Original subtitles

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 misadventured 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'

traffic of our stage; The which if you with

patient ears attend, What here shall miss,

our toil shall strive to mend.

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 runn'st 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:

Here comes two

of the house of the Montagues.

Quarrel, quarrel,

I will back thee.

How! turn thy back and run?

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?

Come, come, come, come.

Come! RUN!

Abraham.

Open there.

Open, Open.

Open!

What, art thou drawn among these

heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

A servant of the Capulets has killed

Abraham. Abraham has benn killed

at the hands of a Capulet!

What's this?

Abraham! Abraham! Abraham!

Where's my man? Where's my man!

What noise is this?

Abraham is dead.

Give me my sword!

Give me my long sword, ho!

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,

Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,

By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,

On pain of torture, from those bloody hands

Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.

If ever you disturb our streets again,

Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

Good-morrow, cousin.

Is the day so young?

But new struck nine.

Ay me!

sad hours seem long.

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!

Why, then, O brawling love!

O loving hate!

O any thing, of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness!

serious vanity!

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.

This love that thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to

too much of mine own.

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.

Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:

Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!

Juliet!

How now! who calls?

Your mother.

Come now, quick, quick!

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.

How long is it now To Lammas-tide?

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,

For then she could stand alone;

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 holidame, The pretty wretch left

crying and said 'Ay.'

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.'

And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse,

say I.

Peace, I have done.

God mark thee to his grace!

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?

To marry?

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.

Thus then in brief:

The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

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.

The earth hath swallow'd all my

hopes but she, But woo her, gentle

Paris, get her heart, 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.

But my will to her consent is but a part.

Madam, Juliet.

Come quickly.

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;

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.

At this same ancient feast of

Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom

thou so lovest,

I aim'd so near, when I supposed

you loved.

A right fair mark, fair coz,

is soonest hit.

Good evening my lord.

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, O, she is rich in

beauty, only poor, That when she dies

with beauty dies her store.

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.

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.

Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.

O, teach me how I should forget

to think.

Examine other beauties.

Farewell: thou canst not teach me

to forget.

One fairer than my love!

the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match

since first the world begun.

Juliet, the county stays.

Go, girl, seek happy nights to

happy days.

Welcome, gentlemen!

ladies that have their toes Unplagued

with corns will have a bout with you.

Ah ha, my mistresses!

which of you all Will now deny to dance?

Romeo is here.

Romeo?

Yes sir.

Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,

A villain that is hither come in

spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night

My fair ladies.

my noble lords, now the musicians of

center Rome, will pay for you the

beautiful galliard.

Young Romeo is it?

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

I would not for the wealth of all

the town Here in my house do him

disparagement: Therefore be

patient, take no note of him:

I'll not endure him.

He shall be endured:

I have seen the day That I have worn

a visor and could tell A whispering

tale in a fair lady's ear,

For shame!

I'll make you quiet.

What, cheerly, my hearts!

Put on the mask.

Leave this place at once.

Go.

O, she doth teach the torches to

burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of

night Like a rich jewel in an

Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for

use, for earth too dear!

What lady is that, which doth enrich

the hand Of yonder knight?

I know not, sir.

The measure done, I'll watch her place

of stand, And, touching hers,

make blessed my rude hand.

Shall we rest?

If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with

a tender kiss.

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.

Madam, your mother craves a word

with you.

Who is her mother?

Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the

lady of the house,

Is she a Capulet?

Where's he gone?

Where?

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!

My life is my foe's debt.

Can I go forward when my heart

is here?

Where the devil should this Romeo be?

Came he not home to-night?

Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline.

Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

Romeo, my cousin Romeo!

The fool is gone.

He is mad.

He is wise; And, on my lie, hath

stol'n him home to bed.

Call, call, call!

Call, good Mercutio.

Call?

Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours!

madman! passion! lover!

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;

Hey! Come!

I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright

eyes, By her high forehead and her

scarlet lips, By her fine foot, straight

leg and quivering thigh And the

demesnes that there adjacent lie,

And if he hear thee,

thou wilt anger him.

This cannot anger him: my invocation

Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s'

name I conjure only but to raise up him.

Come, shall we go?

Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him

here that means not to be found.

Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

If love be blind, love cannot hit

the mark.

He jests at scars that never felt

a wound

But, soft!

what light through yonder window breaks?

O Romeo, Romeo!

wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

'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!

that which we call a rose By any other

name would smell as sweet;

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 baptized; Henceforth

I never will be Romeo.

What man art thou

By a name I know not how to tell 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 utterance,

yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo

and a Montague?

Neither, fair saint, if either

thee dislike.

How camest thou hither, tell me,

and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high and hard

to climb,

With love's light wings did I

o'er-perch these walls; For stony

limits cannot hold love out, Therefore

thy kinsmen are no let to me.

If they do see thee, they will

murder thee.

I have night's cloak to hide me from

their sight; 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, who first did prompt me to

inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent

him eyes.

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; O gentle Romeo, If thou

dost love, pronounce it faithfully: In

truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And

therefore thou mayst think my 'havior

light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove

more true Than those that have more

cunning to be strange.

Do 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, And

I'll believe thee.

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.

I hear some noise within; dear love,

adieu!

Juliet.

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.

So thrive my soul--

A thousand times good night!

A thousand times the worse, to want

thy light

Hist! Romeo, hist!

O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this

tassel-gentle back again!

Romeo!

My dear?

Romeo!

My dear?

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,

And I'll still stay, to have thee

still forget,

'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.

Goodnight.

The grey-eyed morn smiles on the

frowning night, Chequering the

eastern clouds with streaks of light,

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,

O, mickle is the powerful grace that

lies In herbs, plants, stones, and

their true qualities:

Within the infant rind of this sweet flower

Within the infant rind of this...

Within the infant rind of this sweet

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.

Good morrow, father.

Benedicite!

No. no, no.

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-roused 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?

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;

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 combined, save what

thou must combine By holy marriage:

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!

And art thou changed?

pronounce this sentence then,

Women may fall, when there's no

strength in men.

Thou chid'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.

In one respect I'll thy assistant

be; For this alliance may so happy prove,

To turn your households' rancour

to pure love.

The clock struck nine when I did send

the nurse; In half an hour she promised

to return.

Perchance she cannot meet him:

that's not so.

love's heralds should be thoughts, Which

ten times faster glide than the

sun's beams,

O God, she comes!

O, she comes!

O honey nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him?

I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie,

how my bones ache!

what a jaunt have I had!

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?

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?

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; Henceforward

do your messages yourself.

Oh. Here's such a coil!

come, what says Romeo?

Have you got leave to go to

church to-morrow?

I have.

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;

Two such opposed foes encamp them still In

man as well as herbs, grace and rude will

And where the worser is predominant

It is she.

And where the worser

is predominant,

Let's go father.

And where the worser is

predominant, Full soon the canker death

eats up that plant.

Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

So smile the heavens upon this holy act,

That after hours with sorrow chide us not!

Do thou but close our hands with

holy words, Then love-devouring death

do what he dare;

(Speaking in Latin)

Amen!

Amen.

Thank you sir.

oh, gold, come quick, look.

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;

Boy, this shall not excuse the

injuries That thou hast done me;

therefore turn and draw.

I do protest, I never injured 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,

Mercutio!

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, drybeat the rest of the eight.

Will you pluck your sword out of his

pitcher 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

Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

Good Mercutio!

Why the devil came you between us?

I was hurt under your arm.

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 on both your houses!

O Romeo, Romeo,

brave Mercutio's dead!

Away to heaven, respective lenity,

And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!

Now Tybalt, take the villain back again,

That late thou gavest 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.

Romeo, away, be gone!

The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.

Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee

death, If thou art taken: hence, away,

be gone!

O, I am fortune's fool.

Where are the vile beginners of

this fray?

I can discover all

Tybalt, my cousin!

O my brother's child!

For blood of ours,

shed blood of Montague.

Oh bloody fill of my dear kin.

Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Can heaven be so envious?

Romeo can, Though heaven cannot:

O Romeo, Romeo!

Who ever would have thought it?

Romeo!

Can heaven be so envious?

Romeo can

Oh 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!

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?

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty

in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all

naught, all dissemblers.

Shame come to Romeo!