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. And so the prince has called a tournament to keep the battle from the

city streets.

Now rival Capulets and Montagues, they try their strength to gain the royal

ring.

Cousin!

We here declare Mercutio of the House of Montague our champion!

And so I bid you all, enjoy the day!

Juliet,

Juliet, please!

My lady and my lord will soon be home with news of the tournament.

Then hurry, nurse.

Why do you dally so?

I should so hurry till my heart gives out. Your heart is made of sterner stuff

than that.

Your heart is made of sterner stuff?

That you should laugh to see me so wore out. I keep you fast to make you young

and strong.

Do you not choke to see Lord Tybalt bested by a Montague dog? Leave it. The

quarrel is between our masters. The quarrel is between our masters and us,

their men.

Stop!

Stop!

Put up your sword. You know not what you do.

Hold up there. Turn thou, Bambolio, and look upon thy death.

Tybalt, I do but keep the peace.

Put up your sword, I'll manage it to part these men with me. What?

Do you draw your sword and talk of peace?

I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.

Dance, Tybalt!

You argue with a child, turn now, and fight your equal if you dare.

Old Montague doth flourish his blade in spite of me.

No! Enough!

The prince!

Rebellious subjects!

Stop this!

Enemies to peace would stain the pleasure of a tournament with bitter

blood.

Throw your ill-tempered weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your

angry prince.

Free civil brawls. Bread of a foolish word.

by thee, Lord Capulet, or Montague, have thrice destroyed the calm of our

streets.

If ever you disturb our town again, your lives will pay the price for the

offense.

You, Capulet, you go along with me, and Montague come you this afternoon.

And now, on pain of death, all fighting men depart.

Good afternoon, my cousin.

Is it so?

I thought it should be night.

Not much past four.

When I'm sad, the hours seem long.

And what sadness lengthens Ramiro's hours?

I lack the thing which, if I had it, would make them short.

I see.

You're in love.

How was the tournament?

It served its turn.

To launch another clash with Capulets.

So you must fence with hate and I with love.

Love is a harsh tyrant where he rules.

Love is a smoke raised on the fume of sighs and madness drenched

in syrup and choked with rage.

May I not know who it is you love?

I love a woman.

That much I found unaided.

Who loves me not?

Sweet cousin, say not so.

But may I have a name?

Rosaline.

Rosaline.

The niece of Lord Capulet. The same.

Be ruled by me and forget to think of her.

Oh, teach me how I should forget to think.

Love will not call on you but once, nor stay forever when he comes.

Release your eyes. Be glad she does not care.

Examine other beauties. To what purpose?

Cousin, I pray you change your mind.

My child is still a stranger to this world.

Let two more summers wither in their pride before we judge her right to be a

wife. Younger than she, you're happy mothers now.

Juliet is my only living child.

She is the hopeful lady of my earth.

But woo her, gentle Paris.

Win her heart.

Now.

Peter! Sir!

Come hither, pray.

Take this list of the last and final names, search them through all Verona,

bid them come to feast and welcome at my house this night.

Find out those men whose names are written here.

I must first find out what names he here has writ.

Pray you sir. Can you read I have I know the letters in the language?

Stay hello, I can read Senior Martino and his wife and daughters

count Anselm and his beauty sisters the lady widow of a travel senior placenta

and his lovely wife my nephew camp Tybalt and Lucio and lively Helena my

fanny's Rosaline assembly is this a mass gathering tonight at our house. She's

out. My master is the great Lord Capulet If you not be at the House of Montague,

you're right welcome for your help.

I'll bid you thanks.

So Rosaline sups with Capulet this night.

Do but compare her face with some I know, and I'll make you think you're

Swan or Crow.

As if there could be fairer than my love.

I'll go tonight, but only to rejoice and worship at the glory of my choice.

Heaven's child.

What are you thinking?

Make haste. The guests will be long gone ere you are ready to receive them.

What is it, Mother?

Juliet, you're a woman now.

Oh, not a woman.

Well, she's nearly a woman.

Nearly, but not yet.

Nurse, I know my daughter's age.

I think of her birth as if it were yesterday.

Day when she did fall and cut her brow, my husband, rest his soul, picked up the

child. Why do you fall on your face, says he? You will fall backward when you

have more wit. And looking up at him, the child said yes. Enough of this. I

pray you hold your peace. Yet, madam, I must laugh to think a child could stop

crying like that and then say yes to Jack. Nurse, I pray you stop.

I beg.

Peace I have done.

But I must say, you were the prettiest babe I ever nursed till now.

If I could live to see you wet, I'll have my... I wish.

And that is the very theme that I came to talk about.

Tell me, daughter, what do you think of marriage?

I never think of it.

Well, think of it now.

Younger than you are mothers. I was your mother, too, when I was your age.

I know it.

Count Paris wants you for his wife and love.

Count Paris?

So, daughter...

Can you love the man?

I hardly know him.

Then learn to know him at the feast tonight.

Seek how you feel.

Study his eyes and read the message there.

See if you can be happy with him.

I'll look and try to like him if that's my parents' wish.

Should we attempt to talk or incite or sweep past in a crowd without a word?

Say nothing lest you say too much. We'll not challenge them for fear they

challenge us.

We'll enter, take the lady's measure, and having taken it, depart.

Nay, gentle Romeo, we must see you dance.

Not I, Mercutio.

You have the dancing shoes and dancing feet to fill them.

My soul is made of lead.

It sticks me to the ground and I cannot move. You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's

wings and pluck.

But should we enter?

I start to fear some consequence, yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly

begin this fearful date.

Maybe we should consider what we do.

I dreamed a dream last night.

And so did I. Well, what was yours?

That dreamers often lie. And better sleep where they do dream things true.

Ah, then I see Queen Mab has been with you. She is the fairy's midwife, and she

comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone.

on the forefinger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies that

thwart men's noses as they lie asleep.

The chariot is an empty hazelnut, and in this state she gallops night by night

through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love. Oh, a courtier's knees

that dream on curtsies straight.

Oh, a lawyer's fingers who straight dream on keys.

Oh, a lady's lips who straight on kisses dream.

Peace, peace, Natusio, enough.

You talk of nothing.

True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain begot of

nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air and more

inconstant than the wind.

Much more of this, and we shall be too late.

Come, let us brave our fears and steer our course, whatever it may prove.

On, lusty gentlemen.

Come, gentlemen.

Ladies that have their toes unplagued with corns will walk about with you.

I welcome you all. Come.

Musicians, play.

A hall.

A hall.

Make room.

Methinks we have the pick of what's unshown. We all look hungrier than a

starving dog.

Ruff!

My lady Juliet.

Count Paris.

Can I beseech that you will pity me enough to dance and warm my evening with

a heavenly smile?

Keep your unmannered hand for lesser prey and leave the fair one to her own

device.

Is that not Rosaline?

Aye, it is she.

Should he not start to make your case?

My case?

When you carried me hither that I might see I have no case to make.

Go, you speak with her.

The Montague's in Capulet's domain?

Messer Benvolio, have you all run mad?

He this I stand for has run mad, for love of your green eyes.

Why is he in need of deputies?

that trembles for your safety.

What lady is that who doth enrich the hand of yonder night?

I do not know.

But Rosaline... She doth teach the torches to burn bright.

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a fine jewel in an Aethiop's

ear.

Beauty too rich for use for earth, too dear.

So shows the snowy dove trooping with crows, as yonder lady all her fellows

shows.

But what of your love, Rosaline?

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear the sight.

I never saw true beauty till this night.

Sir, I must protest.

I have a prior claim. Count Paris, come dance with me.

What claim is that?

Claim of love that ever must be heard.

Then shall I take advantage of this turn?

Try my chances with fair Rosaline.

Now, by the shield and honor of my blood, to strike him dead, I hold it not

a sin. Why, how now, Tybalt? Why storm yourself?

Uncle, the man Juliet is with is a Montague.

Then Romeo is it?

It's him, the villain Romeo.

Content thee, gentle Kaz.

Let him alone.

I heard the prince's warning at the joust.

To harm a Montague under this roof means riot, and in its bloody wake, our

deaths. I would not, for the wealth of all the town, let any harm beset him in

my house. I'm not a jurid.

You will a jurid, for I say you will. Am I master here, or you?

You'll make a mutiny among the guests. You will set cocker-hooper. You'll be

the man. Uncle, it is a shame. Go to, go to.

You shall come treasuring me. You are a prick of scum.

Good, my lord husband.

Why are you so hot? He may be hot, but I am hot as stillness here, Montague, at

leisure here.

The Moresca!

Moresca? Why?

What a perfect dance for our amusement.

To find the dance that's fit for Homie Homie Fust, we need to put a rope around

his neck.

Nay, cousin, come.

Tread alight with me, and I shall coax you into company.

Meet our gentle nephew in a country dance, that we may see your anger is

foresworn.

If you've so order, uncle, but be warned.

This foul invasion that you think's so sweet shall turn to bitter gall before

the end.

Speak, sir.

You are too grave for one who cuts a country dance.

If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine...

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 pilgrim's hands do touch.

Palm to palm is holy, palm is kiss.

Have saints not lips and holy palm is too?

I pilgrim. Lips that they must use in prayer.

Oh, then, dear saint, their lips do what hands do.

They pray.

Grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Oh, saints, do not move, though. Grant for prayer's sake.

Then move not.

While my prayers affect, I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Sin from my lips?

O trespass sweetly urged.

Give me my sin again.

You kiss by the book.

Your mother craves a word with you.

Who is her mother?

Her mother is the lady of the house.

You mean she's a Capulet?

She is.

And I tell you, he that can lay hold of Juliet shall have the chinks.

Oh, my dear God.

My life is my foe's debt.

Know

you

the man my cousin has made welcome?

Nay, but he would seem a goodly youth.

Goodly and deadly.

He is Romeo, hope of the House of Montague.

Come here, the nurse.

Who is that gentleman going through the door?

His name is Romeo and Montague, the only son of your great enemy.

Where only love sprung from my only hate.

Too early seen and known and known too late.

What's this? What's this?

It's nothing.

Somber face, the way after a bull.

If I am young, must I always be glad?

A blackguard then has cracked your peace of mind.

What blackguard would this be?

Not I would name.

Nor let that name be spoken in this house.

Cousin, I love thee.

Tybalt, I know it.

Your honor is as dear to me as life.

And with that warming thought, I'll take my leave.

Can I go home when all my heart is here?

Cousin Romeo!

Romeo!

Should I go home when all my heart is here?

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Cousin Romeo!

He is wise and on my life has stolen home to bed.

He ran this way.

I know he's jumped the wall.

Let's call him good Mercutio.

Romeo!

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks, it is the East.

And Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who's already sick and pale with

grief that thou art made up to far more fair than she.

Wait.

It is my lady.

Oh, it is my love.

Oh, that she knew she were.

The brightness of her cheek would shame the stars as daylight doth a lamp.

Her eyes, set in heaven, would give forth such light that birds would sing

and think it were not night.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.

Now me.

She speaks.

Oh, speak again, bright angel.

Romeo, Romeo.

Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not but be sworn my love,

and I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Tis but thy name that is my enemy.

You'd be yourself if you were not called Montague.

What's in a name?

That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

So Romeo would.

Romeo, cast off thy name, and for that name which is no part of you, take all

of me.

I take you at your word.

Call me your love, and I'll be new baptized, henceforth I never will be

Romeo. What man are you that hides within the shadows of the night to spy

on me?

I know not how to tell you who I am.

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to you.

I have not heard you speak a hundred words, yet I do know the sound of that

sweet voice.

Are you not Romeo and a Montague?

Neither, dear love, if either you dislike.

Why have you come?

This place is death-offending, my kinsman. Find you here.

With loves like wings did I perch these walls.

For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love

attempt.

Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

To see you look severe more frightens me than twenty of their swords.

Look you but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity.

I would not for the world they saw you here.

But I would not have missed the words you spoke.

I'm flushed to think that you have heard tonight.

If I should ask you now for vows of love, I know you will say aye.

But if you swear, you may prove false.

They say that Jove does laugh at lovers' perjuries.

Then will you now call me too fast?

When have you not heard me? I should be slow as ice.

Romeo, trust me, and I will prove more true than those who play the game with

far more cunning wit.

Lady, by yonder moon I swear that tips with silver all the fruit-tree tops. I

swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her second

orb, lest let your love prove likewise variable.

What shall I swear by?

Do not swear at all.

And listen hard.

Are we too rash, too unadvised, too quick?

No.

For this bud of love in summer's breath will prove a beauteous flower next we

meet.

I promise. Juliet!

Go and good night, and let sweet rest come to your heart and mine within my

breast.

But will you leave me so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction will you have tonight?

The exchange of your love's faithful vow for mine.

I gave you mine before you did request it.

My lady!

Madam! But not goodness!

Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay here one, and I will come again.

I'm afraid all this is but a dream, too flattering sweet to be substantial.

I think if you love me pure, your purpose married.

It is, my lady.

I was sent to you to learn my fate, where and what time you will perform the

rite, and all my fortunes at your feet I'll lay, and follow you, my lord,

throughout the world.

A thousand times goodnight. A thousand times the worst to miss your light.

Romeo.

My love.

What time tomorrow should I send to you?

Nine o'clock.

I will not fail.

Tis twenty years till then.

I forgot why I called you back.

Let me stand here till you remember it.

I shall forget to have thee still stand there, remembering how I loved thy

company.

And I'll still stay to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but

this.

Good night, good night.

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Let us just say good night till it be morrow.

Sleep dwell upon thine eyes.

Peace in thy breast.

Lady, come in. You will catch a chill.

Would I were sleep in peace.

So sweet to rest.

The earth is nature's mother and her tomb.

Within the petal trim of this small flower, poison has residence and

medicine power.

Boiled and mixed, the smell will bring us health.

And swallowed?

The result is instant death.

Good morning, Father.

Romeo!

up and about in early morn.

I do not look to see the young at dawn.

Care keeps the old awake and wakes them soon, but young men sleep a golden sleep

till noon.

Or if they don't, and here I'll guess it right, our Romeo hath not been in bed

tonight.

Well, that last is true, but a sweet rest was mine.

Were you with Rosaline?

Oh, I pray you were not playing Satan's game.

Who is Rosaline?

I have forgot the name.

Well, that's good, my son.

Where then have you been?

I'll tell you, ere you ask it me again.

Oh, father, know my heart's desire set on the fair daughter of rich Capulet.

As mine on hers, so hers is set as well. And how we met, and wooed, and how I

fell, I'll say as we walk back.

But this I pray, that you consent to marry us today.

Holy St. Francis!

What a change is here!

Why, she cast off that you did love so dear.

Jesus Maria, what a deal of brine has washed your sallow cheeks for Rosaline.

You scolded me for loving Rosaline. I scolded you for moping like a child.

I'd not believe you tasted true love's joy. Then scold no more.

For God has taught me now to know true love, and Juliet has her face.

Speak you so, though she be a Capulet. What care I for the quarrels of the

past, or rivalries now buried in the tomb?

Well, well.

If this could carry all before, I think I see a chance to end the city's strife.

If, as I pray, your marriage should prove sweet, you'll turn your family's

rancor to pure love.

Come, you waverer, and go along with me.

I'll grant your wish.

And be your wedding priest.

Where then is our Romeo?

Did he come home last night?

Not to this house.

I've spoken with this man.

Mercutio, there's news.

Tybalt has sent a letter here addressed to him.

A challenge on my life.

Which Romeo will meet?

Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead.

Why?

Who and what is Tybalt that he should be so sure of victory?

More than a prince of cats, I tell you now.

He fights like a music player, all precision, and keeps his time and

distance perfect play.

with one and two and three, and in your chest.

He's a gentleman and a jewelist, and none who fight him live to tell the

tale. Ah, gentlemen, I hope you've helped to cover my tracks.

Where did you vanish to last night? You gave us both the slip most prettily.

Pardon the cute show.

I was much taken up.

At such a time, a man may lose his grace.

And more besides.

Nay, we forgive you, for you are Romeo again.

Is this not better now than groaning still for love? Now you are sociable.

Great love will make us only into fools. Stop there.

Romeo, there's a letter come for you.

I fear it is a challenge from Count Tybalt, but which will not brook delay

in your reply.

You could soothe his rage. Excuse me both, I pray thee.

Cousin, where are you going? Romeo, this heavy matter cannot be ignored.

Sir, I desire some talk with you.

What tired old board is this?

And who is he that wears the hated coat of Capulet? Go to. I'd walk a while with

her. And will we see you at your father's dinner? Of course.

I'll be there.

Why was the man so rude?

I'd like to use his tongue to flay and wound a poor old woman.

He was much enamored by the sound of his own voice.

And you stand by and suffer such a knave to use me at his pleasure? If I knew any

man to use you for his pleasure, my weapon would be quickly out, I swear.

Now, before God, I'm so vexed that every part about me quivers.

So, to the business.

My young lady, Juliet. What of her?

She bade me seek you out and say, first, if you should do double with her, you

will have me to answer. Nurse, I do protest.

I'll tell her.

Now, just listen.

She must gain her mother's word to make confession later on today.

Let her become to Father Lawrence's cell.

There she will be absolved and married to.

This afternoon, a bride? Farewell.

Be trusty and commend me to your mistress.

I... There's one thing more.

What is it?

There is a nobleman in town, one Paris, who plans to marry and lie with her.

And does she like him? Never. She would as soon have lain with a stinking toad.

Her thoughts are all with you, as I have taunted her.

But you should know of him.

So I do.

And now commend me to my lady.

I will.

A thousand times.

Why, my darling nurse, what news?

Tell me you've found him.

Good sweet nurse.

Oh, Lord, you look so sad.

Whatever news you bring casts off your gloom.

And if your tale be glad, then do not punish me by wearing such a mask of

tragedy. I'm so weary. Let me rest a while.

Oh, my bones ache after the day I've had. I would exchange my bones for all

your news.

Please speak, I pray you, dear sweetness, do tell.

What's the rush? A minute's patience, please. Can you not see I'm out of

breath? How are you out of breath when you have breath to say to me that you

are out of breath?

Is your news good or bad? Just answer that.

Say either and I'll wait to hear the rest. Let me just know if it is good or

bad.

No.

Well, I must say, you have good

taste in men.

That Romeo's face is handsome as the dawn.

His body, figure, leg.

foot excel against the finest.

These manners might approve, but there is time.

Now, have you dined already?

Not yet.

But, nurse, I knew all this before.

What says he of unmarried? What of that?

Oh, now, my headaches. Oh, what a head I have. It throbs as it would break in

twenty bits. And my back. My back is killing me. It's all your fault for

sending me to town. In future.

Take your messages yourself.

In mercy pity me. What says my Romeo?

Can you have leave today to make confession?

I could.

Then go you from here to Father Lorimus's cell.

You'll find a husband keen.

to make you wife.

Not until you have a bath.

I pray the heavens smile upon this act.

Do not punish us with later sorrow.

Amen.

But come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one

short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close her hands with holy

words, then love devouring death, do what he dare, it is enough that I can

call her mine. These violent passions can have violent ends, and blaze up like

gunpowder in their fiery glory, consuming themselves and others.

The sweetest honey sickens when overate, defeating its own delight.

Therefore, be moderate.

Long-lasting love must be. Love too fast can prove falser than love too slow.

Good evening to my dearest confessor.

Romeo gives thanks to see you here.

Can I owe those thanks to him with all my heart?

O Juliet, if your heart like mine is full, and you have greater skill than I

to speak, then tell the joy that waits us both this night.

They cannot tell a horse's limitless.

They are but beggars who can count their worth.

Enough of love talk.

Come along with me, for we will make short work of binding oaths, and Holy

Church shall join two into one.

Your Majesty, Juliet.

I present to you your legitimate husband, the son of the

Holy Mother of the Church.

Good.

Juliet.

Your Majesty, Romeo.

I present to you your legitimate husband, the son of the Holy Mother of

the Church.

Amen. Amen.

Amen.

Juliet. My lady Juliet.

Scarcely were you both gone, and on your way a messenger from Lord Capulet

arrived.

Your cousin Tybalt has set forth in such a rage. There's trouble in the offing.

Your father bids you hurry back.

I will.

You go with her. See her safely home.

Till tonight.

It is a year away.

Only a year?

You do not love me then.

I pray you good, Mercutio.

Let's go. The Capulets are out.

You are like the man who snatches off his sword on a tavern's table, lays it

down forthwith, and vows to have no need of it.

So with a second beer, he takes it up and runs his host right through.

Oh, I like such a fellow.

You know you're as hot a jack today as any to be found in Italy. You're moody

as moody as a bitch on heat. Is it so?

Why, you'd quarrel with a man for cracking nuts for the insult given to

your hazel eyes. I've seen you quarrel with a man for coughing in the street

because he woke your dog. And if I did, I'm still less quick to find a fight

than you.

By heaven, here come the Capulets.

And do I care?

Wait over here and I will speak with them.

Good morrow, gentlemen.

A word with one of you.

A single word with one of us?

Let's couple it with something. Maybe a word in the blow.

You'll find me good at that, Mercutio, if you'll give me the chance.

Can you not take the chance?

Or must it be given?

I have sent a letter writ to Romeo, whom you consort with.

Consort with?

What? Do you imagine us a pair of minstrels?

For if you do, expect the sharpest notes.

Here's my baton that shall make you dance, consorts indeed.

Mercutio Tybalt, this is a public place.

Either withdraw into some private place and there dispute your grievance, or

else, and better yet, go home. Men's eyes were made to look and let them

gaze. I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Please be with you, sir. Here comes my man.

Your man?

I do not see me in your debris. How dare you call a Montague your man?

Vambolio!

Is something here amiss? 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 does much excuse the appertaining

rage to such a greeting.

Villain am I none.

Therefore, farewell. I see you know me not. Foy!

This will not temper the injuries you have done me.

Therefore, turn and fight.

I do insist I never injured you, but loved you better than you'll understand,

till you do know the reason.

So, good Capulet, a name I love as dearly as my own, be satisfied.

Smooth, dishonorable, vile submission!

Thibault.

You rat-catcher.

Will you walk this way?

What will you want from me?

Good king of cats, just one of your nine lives. You have it to spare with eight

to use hereafter.

What? Do you dither now to draw your sword?

Make haste, or I will pluck you ere it's out.

I am for you.

Then, Mercutio, I beg you, put your sword down. Come, sir. Are you ready?

Let's begin.

Mercutio, stop!

Hermione, help me hold them back.

Mercutio, stop! Stop, please!

Mercutio! Tybalt!

Gentlemen, for shame!

Stop this brawl now!

You know the prince has made his wishes clear!

An end to fighting in Verona streets!

Clemo, it's because you... Oh, it is time for peace!

Let's away.

I'm dead.

This Tybalt gone with no wound to bear.

You shall run to my father's house, Vulture Sergeant.

Tybalt!

Romeo!

Villain! Dog!

If thou art brave, come settle with me, boy.

Have courage, man.

The wound cannot be much.

No.

is not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door.

But it is enough.

It will serve.

Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.

I am peppered.

I warrant for this world.

While the devil came in between us, he stabbed me under your arm. I thought all

for the best.

Best intentions.

He's dead his

gallant spirit is among the clouds

Stay here, Benvolio.

Be what help you may.

I have some business with a new relation.

No! But Romeo, stay!

Timur!

Let it pass.

What, Romeo?

Is it cowardice that holds you back?

Many have died in this place, Montague.

Befriend their spirits while you still have time.

They wait to welcome you with open arms.

They wait for one of us.

That much is sure.

Cousin!

We hit him off.

The gods themselves are angry. Tybalt's killed. Tybalt is slain. Don't stand.

There are days. Go.

The prince will have your head if you're taken.

Go.

Oh, I am fortune's fault.

Tybalt, my nephew, he was my brother's child.

See how the blood is spilled of my dear kinsman, Prince, as you are true.

For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.

Lavalio, who began this bloody fight?

Tybalt here slain, and I was witness how.

Romeo did beg him to desist. Alas, nothing could stay the rage of angry

Tybalt, whose ears were deaf to peace.

But what of the second act?

Mercutio lies dead, and in his grief does blinded Romeo entertain revenge.

He is a cousin of the Montagues.

Affection makes him false.

Romeo killed Tybalt.

Romeo must not live.

Romeo killed him. He killed Mercutio.

Who is the guilty man in all this grief?

Not Romeo, Prince.

He was Mercutio's friend and killed his murderer.

The very end the law would have exacted.

This offense means we do now, at once, exile him hence.

I will be deaf to pleading an excuse, therefore use none.

Let Romeo leave in haste, for if he's found, that hour will be his last.

Did Romeo's hand shed devil's blood?

It did.

I weep to say it, but it did.

And now the prince has exiled Tybalt's murderer.

No. Shame on your Romeo.

Blister your tongue.

What a beast I've been to chide him.

Did Tybalt not first stab Mercutio?

Do you speak well of him that killed your cousin? Shall I speak ill of him

that is my husband?

How stupid I have been to rail when now your news of him is worse than Tybalt's

death. Worse than your cousin's death?

Indeed.

You told me Romeo is banished.

Now one word is greater grief to me than father, mother, Tybalt, and myself, all

dead and buried.

Stay in your room, and I'll find Romeo.

I promise you a husband for tonight.

Bring to my true night.

Let him come to take his last farewell.

I will.

What have I done that murdered my tomorrow?

In killing him whom she must truly love, I have tried and sentenced my own heart

to death.

If she can pity me my suffering, then were it worth a thousand torments more.

Disasters follow you like trusty dogs.

You must be married to calamity.

Tell me the prince's verdict. Am I to die so young?

Not yet, at least.

His judgment has more pity than you dread.

He seeks to have you banished and not dead.

Not banishment.

Be merciful, say death, for exile has more terror in its look, much more than

death. Do not say banishment.

All he asks is that you leave Verona.

It's not so much. The world is broad and wide.

There is no world beyond the city's walls.

Just purgatory, torture, hell itself.

And exile is another word for death.

The prince's kindness is a golden axe that cuts my head off.

Rude, unthankful boy.

The prince, in gentleness, overturns the law.

But this is sweet mercy, and you see it not. 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 honorable state, more courtship lives in carrion flies

than Romeo.

and they may seize on the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand.

I mean, flies may do this, but I from this must fly.

They are free men, but I am banishing.

Romeo, in your ingratitude.

You cannot talk of what you do not feel.

If you were young, like me, and full of love, married, an hour, red with

Tybalt's blood, hungry for Juliet, but banished from her side, then you could

speak, and I would listen.

Where is my lady's lord?

Where is Romeo?

Behold him now with his own tears made drunk.

So is my lady Juliet just the same, blubbering and weeping, weeping and

blubbering. Good nurse, you speak of Juliet.

Say quick, does she now think I'm a murderer?

She weeps and weeps and lies upon her bed and then jumps up and cries out,

tibbled, and then...

My name was fatal to her from the start.

It kills her as it killed her noble kinsman.

Oh, tell me what part of my anatomy does lodge my name and I will hack it up.

What?

Would to kill yourself and all the ladies' hopes?

Look to your wits.

Your Juliet is alive.

There you are happy.

Tybalt would kill you, but you instead kill Tybalt? Take heart!

The prince has altered death to simple exile.

Another stroke of luck to make you smile. Have done with pouting. Go to

your love.

Climb to her chamber. Kiss and comfort her.

But leave before the watch begins to walk to make the journey safe to Lensua,

where you will live till we can find a way to...

Blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, beg pardon of the prince, and

call you back.

Oh, what it is to hear good counsel.

You must return to my lady, Juliet, and say, Romeo is coming.

My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Say I'm prepared to be chastised.

Here's a ring she did bid me give you.

How well my comfort is revived by this.

Be sure you leave before the dawn.

And make your home in Mantua and wait.

I will send you messages with all our news.

If I were not to gain a joy past joy, I'd be sad to leave you.

So farewell.

Why the race to drag her to the church?

Give her time to mourn her cousin. No.

We have no time to waste in sterile tears.

With Paris rested in the slips and soon to be rid of her, if he be not

persuaded, she is his.

I do not think he is so changeable. Let us not take a chance with lovers' vows

when Jove does laugh at their fragility.

Do you want legal offspring from our loins?

With Tybalt dead?

and all our line at risk, young Juliet is the only living course to which our

blood can flow.

You know I do.

Well, then we shall take action when we may, and strike while the iron is hot.

Paris, welcome.

How does my lady in this sorrowful hour?

I would that I might be some comfort to her.

Tonight she is imprisoned in her grief.

But in the morning...

I will know her mind.

Wife, when dawn breaks, bid her make ready for her wedding day.

You will tell her on Thursday she will wed the noble count.

What say you to Thursday?

My lord, I wish Thursday were tomorrow.

Thursday it is then.

Come, gentle knight.

Come, loving black-browed knight. Give me my Romeo.

and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars.

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.

I have speed.

Must you be gone?

It's nowhere near the dawn.

You are the nightingale, not the lark, I promise.

She sings each night sitting in yonder tree.

Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. It was the lark, the herald

of the morn.

No nightingale.

Love, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east?

Night's candles are burnt out, and jock and day stands tiptoe on the misty

mountaintops.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

I do not think the light is daylight yet.

I am content if you would have it so.

I have more heart to stay than will to go.

Come, death and welcome.

Juliet, was it so?

I will lie with you and say it is not day.

It is, it is. Go now, be gone, away.

Oh, it is the lark that sings so out of tune with horrid discords and unpleasant

sharps.

Oh, hurry now, more light and light it grows.

More light and light, more dark and dark our woes.

Madam, what is it?

Your mother is so... coming to your chamber. The day is here. Be careful and

make haste.

I shall be gone.

Your parents cannot know that I have been part of this deceit.

Farewell, my love.

One more kiss and I'll descend.

No. Come this way.

I'll teach Melvolio to learn and use each day. No, more than that. Each hour

and each day. Each minute and each hour is a day for planning lovers.

And amen to that.

Do you believe we'll ever meet again?

I do not doubt it.

Nor that we shall smile to think of all these troubles in the past.

If God would only free me of aboding.

I think I see you.

Now you are below.

As dim and pale as dead men in their tombs.

So are you, dear love, in dawn's draplight.

Our worries make us pale.

So are you.

Fortune, fortune.

All men call you fickle because no fortune ever comes to be.

If that is so, then change again, oh fortune.

Be fickle now and send him back to me.

Please, Ludolio, be a guardian angel to my love.

Watch her firmly and gently as it would do the eye of God.

I will.

I promise you.

Farewell, cousin.

What is the rush?

I pray you, tell my lord I will not marry yet, and when I do, I swear it

shall be Romeo whom I hate rather than Paris whom I despise.

Here comes your father. You can tell him so yourself.

My girl is like a channel.

What more tears?

The level of the sea will start to lift if much more water flows from your sweet

eyes.

Wife, have you told her of her marriage plans?

I have.

And she will have none of it, I swear.

Soft? Soft?

Take me with you, take me with you, wife.

How?

Will she none?

Does she not give us thanks?

Is she not proud?

Does she not think her blessed, unworthy as she is, that we have brought so

worthy a gentleman to be her groom?

Thankful I am and grateful for your love, but proud I cannot be of what I

hate.

Proud, and I thank you, but I thank you not.

Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds. Be ready, lady, Thursday morning

next, to go with Paris to St. Peter's Church, or I will drag thee thither on a

rail. Good father, I beseech you on my knees.

Will you not give me leave to plead my cause?

You!

I tell you what, be there.

Thursday church, you'll never have to look me in the face.

Speak not, but try not. Do not answer me. My fingers itch. My lord, you're in

the wrong, my lord, to punish her.

Is that my lady wisdom's view? Take care. You dice with your place in

talking thus.

May not one speak?

Will you be quiet, you fool?

No, husband, you are too hot.

God's blood, you just make me mad.

Day, night.

Month.

Year.

My constant care.

has been to have my only child worthily matched.

And here I find an educated man of equal birth, with honourable parts,

with fine estates, and handsome to behold.

And what is my reward? A puking fool who answers, I'm not wed, I cannot love, I

am too young, I pray you pardon me.

Now think on this, Thursday is near.

If you will play the bride, then are you my daughter and all this for God? If you

will not, then you are mine no more.

Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.

Beg, starve, or hang, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, nor pass to you the

slightest thing that's mine. I swear to this, my word, so help me God.

loves him better than she loves herself.

Oh, God.

Oh, nurse.

How shall this be prevented?

I have a living husband here on earth.

What, should I take a second in the lie and cast myself forever into hell?

Well,

here it is.

Romeo is...

and cannot come back except in stealth at risk to life and limb.

Given that case which will not alter soon, I think it best you marry with the

Count.

Speakest thou from thy heart?

And from my soul.

Or the devil take us all.

Juliet, I understand your grief.

I strive and strain to think how I may help.

I know your father's will is absolute that Thursday next you marry with the

Count. Why talk of what must be, which cannot be?

If you have no solution to my plight, then this knife shall be my deliverer.

Ah, Jesu Maria.

God join our hearts in bliss. You join our hands.

And death is better than the ruin of all.

So bless this blade unless you have a remedy, and I'll exchange my honor for

my life.

Daughter.

I do spy a kind of hope, but it requires a desperate execution.

Willed to kill yourself rather than marry Paris.

Very well.

You will need that strength.

And I do know a way.

Rather than marry Paris, I would jump from off the bafflements of yonder

tower.

Spend a long dark night walled in a tomb with rotting limbs and hollow grinning

skulls.

Or order me to lie in a fresh grave and hide myself inside the corpse's shroud.

Things most hideous will I gladly do to keep myself unscarred for Romeo's love.

Then go home, be merry, and agree to marry Paris.

Oh, I am in earnest, Juliet.

For I have knowledge to concoct a mix that will unlock you from your present

cell, if you but find the nerve to swallow it.

Tomorrow's Thursday.

Now tonight, make sure you sleep alone.

Send your prying nurse out of the room.

Lie down upon your bed.

Then take this file.

and drink the clouded juice to the last drop.

Soon, soft drowsiness will close your eyes.

Your pulse will cease, and there will be no sign of life within you.

Neither warmth, nor breath, nor roses in your cheeks nor on your lips, but stiff

and stark and every sign of death.

And in this borrowed likeness of a corpse you will continue for six and

twenty hours and then awake as from a pleasant dream.

So Paris, on his wedding morn, will come to find his bride is dead and ripe for

burial in the great vault where Capulets do lie.

He and I will be there when he will wake you with a kiss

And

he will carry you to

some far distant place where all your anguish shall become pure joy.

Give me the file and talk no more of fear.

And go.

At dawn tomorrow, a novice will set out for Mantua with letters for your lord.

Farewell, dear friar.

With no love.

Give me strength.

You said it was a modest group of friends. And so it will be.

Peter, what's the news? Well, we've hired 10 cooks and 20 serving men.

A quiet marriage leads to speculation.

My daughter does the virtue of a saint, and I would rather none had leave to

doubt.

Come here, Naz.

My lord.

Is Juliet gone to Friar Lawrence's cell?

confession of her sins.

Let's hope he may have found some good in her.

She's here.

And merrier than when she left.

Where have you been, my headstrong gadabout?

The Holy Friar sends me home to kneel and ask forgiveness for my mutiny.

Pardon me, dear father, I beseech you.

Henceforward I will live beneath your rule.

Well said, my daughter.

If you should find Romeo in morbid grief or feverish these herbs will make him

well be sure he's strong to take the journey home But do not fear my letter

will revive him Give me your blessing and I will be gone Godspeed

your path and keep you safe from harm

Nurse, here is the key to fetch more spices.

The cook wants dates and quinces for the pies.

We must move on. Paris will be here. Get anything we need, spare not the cost.

My lady and my lord, get you some rest or you will not survive the wedding

feast. What nonsense! I've been up all night before for lesser cause than this.

And I know why.

And look to have no repetition now.

A wife still jealous after all these years?

White is compliment enough to give me cheer.

White?

Nurse?

Won't nobody obey me? Oh, peace, peace.

Go awaken Juliet.

Dress her and trim her. Pray bring her down to compliment the bridegroom in his

choice.

Still fast asleep.

Come, lady, come now. It's time to wake.

Well, you'll profit from a few hours' dreams.

Tonight Count Paris will have other plans.

But if your marriage will not let you rest, just wait ten years.

You'll sleep all you want.

How sound you slumber.

I must needs wake you.

Lady.

Come. Is my bride ready to go to church?

Ready to go, but never to return.

My son, the night before your wedding day, your wife was stolen from you.

What?

Are you saying she is dead?

Far as she was.

Death is now my heir.

My daughter he has married.

I will die and leave him all.

Life, living, all his deaths.

This day had promised all my happiness.

And now it shows me such a sight as this.

A cursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.

The worst that ever dawned. The most woeful day.

Never was so black a day as this.

I am divorced, wronged, hated,

killed by death, but death is my future.

He holds all my love.

Death that has killed my daughter ties my tongue.

and drains my eyes and will not let me grieve.

O child, my soul more than my child, dead are you now, like

my child is dead, and with my child all my joys are buried.

O come, sir, for shame,

and think of her poor soul freed

now from care.

and safe in heaven's bliss.

Give up your grief and bring sweet-smelling flowers to lay upon her

corpse with gentle tears and take her to church where she may sleep among her kin

for all eternity.

The plans we made for joyful celebration must turn instead to mark our sorrowing

woe. Our merry hymns

to sullen dirges change.

Sir, madam, make ready for our march to take this lovely child to her grave.

We cannot know why, it is Heaven's will.

But we must trust in Him who orders all.

I beseech you, sir, in heaven's name, say now, are you a holy man of God?

I am a novice, but I serve God, yes.

Have you made study in the art of herbs?

I have.

My son is sick.

I have an errand to perform in Mantua.

By when? Before tonight.

Mantua's but two leagues away.

I'll take you there myself.

Then show me your child.

Will there be anything else, sir? No, thank you, Jack.

Cousin.

Vivolio!

Welcome.

I'm with Verona's news.

I do bring news.

It's true.

I spit it out. How does my lady?

Is my father well?

How does my Juliet?

See, I ask it twice.

Then I must answer once.

To say the worst.

Her body sleeps among the Capulets.

In the great monument that marks their fame.

Juliet is dead.

Only her mortal part.

Her soul lives on in heaven's blessed care.

Oh, you know this or you've heard a story told? I saw her laid inside her

kindred vault.

That done, I came as quick as I could find a horse to bring me.

Pardon me, cousin.

I had to come with a tale so full of grief.

And it is so?

Then I must hurry. Jack!

I beg you, give yourself some time.

You must be riven with a savage grief and need a while to calm your raging

thoughts. Cousin, you are deceived. I know my mind. Are there no letters to me

from the Friar? No, my good lord.

No matter.

Go with Jack.

Get fresh water for your horse.

I'll meet you by the city gate.

Juliet, I will lie with you tonight.

As to the means, I will not wander long.

I do remember an apothecary who lives not far from here.

If it is life, where there is neither gold

No food.

No rest.

Hey there!

Apothecary! Who calls so loud?

Come over here.

I see that you are poor.

There is no crime in that.

Nor pleasure, neither.

Now listen.

I seek a kind of poison so powerful that, swallowed in one dram, it stops a

man and drops him in his tracks before he may but mark the consequence.

If this be murder, the answer's no.

The victim's one I have right to kill.

I have such mortal drugs, but Mantua's law...

brings death to any man who issues them. Are you so thin and full of wretchedness

yet scared to die?

Famine is in your cheeks. The world is not your friend. You will not find that

cherishing the law makes you rich. Be not poor.

And break the law for this.

My poverty, not my will, consents.

I pay your poverty and not your will.

I'm looking for Lord Romeo.

He's gone.

Gone? And in great haste, back to Verona.

What purpose had you with him?

Nothing now.

You've had a wasted journey.

Who can say?

I saved a child, but failed in my delivery.

God's ways are hard for us to penetrate.

Benvolio, you can come no further.

Now take this letter early in the morn, and see you deliver it to my lord and

father.

Farewell, Benvolio.

Let us say good night.

No.

Why descend into this bed of death?

Partly, I must behold my lady's face.

Chiefly, I'd return this precious ring to her fair hand which gave it me.

And I'll be gone.

I go and do not seek to question you.

By which you show your love.

Who banished Romeo Montague.

Who murdered Juliet's cousin, Noble Tybalt.

Causing her the grief that took her to the grave.

And now he comes to desecrate the dead.

Leave them to heaven and attend to me.

We needs must fight, for you are bound to die.

The very reason why you find me here.

I... I'm Count Paris, and I here defend the grave of she who should have been my

bride. Oh, good.

Gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.

Put not another sin upon my head by urging me to fury.

I'll fly.

Hence be gone, survive.

What?

Should I buy this proof of your concern?

Or is a Montague afraid to fight?

What the?

May God bless you, Paris.

Raya!

Raya Lawrence!

Raya Lawrence!

Who's there?

Banvolio?

What brings you here to me at dead of night?

My care for one you love.

The good Lord Romeo, he waits by Juliet's tomb, all full of woe. Why talk

of woe? Say rather joy.

How joy?

When all his love and life are in the grave.

Did he not receive my letter?

What letter's that?

Is that you, Tybalt, in that mortal sleep?

Forgive me, cousin, for the harm I did.

There is no reparation more than this, that I shall kill the man who once

killed you.

Leaving this sweet corpse is trial enough.

My wife.

It is time to join you in all eternity.

Juliet, why are you still so fair?

Death that has sucked the honey of your breath has had no powers yet to spoil

your beauty.

But I believe he has a plan in this, that insubstantial death is amorous,

keeping you perfect for his paramour.

For fear of that, I

will still stay with thee, and never from this palace of dim night

depart again.

Eyes of your last.

Arms, make your last embrace.

And lips, the doors of breath be forever sealed.

Come, bitter conduct.

Come, unsavory guide.

Rubio.

else with a kiss, I'd die.

So pale.

My best beloved husband lies here dead.

Not Romeo, my child.

Not him of all.

Oh, what unkind hour has brought to pass this miserable deed.

Alas, my lady, we are overturned.

contradict, has thwarted all our plans.

Come away from death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.

Leaving my husband to face us alone.

The Watchman, my lady, come away.

I'm going to drink it all and leave no drop so I can follow after.

My lady,

listen now, and come.

I will hide you in a sisterhood of nuns. Stop, stop, not to question why we must

away. You go.

I must bid farewell to Romeo.

Stay then until you are at peace.

But linger not.

I'll hold back the watchman.

I kiss my love for one last time.

And follow you at once.

Do not be late.

Who's there?

Who's there? Who's within?

Just one kiss.

In case some venom lingers on your lips.

What about this wall?

The boy has come here.

That might be it.

Somebody's coming.

This is my sheath.

That rust.

Let me die.

Show me the way.

Very well, Ferry.

If you insist.

We know now how this sorrow came about.

And pardon all the players in the ram.

Their own forbidden love did murder them.

Yet can we take a lesson from their deaths?

Capulet Montague.

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, that heaven finds means to kill

your joy with love.

Oh, dearest Montague.

the sun for sorrow will not show his head and join with all in grieving for

the dead for never was a story of more woe than this

of juliet and her romeo