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Though heaven cannot:-0 Romeo! Romeo !---
Who ever would have thought it ?---Romeo !
Jul. 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, 1.
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 bedawb’d in blood,
All in gore blood ;---I swoonded at the sight.
Jul. O break, my heart !---poor bankrupt, break at
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 God !-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's
Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day! it did.
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring 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 !---
0, nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou did'st 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!
Nurse. There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjurid,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.---
Ah, where's my man ? give me some aqua vitæ :-
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo !
Jul. 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 ! 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.
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---bunished;
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 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
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords :---Poor ropes, you are beguild,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exi’d:
He made you for a highway to my bed ;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Conne, 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.
Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take bis last farewell. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.---Friar LAURENCE's Cell.
Enter Friar LAURENCE and Romeo.
Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful
Afiction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom i What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not?
Fri. Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company : I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's
Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha! banishment ? be merciful, say-death : For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death : do not say—banishment.
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. 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 banishment Is death mis-term’d: calling death---banishment, Thou cut'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 herè, 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; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, when I from this must fly;