter's church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

La. Cap.
Fye, fye! what, are you mad?
Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.

Cap. 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 heaven had sent us but this only child :
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her.

Nurse. You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,

Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse. May not one speak?
Cap.

No: Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

La Cap.

You are too hot.

Jul. 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. La. Cap. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:

Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. [Exit. Jul. O heaven! - O nurse! how shall this be prevented?

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Is banish'd; 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 is naught 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,

As living here and you no use of him. Jul. Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse.

Cap. It makes me mad: Day, night, late, early, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, At home, abroad, alone, in company, Waking, or sleeping, still my care hath been To have her matched: and having now provided A gentleman of princely parentage,

Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd (as they say) with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's heart could 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 i' 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. [Exit.

Or else beshrew them both.

Jul.

Nurse.

From my soul too,

Amen!

To what? Jul. 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.

Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

[Exit.

Jul. 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. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS. Fri On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. Par. My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste.

Fri. You say you do not know the lady's mind; Uneven is the course, I like it not.

Par. 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.

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

Enter JULIET.

Par. Happily met, my lady, and my wife!

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