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(dramatic music)

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(bell tolls)

- 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-crossed lovers take their life,

whose misadventured piteous overthrows

doth with their death bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of their death-marked 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.

- Do you quarrel, sir?

- Do you quarrel, sir? - Do you quarrel, sir?

- I will take the wall of any man

or maid of Montague's.

- The quarrel is between our masters

and us their men.

- Do you quarrel, sir? - Bow, villain.

- When I have fought with the men,

I will be civil with the maids. I will cut off their heads.

- The heads of the maids?

- Aye, the heads of the maids,

or their maidenheads.

Take it in what sense thou wilt.

- Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

- I do bite my thumb, sir.

- Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

- No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir,

but I bite my thumb, sir.

- Do you quarrel, sir?

- Quarrel, sir? No, sir.

- If you do, sir, I am for you.

I serve as good a man as you.

- No better. - Yes, better.

- You lie. - Draw if you be men.

(people scream) (weapons clang)

- Part fools!

Put up your swords, you know not what you do.

- What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

- I do but keep the peace.

Put up thy sword,

or manage it to part these men with me.

- What, drawn and talk of peace?

I hate the word,

as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.

Have at thee, Coward, hey!

(weapons clang) (people shout)

- Clubs, bills, and partisans, strike!

- Beat them down!

- Down with the Capulets!

- Down with the Montagues!

- What noise is this?

Give me my sword, sirrah.

- A crutch, a crutch, why call you for a sword?

- My sword, I say. Old Montague is come

and flourishes his blade in spite of me.

- Villain Capulet.

Hold me not, let me go.

- Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

(people shout) (weapons clang)

- Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,

profaners of this neighbor-stained steel,

will they not hear?

What ho, you men, you beasts,

on pain of torture, from those bloody hands

throw your mistempered weapons to the ground,

and hear the sentence of your moved prince.

Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,

by thee old Capulet and Montague,

have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets.

If ever you disturb our streets again,

your lives shall pay the Forfeit of the Peace.

For this time, all the rest depart away.

You, Capulet, shall go along with me,

and Montague, come you this afternoon,

to know our further judgment in this case.

Once more on pain of death, all men depart.

(bell tolls)

- Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?

Speak, Nephew, were you by when it began?

- Here were the servants of your adversary

and yours, close fighting ere I did approach.

I drew to part them.

In the instant came the fiery Tybalt,

with his sword prepared.

- O where is Romeo, saw you him today?

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

- Madam, an hour before the worshiped sun

peered forth the golden window of the East,

a troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,

where underneath the grove of sycamore,

that westward rooteth from the city's side,

so early walking did I see your son.

Towards him I made, but he was ware of me

and stole into the covert of the wood.

- Many a morning hath he there been seen,

with tears augmenting the fresh morning dew,

but all so soon as the all-cheering sun

should in the furthest East

begin to draw the curtains from Aurora's bed,

away from light steals home my heavy son,

and private in his chamber pens himself,

shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,

and makes himself an artificial night.

- My noble Uncle, do you know the cause?

- I neither know it nor can learn of him.

He is to himself so secret and so close,

so far from sounding and discovery,

as is the bud bit with an envious worm.

See where he comes.

- So please you, step aside.

I'll know his grievance or be much denied.

- I would thou wert so happy by thy stay

to hear true shrift.

- Come, Madam, let's away.

- Good morrow, Cousin.

- Is the day so young?

- But new struck nine.

- Aye me, sad hours seem long.

Was that my father that went hence so fast?

- It was, what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

- Not having that which having makes them short.

- In love?

- Out. - Of love?

- Out of her favor 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.

Where shall we dine?

O me, what fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.

Why then, O brawling love,

O loving hate,

O, anything of nothing first create,

feather of lead, bright smoke,

cold fire, sick health,

still-waking sleep, that is not what it is.

This love feel I that feel no love in this.

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.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,

which thou wilt propagate,

to have it pressed with more of thine.

This love that thou hast shown

doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Love is,

a smoke made with a fume of sighs,

being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes,

being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears.

What is it else?

A madness most discreet,

a choking gall and a preserving sweet.

Farewell, my coz.

- Soft, I will go along,

and 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?

- What, shall I groan and tell thee?

- Groan? Why no.

But sadly tell me who?

- In sadness, Cousin, I do love a woman.

- I aimed so near when I supposed you loved.

- A right good markman, and she's fair I love.

- A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

- Well, in that hit, you miss.

She'll not be hit with Cupid's arrow,

she hath Diane's wit,

and in strong proof of chastity well-armed,

from love's weak childish bow she lives unharmed.

She will not stay the siege of loving terms,

nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,

nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.

O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,

that when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

- Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

- She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.

She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow

do I live dead that live to tell it now.

- Be ruled by me, forget to think of her.

- O, teach me how I should forget to think.

(audience laughs)

- By giving liberty unto thine eyes.

Examine other beauties.

- 'Tis the way to call hers

exquisite in question more.

He that is strucken blind cannot forget

the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

Show me a mistress that is passing fair.

What doth her beauty serve but as a note

where I may read who passed that passing fair?

Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.

- I'll pay that doctrine or else die in debt.

- But Montague is bound as well as I in

penalty alike, and 'tis not hard, I think,

for men so old as we to keep the peace.

- Of honorable reckoning are you both,

and pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.

But now, my Lord, what say you to my suit?

- 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 14 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 marred are those so early made.

The Earth has swallowed all my hopes but she.

She is the hopeful Lady of my Earth.

But woo her, gentle Paris.

Get her heart.

My will to her consent is but a part,

and she agreed, within her scope of choice,

lies my consent and fair according voice.

This night, I hold an old accustomed fest,

whereto I've invited many a guest,

such as I love, and you among the store,

one more, most welcome, makes my number more.

At my poor house look to behold this night

Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel

when well-appareled April on the heel

of limping winter treads,

even such delight among fresh female buds

(laughs) shall you this night inherit at my house.

But hear all, all see,

and like her most whose merit most shall be.

Come, go with me, go, Sirrah.

Trudge about through fair Verona.

Find those persons out whose names are written there,

and to them say,

my house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

- Find them out whose names are written here.

I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ,

and can never find what names

the writing person hath here writ.

I must to the learned, in good time.

- Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning.

One pain is lessened by another's anguish.

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

and the rank poison of the old will die.

- Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that.

- For what, I pray thee?

- For your broken shin.

- Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

- Not mad, but bound more than a madman is,

shut up in prison, kept without my food,

whipped and tormented and, good e'en, good fellow.

- God ye good e'en.

Pray you, sir, can you read?

- Aye, mine own fortune in my misery.

- Perhaps you have learned it without book.

But I pray you, can you read anything you see?

- Aye, if I know the letters and the language.

- Ah, you say honestly.

Rest you merry. - Stay, fellow, I can read.

- Uh, oh.

- Signor Martino and his wife and daughters,

County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters,

The Lady Widow of Vitruvio. - The Lady Widow of Vitruvio.

(audience laughs)

- Signor Placentio and his lovely nieces,

Mercutio and his brother Valentine,

Signor Valentio and his cousin Tybalt,

My fair niece Rosaline. - Rosaline.

- Lucio and the lively Helena. - To the lively Helena.

- A fair assembly, whither should they come?

- Up. - Whither, to supper?

- To our house. - Whose house?

- My Master's.

- Indeed, I should have asked you that before.

- Now I will tell you without asking.

My Master is the great rich Capulet,

and if you be not of the house of Montagues,

I pray you come, crush a cup of wine.

Rest you merry.

- At this same ancient Fest of Capulet's

sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so loves,

with all the admired Beauties of Verona.

Go thither, and with unattainted eye,

compare her face with some that I shall show,

and I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

- When the devout religion of mine eye

maintains such falsehood,

then turn tears to fire.

One fairer than my love?

The all-seeing sun ne'er saw her match

since first the world begun.

- Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,

herself poised with herself in either eye.

But in that crystal scales, let there be weighed

your lady's love against some other maid

that I will show you shining at this Fest,

and she shall scant show well that now seems best.

- I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,

but to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

- Nurse, where's my daughter?

Call her forth to me.

- Now by my maidenhead, a 12 year old, I bade her come.

What, Lamb!

What, Ladybird!

God forbid, where's this girl?

What, Juliet!

- How now, who calls?

- Your mother.

- Madam, I am here. (laughs)

What is your will?

- This is the matter.

Nurse, give leave awhile, we must talk in secret.

Nurse, come back again, I have remembered me,

thou'st hear our counsel.

Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.

- O, Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

- She's not 14.

- I'll lay 14 of my teeth.

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,

she's not 14.

How long is it now to Lammas-tide?

- A fortnight and odd days.

- Even or odd, of all days in the year,

come Lammas Eve,

at night shall she be 14.

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 14.

That shall she, marry, I remember it well.

'Tis since the earthquake now 11 years,

and she was weaned, Oh, I never shall forget it,

of all the days of the year, upon that day.

For I had then laid Wormwood to my dug,

sitting in the sun under the Dovehouse wall.

My Lord and you were then at Mantua,

O, nay, I do bear a brain.

But as I said, when it did taste the Wormwood

on the nipple of my dug and felt it bitter, O, pretty fool,

to see it tetchy and fall out with the dug.

Shake, quoth the Dovehouse.

Twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge.

And since that time, it is 11 years,

for then she could stand high-lone,

O, 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,

O, God be with his soul, he 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 holy-dam,

the pretty wretch left crying and said, "Aye."

To see now how a jest shall come about.

I warrant, and I should live a 1,000 years,

I never should forget it.

"Wilt thou not, Jule?" quoth he,

and pretty fool, it stinted and said, "Aye."

- Enough of this, I pray thee hold thy peace.

- Yes, Madam.

(laughs) Yet I cannot choose but laugh,

to think it should leave crying and say, "Aye."

And yet I warrant it had upon it brow

a bump as big as a young cockerel's stone,

a parlous knock, and it cried bitterly.

"Yea," quoth my husband, "fall'st upon thy face?

"Thou wilt fall backward when thou com'st to age,

"wilt thou not, Jule?"

It stinted and said "Aye."

(audience laughs)

- And stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.

- Oh, Peace, I have done.

God mark thee to his grace,

thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed.

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?

- It is an honor that I dream not of.

(audience laughs)

- An honor, were not I thine only nurse,

I would say thou hadst sucked wisdom from thy teat.

(audience laughs)

- Well, think of marriage now.

Younger than you, here in Verona,

ladies of esteem are made already mothers.

By my count, I was a mother much upon these years

that you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief,

the valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

- A man, young lady, O, lady,

such a man as all the world,

why, he's a man of wax.

- (laughs) Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

- O, Faith, he's a flower, a very flower.

- What say you, can you love the gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our Fest.

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,

and find delight writ there with beauty's pen.

This precious book of love,

this unbound lover,

to beautify him only lacks a cover.

So shall you share all that he doth possess,

by having him, making yourself no less.

- No less, nay, bigger.

Women grow by men.

(audience laughs)

- Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

- 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.

- Madam, the guests are come, supper served up,

you called, my young lady asked for,

the nurse cursed in the pantry,

and everything in extremity.

I must hence to wait,

I beseech you follow straight.

- We follow thee.

Juliet, the County stays.

- Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

- What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse,

or shall we on without apology?

- The date is out of such prolixity.

Let them measure us by what they will.

We'll measure them a measure and be gone.

- Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling.

Being but heavy, I will bear the light.

- Nay, gentle Romeo,

we must have you dance.

(men laugh)

- Not I, believe me.

Now you have dancing shoes with nimble soles.

I have a soul of lead.

So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move.

- You are a lover.

Borrow Cupid's wings,

and soar with them above a common bound.

- I am too sore enpierced with his shaft

to soar with his light feathers, and so bound,

I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.

Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

- And to sink in it should you burden love,

too great oppression for a tender thing.

- Is love a tender thing?

It is too rough, too rude,

too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

- If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

(men laugh)

(grunts) Prick love for pricking,

and you beat love down.

Give me a case to put my visage in,

a visor for a visor.

(audience laughs)

What care I what curious eye doth quote deformities?

Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

- Come, knock and enter, and no sooner in,

but every man betake him to his legs.

- Come, we burn daylight, ho!

- Nay, that's not so.

- I mean, sir, in delay. We waste our lights in vain,

like lamps by day.

Take our good meaning,

for our judgment sits five times in that

ere once in our five wits.

- And we mean well in going to this Masque,

but 'tis no wit to go.

- Why, may one ask?

- I dreamt a dream tonight.

- And so did I.

- Well, what was yours?

- That dreamers often lie.

(audience laughs)

- In bed asleep while they do dream things true.

- Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.

Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

- Queen Mab, what's she?

- She is the fairies' midwife,

and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone

on the forefinger of an alderman,

drawn with a team of little Atomis

over men's noses as they lie asleep.

Her wagon-spokes made of long spinner's legs,

the cover of the wings of grasshoppers,

her traces of the smallest spider web,

her collars of the moonshine's watery beams,

her whip of cricket's bone, (squeaks)

the lash of film,

her wagoneer, a small gray-coated gnat,

not half so big as a round little worm

pricked from the lazy finger of a maid.

Her chariot is an

empty hazelnut made by the Joiner Squirrel

or old Grub,

time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.

And in this state she gallops night by night

through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love,

o'er courtiers' knees who dream on courtesies straight,

o'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,

o'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,

which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,

because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.

Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,

and dreams he of cutting foreign throats,

of breaches, ambuscados, of Spanish blades,

of healths five-fathom-deep,

and then anon drums in his ear,

at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted,

swears a prayer or two and sleeps again.

This is that very Mab

that plaits the manes of horses in the night,

and bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,

which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.

This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,

that presses them and learns them first to bear,

making them women of good carriage; this is she.

- Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace,

Thou talk'st of nothing.

- True.

(audience laughs)

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,

who woos even now the frozen bosom of the north,

and being angered puffs away from thence,

turning his side to the dew-dropping south.

- This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves.

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

- I fear too early,

for my mind misgives

some consequence yet hanging in the stars

shall bitterly begin his fearful date

with this night's revels

and expire the term of a despised life

closed in my breast

by some vile forfeit of untimely death.

(chuckles) But he that hath the steerage of my course,

direct my sail.

On, lusty gentlemen.

(men cheer)

(merry music)

- Welcome, Gentlemen.

Ladies that have their toes

unplagued with corns

will walk about with you. (laughs)

Oh, my mistresses,

which of you all will now deny to dance?

She that makes dainty,

she I'll swear hath corns.

Am I come near ye now? (laughs)

Oh, you are welcome, Gentlemen.

Come, musicians, play!

A hall, a hall,

give room, and foot it girls!

(elegant music)

(stately music)

- What lady's that which doth enrich the hand

of yonder knight?

- I know not, sir.

- 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.

The measure done,

I'll watch her place of stand

and touching hers,

make blessed my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear it, sight,

for I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

- This, by his voice, should be a Montague.

Fetch me my rapier, boy.

What, dares the slave come hither,

covered with an antic face,

to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Now by the stock and honor of my kin,

to strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

- Why, how now, kinsman, wherefore storm you so?

- Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe.

A villain that is hither come in spite,

to scorn at our solemnity this night.

- A Montague is't? - That villain Romeo.

- Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.

A bears him like a proper gentleman,

and to say truth, Verona brags of him

to be a virtuous and well-governed youth.

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, it is my will,

the which if thou respect,

show a fair presence and put off these frowns,

an ill-beseeming semblance for a Fest.

- It fits when such a villain is a guest.

I'll not endure him.

- He shall be endured, what, goodman boy.

I say he shall.

Go to, am I the master here or you?

Go to, you'll not endure him?

God shall mend my soul.

You'll make a mutiny among my guests?

You will set cock-a-hoop, you'll be the man?

- Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame.

- Go to, go to, you're a saucy boy.

Is't so, indeed?

This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.

You must contrary me.

Marry, 'tis time.

You are a Princox, go.

Be quiet, or for shame, I will make you quiet.

What!

(audience laughs)

Cheerily, my hearts, cheerily! (laughs)

- Patience perforce, with wilful choler meeting

makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw,

but this intrusion shall

now seeming sweet convert to bitterest gall.

(elegant music)

- If I profane with my unworthiest hand

(Juliet giggles)

this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.

My lips, two blushing Pilgrims, ready stand

to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

- (giggles) 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?

- Aye, 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.

- Saints do not move,

though grant for prayers' sake.

- Then move not while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by thine, 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.

- Madam! (audience laughs)

Your lady mother craves a word with you.

- What is her mother?

- Marry, Bachelor, her mother is the Lady of the House,

and a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.

I nursed her daughter that you talked withal.

I tell you, he that can lay hold of her

shall have the chinks.

- Is she a Capulet?

O dear account, my life is my foe's debt.

- Away, begone, the sport is at the best.

- Aye, so I fear, the more is my unrest.

- Nay, Gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,

we have a trifling foolish banquet towards.

Is't e'en so?

Why then, I thank you all.

I thank you, honest Gentlemen, good night.

More torches here, come on then.

Let's to bed.

- Come hither, Nurse.

What is yond gentleman?

- The Son and Heir of old Tiberio.

- What's he that now is going out of door?

- Now, that, I think, be young Petruchio.

- What's he that follows there that would not dance?

- I know not. - 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.

Too early seen unknown, and known too late.

- What's this, what's this?

- A rhyme I learned even now, of one I danced withal.

- Juliet!

- Anon, anon!

Come, let's away, the strangers are all gone.

(bell tolls)

- Can I go forward when my heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.

- Romeo, Romeo, Romeo!

Romeo, my cousin Romeo.

- He is wise,

and on my life hath stolen him home to bed.

- He ran this way and leapt this orchard wall.

Call, good Mercutio.

- Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo, Humors, Madman,

Passion, Lover,

(audience laughs)

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,

speak but one rhyme and I am satisfied.

Cry but aye me,

pronounce but love and dove.

(audience laughs)

He heareth not, he stirreth not,

he moveth not, the ape is dead.

(audience laughs)

And I must conjure him.

I conjure thee

by Rosaline's bright eyes,

by her high forehead and her scarlet lip,

by her fine foot,

(audience laughs)

straight leg, and quivering thigh,

(audience laughs)

and the domains that there adjacent lie,

(audience laughs)

that in thy likeness thou appear to us.

- And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

- Oh, this cannot anger him.

'Twould anger him to raise a spirit

in his mistress' circle of some strange nature,

there letting it stand till she hath laid it

and conjured it down.

That were some spite.

My invocation is fair and honest, in his mistress' name,

I conjure only but to raise up him.

- Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,

to be consorted with the humorous night.

Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

- If love be blind,

love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he sit under a Medlar tree

and wish his mistress were that kind of fruit

as maids call Medlars when they laugh alone.

Romeo, oh, Romeo.

Oh, Romeo.

Oh, oh, oh, Romeo.

(audience laughs)

Oh, Romeo, Romeo, Romeo.

That she were an open arse

and thou a Poperin Pear.

Romeo!

Good night.

I'll to my truckle-bed.

This field bed's too cold for me to sleep.

Come, shall we go? - Go then, for 'tis in vain

to seek him here that means not to be found.

- He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

- Now old Desire doth in his deathbed lie,

and young Affection gapes to be his heir.

That fair for which love groaned for and would die,

with tender Juliet matched is now not fair.

Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,

alike bewitched with the charm of looks,

but to his foe supposed he must complain,

and she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks.

But passion lends them power,

time means to meet,

tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

- 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 is already sick and pale with grief,

that thou her maid art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid since she is envious,

her vestal livery is but sick and green

and none but fools do wear it.

Cast it off.

It is my lady.

O, it is my love.

O, that she knew she were.

She speaks yet she says nothing, what of that?

Her eye discourses, I will answer it.

I am too bold.

(audience laughs)

'Tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,

having some business do entreat her eyes

to twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars

as daylight doth a lamp.

Her eyes in heaven would

through the airy region stream so bright

that birds would sing and think it were not night.

See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

that I might touch that cheek.

- Aye me.

- She speaks, O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art

as glorious to this night, being o'er my head,

as is a winged messenger of heaven

unto the white upturned wondering eyes

of mortals that fall back to gaze on him

when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds

and sails upon the bosom of the air.

- O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name,

or if thou wilt not, be but 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.

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.

What's in a name? That which we call a rose

by any other word would smell as sweet.

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,

retain that dear perfection which he owes

without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

and for that name which is no part of thee

take all myself.

- I take thee at thy word. (Juliet screams)

(audience laughs)

Call me but love and I'll be new baptized,

and henceforth I never will be Romeo.

- What man art thou that thus bescreened in night,

so stumblest on my counsel?

- 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 uttering,

yet I know the sound.

Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

- Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

- How cam'st thou hither, tell me and wherefore?

The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,

and the place death, considering who thou art,

if any of my kinsmen find thee here.

- With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls,

(audience laughs)

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

and what love can do, that dares love attempt.

Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

- If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

- Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye

than twenty of their swords.

Look thou but sweet,

and I am proof against their enmity.

- I would not for the world they saw thee here.

- I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes,

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.

I am no Pilot.

Yet wert thou as far

as that vast shore washed with the farthest sea,

I would adventure for such merchandise.

- Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,

else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

for that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.

Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny

what I have spoke, but farewell compliment.

Dost thou love me?

I know thou wilt say aye and I will take thy word.

Yet if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false.

At lovers' perjuries, they say Jove laughs.

O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love,

pronounce it faithfully,

or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay,

so thou wilt woo, but else not for the world.

In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

and therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light,

but trust me, Gentlemen, I'll prove more true

than those that have more cunning to be strange.

I should have been more strange, I must confess,

but that thou overheard'st,

I was ware, my true love's passion.

Therefore pardon me,

and not impute this yielding to light love,

which the dark night hath so discovered.

- Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow

that tips with silver all these fruit tree tops.

- 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,

which is the God of my Idolatry,

and I'll believe thee.

- If my heart's dear love. - Well, do not swear.

(audience laughs) Although I joy in thee,

I have no joy of this contract tonight.

It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden,

too like the lightning which doth cease to be

ere one can say it lightens.

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 tonight?

- 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.

And yet I wish but for the thing I have.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

my love as deep,

The more I give to thee, the more I have,

for both are infinite.

- Juliet.

- I hear some noise within.

Dear love, adieu, anon, good Nurse.

Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay but a little, I will come again.

- Oh, Oh, blessed, blessed night,

I am afeared,

(audience laughs)

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 honorable,

thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,

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.

- Madam! - I come, anon.

But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee.

- Madam! - By and by, I come!

(audience laughs)

To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.

Tomorrow will I send.

- So thrive my soul.

- A thousand times good night.

- A thousand times the worse to want thy light.

Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,

but love from love toward school with heavy looks.

- Psst, Romeo, psst.

O, for a falconer's voice,

to lure this Tassel-gentle back again.

Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,

else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,

and make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,

with repetition of my Romeo's name.

- It is my soul that calls upon my name.

(Juliet laughs)

How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,

like softest music to attending ears.

- Romeo, at what o'clock tomorrow shall I send to thee?

- By the hour of nine. - (laughs) I will not fail.

'Tis 20 years till then.

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,

remembering how I love thy company.

- And I'll still stay to have thee still forget,

forgetting any other home but this.

(birds chirp)

- '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.

Then 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.

- Sleep dwell upon thine eyes,

peace in thy breast.

Would I were sleep and peace so sweet to rest.

(bell tolls)

Hence will I to my ghostly friar's cell,

his help to crave and my dear hap to tell.

- The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,

checkering 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 upfill 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 diverse kind,

we, sucking on her natural bosom find.

And nought so vile that on the Earth doth live

but to the Earth some special good doth give,

nor aught so good but strained from that fair use

revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

Within the infant rind of this weak flower,

poison hath residence and medicine power,

for this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part,

being tasted, stays all senses with the heart.

Two such opposed kings encamp them still

in man as well as herbs,

grace and rude will,

and where the worser is predominant,

full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

- Good morrow, Father. (Friar screams)

(audience laughs)

- Benedicite, what early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

Young son, it argues a distempered head

so soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.

Therefore thy earliness doth me assure

thou art uproused with some distemperature.

Or if not so, then here I hit it right.

Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.

- 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?

- I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.

I have been feasting with mine enemy,

where on a sudden, one hath wounded me that's by me wounded.

Both our remedies within thy help and holy physic lies.

- Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift.

Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

- 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.

When and where and how we met,

we wooed and made exchange of vow,

I'll tell thee as we pass, but this I pray,

that thou consent to marry us today.

- Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!

(Romeo laughs) (audience laughs)

Is Rosaline, that 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 washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline.

The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,

thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears.

Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit,

of an old tear that is not washed off yet.

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 me not.

Her I love now

doth grace for grace and love for love allow.

The other did not so.

- O, she knew well,

thy love did read by rote that could not spell.

But come, young waverer, come, go with me.

In one respect I'll thy assistant be.

For this alliance may so happy prove,

to turn your households' rancor to pure love.

- O, let us hence, I stand on sudden haste.

- Wisely and slow.

They stumble that run fast.

- Where the devil should this Romeo be?

(audience laughs)

Came he not home tonight?

- Not to his father's, I spoke with his man.

- Why, that same pale, hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline, torments him so that he shall sure run mad.

- Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,

hath sent a letter to his father's house.

- A challenge, on my life.

- Romeo will answer it.

- Any man that can write may answer a letter.

- Nay, he will answer the letter's master,

how he dares, being dared.

- Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead.

Stabbed with a white wench's black eye,

shot through the ear with a love song,

the very pin of his heart

cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.

(audience laughs)

And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

- Why, what is Tybalt?

- More than Prince of Cats.

He's the courageous Captain of Compliments.

He fights as you sing prick-song.

♪ Keeps time, distance, and proportion ♪

Rests his minim rests,

one, two, and the third in your bosom.

The very butcher of a silk button,

a duelist, a duelist.

Ah, the immortal Passado,

the Punto Reverso, the hey!

- The what?

- A pox of such antic, lisping, affecting Fantasticoes.

- Oh, here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

- Without his roe, like a dried herring.

O flesh, flesh,

(sniffs) how art thou fishified.

Signor Romeo, bonjour.

There's a French salutation to your French slop.

You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

- Good morrow to you both.

What counterfeit did I give you?

- The slip, sir, the slip.

Can you not conceive?

- Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great,

and in such a case as mine,

a man may strain courtesy.

- (shouts) That's as much as to say,

such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

- Meaning to curtsy.

- Thou hast most kindly hit it.

- A most courteous exposition.

- Nay, I'm the very pink of courtesy.

- Pink for flower. - Right.

- Why, then is my pump well-flowered.

- Well said, follow me this jest now

till thou hast worn out thy pump,

that when the single sole of it is worn,

the jest may remain after the wearing solely singular.

- O, single-soled jest,

solely singular for the singleness.

- Come between us, good Benvolio, my wits faint.

- Switch and spurs, switch and spurs,

or I'll cry a match!

- Nay, if our wits run the wild goose chase, I am done,

for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits

than I'm sure I have in my whole five.

Was I with you there for the goose?

- Thou wast never with me for anything

when thou wast not there for the goose.

- (chuckles) I'll bite thee by the ear for that jest.

- Nay, good goose, bite not. (Mercutio growls)

- Now, is not this better than groaning for love?

Now art thou sociable.

Now art thou Romeo.

Now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature.

For this driveling love is like a,

a great natural that runs lolling up and down

to hide his bauble in a hole.

- Stop there, stop there.

- Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.

- Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.

- Thou art deceived, I would have made it short.

For I was come to the whole depth of my tale

and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

(men laugh) - Here's goodly gear.

- (shouts) A sail, a sail!

- Two, two, a shirt and a smock.

- Peter. - Anon.

- My fan, Peter.

- Good Peter, to hide her face,

for her fan's the fairer face.

- God ye good morrow, Gentlemen.

- God ye good e'en, fair Gentlewoman.

- Is it good e'en?

- 'Tis no less, I tell thee,

for the bawdy hand of the dial

is now upon the prick of noon.

- Oh, out upon you, what a man are you?

- One, Gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.

- By my troth, 'tis well said.

"For himself to mar," quoth a?

Gentlemen, can any of you tell me

where I may find the young Romeo?

- I can tell you, but young Romeo will be older

when you have found him than he was when you sought him.

I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.

- You say well.

- Is the worse well?

- If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.

- She will indict him to some supper.

- A bawd, a bawd, a bawd, a bawd.

A bawd!

So ho!

(audience laughs)

- What hast thou found?

- Oh, no hare, sir,

unless a hare, sir, in a Lenten pie,

that is something, (sniffs)

stale and hoar ere it be spent.

♪ An old hare hoar

♪ And an old hare hoar

♪ Is a very good meat in Lent

♪ But a hare that is hoar

♪ That's too much for the score ♪

♪ If it hoars ere it be spent

- Romeo, will you come to your father's?

We'll to dinner thither.

- I will follow you.

- Farewell, ancient lady.

(audience laughs)

Farewell, Lady, Lady, Lady.

(Mercutio growls)

- I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this

that was so full of his ropery?

- A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,

and will speak more in a minute

than he will stand to in a month.

- An he speak anything against me, I'll take him down.

An he were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks!

And if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.

Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills.

I am none of his skains-mates.

And thou must stand by too

and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

- I saw no man use you at his pleasure.

If I had, my naked weapon should quickly have been out.

(audience laughs)

I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another man,

if I see occasion in a good quarrel,

and the law on my side.

- Now, afore God, I am so vexed,

that every part about me quivers, scurvy knave!

I pray you, sir, a word.

And as I said, my young lady bid me inquire you out.

What she bid me say, I will keep to myself.

But first let me tell ye,

if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say,

it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say,

for the gentlewoman is young,

and therefore, if you should deal double with her,

truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman,

and very weak dealing.

- Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress.

I protest unto thee.

- Oh, good heart and i' faith,

I will tell her as much.

Oh, Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman!

- What wilt thou tell her, Nurse?

Thou dost not mark me.

- I will tell her, sir, that you do protest,

which as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.

- Bid her devise some means

to come to shrift this afternoon.

And there she shall at Friar Laurence cell

be shrived and married.

And there is for thy pains.

- Oh, truly sir, not a penny.

- Go to, I say you shall.

- Oh, this afternoon, sir?

Oh, well,

she shall be there.

- And stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.

Within this hour, my man shall be with thee

and bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,

which to the high top-gallant of my joy

must be my convoy in the secret night.

Be trusty and I'll quit thy pains.

Farewell, commend me to thy mistress.

- Now God in heaven bless thee!

Oh, hark you, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady.

Lord, Lord, when 'twas a little prating thing.

O, there is a nobleman in town,

one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard,

but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad,

a very toad, as see him.

I anger her sometimes

and tell her that Paris is the properer man,

but I warrant you, when I say so,

she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world.

Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

- Aye, Nurse, what of that?

Both with an R.

- Ah, Mocker, that's the dog's name, arrgh is for the,

No, I know it begins with some other letter.

And she hath the prettiest sententious of it,

of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

- Commend me to thy lady.

- Aye, a thousand times.

Peter! - Anon.

- Before and apace.

- 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.

O, she is lame.

Love's heralds should be thoughts,

which 10 times faster glide than the sun's beams,

driving back shadows over louring hills.

Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw love,

and therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

Now is the sun upon the highmost hill of this day's journey,

and from nine till 12

is three long hours, yet she is not come.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood,

she'd be as swift in motion as a ball.

My words would bandy her to my sweet love,

and his to me.

But old folks, many feign as they were dead,

unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead.

O God, she comes.

O honey nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him?

Send thy man away.

- Peter, stay at the gate.

- Now, good, sweet nurse, O Lord, why look'st thou sad?

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily.

If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news

by playing it to me with so sour a face.

- I am a-weary, give me leave awhile!

O fie, how my bones ache.

What a jaunt have I.

- I would thou hadst my bones and I thy news.

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?

(audience laughs)

The excuse that thou dost make in this delay

is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.

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?

- Well,

(audience laughs)

you have made a simple choice.

You know not how to choose a man.

Romeo, (snorts) no, not he.

Though his face be better than any man's,

yet his leg excels all men's.

But for a hand and a foot and a body,

though they be not to be talked on,

yet they are past compare.

And he's not the flower of courtesy,

but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.

Go thy ways, wench, serve God.

What, have you dined at home?

- No, no, but all this did I know before.

What says he of our marriage, what of that?

- O Lord, how my head aches!

What a head have I!

It beats and it would fall in twenty pieces.

My back, t' other side.

(grunts) My back, my back!

Beshrew your heart for sending me about,

to catch my death with jauncing up and down.

- I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.

Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse,

tell me what says my love?

- 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.

Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

Henceforward do your messages yourself.

- Here's such a coil, come, what says Romeo?

(audience laughs)

- Have you got leave to go to shrift today?

- I have.

- Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence cell.

There stays a husband to make you a wife.

(Juliet screams)

Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks.

Oh, they'll be in scarlet straight at any news.

Hie you to church.

I must another way,

to fetch a ladder by the which your love

must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark.

O, I am the drudge and toil in your delight,

but you shall bear the burden soon at night.

Go, I'll to dinner.

Hie you to the cell.

- Hie to high fortune.

Honest Nurse, farewell.

- So smile the heavens upon this holy act,

that after hours with sorrow chide us not.

- Amen, 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 our hands with holy words.

Then love-devouring death do what he dare.

It is enough I may but call her mine.

- These violent delights have violent ends

and in their triumph die like fire and powder,

which as they kiss consume.

Here comes the lady.

O so light a foot will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.

(Friar coughs)

- Good even to my ghostly confessor.

- Romeo shall thank thee, Daughter, for us both.

- As much to him, else is his thanks too much.

- Juliet, if the measure of thy joy be heaped like mine

and that thy skill be more to blazon it,

then let rich music's tongue unfold the imagined happiness

that both receive in either by this dear encounter.

- Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,

brags of his substance, not of ornament.

They are but beggars that can count their worth,

but my true love is grown to such excess,

I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.

- Come, come with me, and we will make short work,

for by your leaves, you shall not stay alone

till Holy Church incorporate two in one.

(bell tolls)

- I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire.

The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,

and if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl.

For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring.

- Thou art like one of these fellows that

when he enters the confines of a tavern,

claps me his sword upon the table and says,

"God, send me no need of thee."

And upon the operation of a second cup

draws him on the drawer when indeed there is no need.

- Am I like such a fellow?

- O, come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood

as any in Italy,

and as soon moved to be moody,

and as soon moody to be moved.

- And what to?

- Nay, an there were two such,

we should have none shortly for one would kill the other.

Thou, (croaks)

why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that has a hair more

or a hair less in his beard than thou hast.

Thou wilt quarrel with a man for

cracking nuts, having no other reason

but that thou hast hazel eyes.

What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?

Thy head is as full of quarrels

as an egg is full of meat,

and yet thy head hath been beaten

as addle as an egg for quarreling. (laughs)

Thou hast quarreled with a man for coughing in the street,

because he has awakened thy dog

that hath lain asleep in the sun.

And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarreling?

- By my head, here come the Capulets.

- Ooh, by my heel, I care not.

- Gentlemen, good e'en.

A word with one of you.

- And but one word with one of us?

Couple it with something, make it a word and a blow.

- You shall find me apt enough to that, sir,

an you will give me occasion.

- Oh, can you not take some occasion without giving?

- Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo.

- Consort, oh, what, dost thou make us minstrels?

An thou makes minstrels of us,

look to hear nothing but discords.

Here's my fiddlestick, here's that shall make you dance.

Zounds, consort!

- We talk here in the public haunt of men.

Either withdraw unto some private place

and reason coldly of your grievances or else depart.

Here, all eyes gaze on us.

- Men's eyes were made to look; let them gaze.

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

- Well, peace be with you, sir.

Here comes my man.

- But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.

Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower.

Your worship in that sense may call him man.

- Romeo, the love 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.

Therefore farewell, I see thou know'st me not.

- 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.

And so, good Capulet,

which name I tender as dearly as mine own, be satisfied.

- Shoot, calm, dishonorable, vile submission!

Alla Stoccata carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher,

will you walk?

- What wouldst thou have with me?

- 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 pilcher 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.

(men shout) (weapons clang)

- Draw, Benvolio, beat down their weapons.

Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!

Tybalt, Mercutio.

The Prince expressly hath forbid this bandying

in Verona streets.

Hold, Tybalt, Good Mercutio.

- Away, Tybalt.

- I am hurt.

A plague on both your Houses.

I am spent.

Is he gone and hath nothing? - What, art thou hurt?

- Aye, aye, a scratch, a scratch.

(audience laughs)

(Mercutio grunts)

Marry, 'tis enough.

Where's my page?

Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

- Well, 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 tomorrow, you shall find me a grave man.

I'm peppered, I warrant, for this world.

A plague on both your Houses.

Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse,

a cat to scratch a man to death.

Why the devil came you between us?

I was hurt under your arm.

- I thought all for the best.

- Oh, help me into some house, Benvolio,

or I shall faint.

A plague on both your Houses.

They've made worms' meat of me.

I have it, and soundly too, your Houses!

- This gentleman, the Prince's near ally,

my very friend, hath got this mortal hurt

in my behalf.

My reputation stained with Tybalt's slander,

Tybalt that but an hour hath been my cousin.

O, sweet Juliet,

thy beauty hath made me effeminate,

and in my temper softened valor's steel.

- O, Romeo, Romeo,

brave Mercutio's dead.

That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds

that too untimely here did scorn the earth.

- This day's black fate on more days doth depend.

This but begins the woes others must end.

- Here comes the furious Tybalt back again!

- Alive, in triumph, and Mercutio slain?

Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,

that late thou gav'st me!

For Mercutio's soul is but a little ways 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.

(men shout) (weapons clang)

- Romeo, away, begone!

The citizens are up and Tybalt slain.

Stand not amazed.

The Prince will doom thee death if thou art taken.

Hence, begone, away!

- O, I am Fortune's fool!

- Why dost thou stay?

(eerie music)

(ominous drums beating)

- Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

- Oh noble Prince, I can discover all

the unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.

There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,

that slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

- Tybalt!

My cousin!

Oh my brother's child.

Oh Prince, oh cousin, husband,

oh, the blood is spilled

of my dear kinsman.

Prince, as thou art true,

for blood of ours, shed blood of Montague!

Oh cousin, cousin.

- Benvolio, who began this fray?

- Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay.

Romeo that spoke him fair and urged withal

your high displeasure.

All this, uttered with gentle breath,

calm look, knees humbly bowed,

could not take truce with the unruly spleen

of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts

with piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,

who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point.

Romeo he cries aloud, "Hold, friends!

"Hold, friends, friends, part!"

and twixt them rushes underneath whose arm

an envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life

of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.

But by and by comes back to Romeo,

who had but newly entertained revenge.

And to it they go like lightning, for ere I

could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain.

And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.

This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

- He is a kinsman to the Montague!

Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.

I beg for justice which thou Prince must give.

Romeo slew Tybalt!

Romeo must not live!

- Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio.

Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

- Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend.

His fault concludes but what the law should end,

the life of Tybalt.

- And for that offense immediately

we do exile him hence.

- No!

- I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,

my blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.

But I will amerce you with so strong a fine

that you shall all repent the loss of mine.

I will be deaf to pleadings and excuses!

Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.

Therefore use none.

Let Romeo hence in haste, else, when he is found,

that hour is his last.

Bear hence the body, and attend our will.

Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

(church bell tolling)

(woman crying)

- Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,

towards Phoebus' lodging.

Such a waggoner as Phaeton would whip you to the west,

and bring in cloudy night immediately.

Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,

that runaway's eyes may wink,

and Romeo leap to these arms, untalked of and unseen.

Lovers can see to do their amorous rites

by their own beauties or, if love be blind,

it best agrees with night.

Come, civil night.

Thou sober-suited matron all in black,

and learn me how to lose a winning match,

played for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.

Hood my unmanned blood bating in my cheeks,

with thy black mantle, till strange love grow bold,

think true love acted simple modesty.

Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night.

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

whiter than new snow on a raven's back.

Come gentle night, come loving black-browed night.

Give me my Romeo and when I shall die,

take him and cut him out in little stars,

and 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!

Oh!

I have bought the mansion of a love,

but not possessed it, and though I am sold,

not yet enjoyed.

So tedious is this day!

As is the night before some festival

to an impatient child that hath new robes

and may not wear them, oh, here comes my nurse!

And she brings news!

And every tongue that speaks but Romeo's name

speaks heavenly eloquence.

Now, Nurse, what news?

What hast thou there, the cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?

- Ay, ay, the cords.

- Ay me, what news?

Why dost thou wring thy hands?

- Ah weraday, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead.

We are undone, lady, we are undone!

Alack the day, he's gone, he's killed, he's dead!

- Can heaven be so envious?

- Romeo can! Though heaven cannot!

Oh Romeo, Romeo!

Who ever would have thought it, Romeo?

- What devil art thou that dost torment me thus?

Hath Romeo slain himself?

Say thou but, ay 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!

- 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.

- Oh break, my heart, poor bankrupt break at once.

- Oh Tybalt, Tybalt!

The best friend I had.

Oh courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman.

That ever I should live to see thee dead.

- What storm is this that blows so contrary?

Is Romeo slaughtered, and is Tybalt dead?

My dearest cousin and my dearer lord?

- Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.

Romeo that killed him, he is banished.

- Oh God, did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

- It did, it did, alas the day, it did.

- Oh serpent heart hid with a flowering face.

Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?

Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical.

Was ever book containing such vile matter

so fairly bound?

Oh that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace!

- There's no trust.

No faith, no honesty in men.

All perjured, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

Ah, where's my man?

Give me some aqua vitae!

These grief's, these woes, these sorrows make me old.

Shame come to Romeo!

- Blistered be thy tongue!

For such a wish.

He was not born to shame.

Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit.

Oh what a beast was I to chide at him!

- Will you speak well of him that killed your cousin?

- Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Oh 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 killed my husband.

Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring.

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 murdered me.

I would forget it fain, but oh, it presses to my memory

like damned 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

why followed not, when she said "Tybalt's dead,"

Thy father or thy mother, nay, or both?

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?

- Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse.

Will you go to them?

I will bring you thither.

- 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 beguiled,

both you and I, for Romeo is exiled.

He made you for a highway to my bed,

but I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.

Come cords, come Nurse, I'll to my wedding bed.

And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.

- 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.

- Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight.

And bid him come to take his last farewell.

- Romeo, come forth!

Come forth, thou fearful man!

Affliction is enamored of thy parts,

and thou art wedded to calamity.

- Father, what news?

What is the Prince's doom?

What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

that I yet know not?

- Too familiar is my dear son with such sour company.

I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.

- What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom?

- A gentler judgment vanished from his lips,

not body's death but body's banishment.

- Banishment?

Be merciful, say death.

For exile hath more terror in his look,

much more than death.

Do not say banishment!

- Hence from Verona art thou banished.

Be patient for the world is broad and wide.

- There is no world without Verona walls,

but purgatory, torture, hell itself.

Hence banished is banished from the world.

And world's exile is death.

Then banished is death mis-termed!

Calling death banished, thou cutt'st my head off

with a golden ax, and smilest upon the stroke

that murders me.

- Oh deadly sin, oh rude unthankfulness!

Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,

taking thy part, hath rushed aside the law,

and turned that hard word death to banishment.

This is dear mercy and thou seest 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.

They may seize on the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,

and steal immortal blessing from her lips.

But Romeo may not, he is banished.

Flies may do this but I from this must fly.

And sayest thou yet that exile is not death?

Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife,

no sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,

but banished to kill me?

Banished?

Friar, the damned use that word in hell.

Howling attends it.

How hast thou the heart, being a divine,

a ghostly confessor, a sin-absolver,

and my friend professed,

to mangle me with that word banished?

- Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word!

- Oh thou wilt speak again of banishment!

- I'll give thee armor to keep off that word,

adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, to comfort thee.

- 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!

- Oh then I see that mad men have no ears!

- How should they when that wise men have no eyes?

- Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

- Thou canst not speak of that 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,

then mightst thou speak!

Then mightst thou tear thy hair,

and fall upon the ground as I do now,

taking the measure of an unmade grave.

(knocking on door)

(Romeo sobbing)

- Arise, one knocks.

Good Romeo, hide thyself.

(knocking on door) Hark how they knock.

Who's there?

Romeo arise, thou wilt be taken.

(urgent knocking on door) Stay awhile!

Stand up, run to my study.

Oh!

By and by!

God's will, what simpleness is this?

(knocking on door) I come, I come!

Who knocks so hard?

Whence come you? What's your will?

- Let me come in and you shall know my errand.

I come from lady Juliet.

- Welcome, then.

- Oh holy Friar, oh tell me holy Friar,

where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?

- There on the ground with his own tears made drunk.

- Oh he is even in my mistress' case.

Just in her case!

Oh woeful sympathy.

Even so lies she, blubbering and weeping,

weeping and blubbering.

(Romeo crying) Stand up, stand up!

Stand an you be a man!

For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand!

- Oh nurse! (sobs loudly)

(audience laughing)

- Ah sir, ah sir, death's the end of all.

- Spak'st thou of Juliet?

How is it with her?

Where is she and how doth she and what says she?

- Oh she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps.

And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,

and Tybalt calls and then on Romeo cries,

and then down falls again.

- As if that name, shot from the deadly level of a gun,

did murder her.

As that name's cursed hand murdered her kinsman.

Oh tell me, Friar, tell me,

in what vile part of this anatomy doth my name lodge?

Tell me, that I may sack the hateful mansion!

- Hold thy desperate hand!

(Romeo weeping)

Art thou a man?

Thy form cries out thou art.

Thy tears are womanish!

Thy wild acts denote the unreasonable fury of a beast.

Thou hast amazed me, by my holy order,

I thought thy disposition better tempered.

Hast thou slain Tybalt?

Wilt thou slay thy self?

And slay thy lady too that lives in thee?

By doing damned hate upon thy self?

Oh what, rouse thee, man, thy Juliet is alive,

There art thou happy.

Tybalt would kill thee, but thou slewest Tybalt.

There art thou happy.

The law which threatened death becomes thy friend

and turns it to exile.

There art thou happy.

A pack of blessings light up upon thy back,

happiness courts thee in her best array,

but like a misbehaved and sullen child,

thou poutst upon thy fortune and thy love.

Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.

(Romeo whining) (audience laughing)

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 wentst 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.

- Oh lord!

I could have stayed here all the night to hear good counsel.

Oh, what learning is!

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

- Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

- Here sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.

Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

- How well my comfort is revived by this.

- Go hence, good night.

And here stands all your state.

Either be gone before the watch be set,

or by the break of day disguised 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.

- But that a joy past joy calls out on me,

it were a grief so brief to part with thee.

Farewell.

- Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily

that we have had no time to move our daughter.

Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,

and so did I.

Well, we were born to die.

It is very late, she'll not come down tonight.

I promise you, but for your company,

I would have been abed an hour ago.

- These times of woe afford no time to woo.

Madam, good night.

Commend me to your daughter.

- I will, and know her mind early tomorrow.

Tonight she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

- Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender

of my child's love.

I think she will be ruled 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's love.

And bid her, now mark you me, on Wednesday next,

but soft, what day is this?

- Monday, my lord.

- Monday?

Aha.

Well, Wednesday is too soon,

a Thursday let it be,

a Thursday, tell her,

she shall be married to this noble earl.

Will you be ready?

Do you like this haste?

- My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.

- Well, get you gone, a Thursday be it then.

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed.

Prepare her, Wife, against this wedding day.

Farewell, my lord.

Light to my chamber, ho.

Afore me, it is so very late,

that we may call it early by and by. (chuckles)

(birds singing)

- 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.

Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree.

Believe me love, it was the nightingale.

- 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.

- Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I.

It is some meteor that the sun exhales.

To be to thee this night a torchbearer,

and light thee on thy way to Mantua.

Therefore stay yet, thou needst not to be gone.

- Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death.

I am content so thou wilt have it so.

I'll say yon gray is not the morning's eye,

nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat

the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.

I have more care to stay than will to go.

Come death and welcome, Juliet wills it so.

How ist, my soul?

Let's talk, it is not day.

- 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.

Oh now be gone, more light and light it grows.

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

- Madame! - Nurse.

- Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.

The day is broke, be wary, look about.

- Then window let day in and let life out.

- Farewell, Farewell!

One kiss and I'll descend.

- Art thou gone so?

Love, lord, ay husband, friend?

I must hear from thee everyday in the hour,

For in a minute there are many days.

Oh by this count I shall be much in years

ere I again behold my Romeo.

- Farewell.

I will omit no opportunity that may convey my greetings,

Love to thee.

- Oh thinkst thou we shall ever meet again?

- I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve

for sweet discourses in our time to come.

- Oh God, I have an ill-divining soul!

Methinks I see thee now thou art so low,

as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

Either my eyesight fails, or thou lookst pale.

- And trust me, Love, in my eye so do you.

Dry sorrow drinks our blood.

Adieu, adieu.

(hollow clanging) (Juliet gasping)

- Oh Fortune, Fortune,

all men call thee fickle.

Be fickle, Fortune,

for then I hope thou wilt not keep him long,

but send him back.

- Ho daughter, are you up?

(Juliet weeping) Why, how now, Juliet?

- Madam, I am not well.

- Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?

What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?

An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.

- Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

- Well, girl, thou weepst not so much for his death,

as that the villain lives which slaughtered him.

- What villain, Madam?

- That same villain, Romeo.

- God pardon him.

I do with all my heart,

and yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.

- That is because the traitor murderer lives.

- Ay, Madam, from the reach of these my hands,

would none but I might venge my cousin's death.

- We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.

And weep no more.

I'll send to one in Mantua,

where that same banished runagate doth live,

shall give him such an unaccustomed dram,

that he shall soon keep Tybalt company.

- 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.

Oh how my heart abhors to hear him named

and cannot come to him.

- Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.

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

- And joy comes well in such a needy time.

What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

- 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 expectest not, nor I looked not for.

- Madam, in happy time, what day is that?

- 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.

- 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!

- Here comes your father.

Tell him so yourself,

and see how he will take it at your hands.

- When the sun sets the earth doth drizzle dew,

but for the sunset of my brother's son

it rains downright.

How now, a conduit, girl?

What, still in tears?

Evermore showering?

How now, Wife?

Have you delivered to her our decree?

- Ay sir, but she will none, she gives you thanks.

I would the fool were married to her grave.

- Soft, take me with you, take me with you, Wife.

How? Will she none?

Doth she not give us thanks?

Is she not proud?

Doth she not count her blessed,

unworthy as she is that we have wrought

so worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

- Not proud, you have, but thankful, that you have.

Proud can I never be of what I hate,

but thankful even for hate that is meant love.

- How now, how now, chopped logic?

What is this?

Proud and I thank you and I thank you not

and yet not proud, mistress minion you?

Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,

But fettle your fine joints to Thursday next

to go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,

or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.

Out, you green-sickness carrion!

Out, you baggage!

You tallow-face!

- Fie, fie, what, are you mad?

- Good father, I beseech you on my knees,

hear me with patience but to speak a word.

- Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch.

I tell thee what, get thee to church a Thursday

or never after look me in the face.

No, speak not, reply not, do not answer me!

My fingers itch.

Wife, we scarce thought us blest

that God had lent us but this only child.

But now I see this one is one too much,

and that we have a curse in having her.

Out on her hilding!

- God in heaven bless her.

You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.

- And why, my lady wisdom?

Hold your tongue. - May not one speak?

- Peace, you mumbling fool!

Utter your gravity over a gossip's bowl,

for here we need it not.

- You are too hot.

- God's bread, it makes me mad!

Day, night, work, play, alone, in company,

and still my care hath been to have her matched!

And having now provided a gentleman of noble parentage,

stuffed, as they say, with honorable parts,

proportioned as one's thought would wish a man.

And then to have a wretched puling fool,

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!

(Juliet screaming)

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

Thursday is near.

Lay hand on heart, advise.

And you be mine, I'll give you to my friend,

and you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in 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.

- Is there no Pity sitting in the clouds,

that sees into the bottom of my grief?

Oh sweet my mother, cast me not away,

delay this marriage for a month, a week--

- Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word.

Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.

- Oh God!

Oh Nurse, how shall this be prevented?

My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.

How shall that faith return again to earth

unless that husband send it me from heaven

by leaving earth?

Comfort me, counsel me.

Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems

upon so soft a subject as myself!

What sayest thou?

Hast thou not a word of joy?

Some comfort, Nurse!

(Juliet weeping) - Faith, here it is.

Romeo is banished, and all the world to nothing

that he dares ne'er come back to challenge you.

Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,

I think it best you married with the County.

Oh he's a lovely gentleman!

Romeo's a dishclout 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, your first is dead,

or 'twere as good he were as living here

and you no use of him.

- Speakst thou from thy heart?

- And from my soul too, else beshrew them both.

- Amen.

- What?

- Well thou hast comforted me marvelous much.

Go in and tell my lady I am gone.

Having displeased my father, to Laurence cell,

to make confession and to be absolved.

- Marry, I will!

And this is wisely done.

- Ancient damnation!

Oh most wicked fiend!

Go, counselor.

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.

- On Thursday, sir?

The time is very short.

- My father Capulet will have it so,

and I am nothing slow to slack his haste.

- You say you do not know the lady's mind.

Uneven is the course, I like it not.

- Good sir, her father counts it dangerous

that she doth give her sorrow so much sway.

And in his wisdom hastes our marriage.

- I would I knew not why it should be slowed.

Look sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

- Happily met, my lady and my wife.

- That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.

- That may be must be, Love, on Thursday next.

- What must be shall be.

- That's a certain text.

- Come you to make confession to this father?

- To answer that, I should confess to you.

- Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.

- The tears have got small victory by that,

for it was bad enough before their spite.

- Thou wrongst it more than tears with that report.

Thy face is mine, and thou hast slandered it.

- It may be so, for it is not mine own.

Are you at leisure, Holy Father, now,

or shall I come to you at evening Mass?

- My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.

My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

- God shield I should disturb devotion.

Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye.

Till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss.

- Oh shut the door, and when thou hast done so,

come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help.

- Oh Juliet, I already know thy grief.

It strains me past the compass of my wits.

I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,

on Thursday next be married to this County.

- Tell me not, Friar, that thou hearest of this,

unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.

If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,

do thou but call my resolution wise,

and with this knife I'll help it presently.

God joined my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands,

and ere this hand, by thee to Romeo sealed,

shall be the label to another deed,

or my true heart with treacherous revolt

turn to another, this shall slay them both.

Be not so long to speak!

I long to die!

If what thou speakst speak not of remedy.

- Hold, daughter, I do spy a kind of hope.

If rather than to marry County Paris,

thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,

then is it likely thou wilt undertake

a thing like death to chide away this shame,

and if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.

- Oh bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,

from off the battlements of any tower,

or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk

where serpents are, chain me with roaring bears.

Or bid me go into a new-made grave

and hide me with a dead man in his shroud.

Things that to hear them told have made me tremble,

and I will do it without fear or doubt,

to live an unstained wife to my sweet Love.

- Hold then.

Go home, be merry, give consent

to marry Paris.

Wednesday is tomorrow.

Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone.

Let not the nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.

Take thou this vial, being then in bed,

and this distilled liquor drink thou off.

When presently through all thy veins shall run

a cold and drowsy humor, for no pulse

shall keep his native progress, but surcease.

No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest.

And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death

thou shalt continue four and twenty hours,

and then awake as from a pleasant sleep.

Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes

to rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead.

Then, as the manner of our Country is,

in thy best robes, uncovered on the bier

thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault

where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.

In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,

shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,

and hither shall he come, and he and I

will watch thy waking, and that very night

shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.

(Juliet gasping)

And this shall free thee from this present shame,

if no inconstant toy nor womanish fear,

abate thy valor in the acting it.

- Give me, give me, oh tell not me of fear.

- Hold, get you gone, be strong and prosperous

in this resolve.

I'll send a friar with speed to Mantua,

with my letters to thy lord.

- Love give me strength, and strength shall help afford.

Farewell, dear father.

- What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?

- Ay, forsooth.

- Well he may chance to do some good on her.

A peevish self-willed harlotry it is.

- See where she comes from shrift with merry look.

- How now, my headstrong, where have you been gadding?

- Where I have learned me to repent the sin

of disobedient opposition to you and your behests,

and am enjoined by holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,

and beg your pardon.

Pardon, I beseech you.

Henceforward I am ever ruled by you.

- Go, send for the County.

Go tell him of this.

Oh, this is well.

Stand up.

This is ast should be.

I'll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning.

- Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,

to help me sort such needful ornaments

as you think fit to furnish me tomorrow?

- No, not till Thursday, there is time enough.

- Go, Nurse, go with her, we'll to Church tomorrow.

Now, afore God, this reverend holy Friar,

our whole city is much bound to him.

- We shall be short in our provision.

'Tis now near night.

- Hush, I will stir about,

And all things shall be well, I warrant thee.

I will play the housewife for this once.

Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.

I'll not to bed.

My heart is wondrous light,

since this same wayward child is so reclaimed.

- Ay, those attires are best.

But, gentle Nurse, I pray thee leave me to myself tonight,

for I have need of many orisons to move the heavens

to smile upon my state, which, well thou knowst,

is cross and full of sin.

- What are you busy? Need you my help?

- No, Madam.

We have culled such necessaries as are behoveful

for our state tomorrow.

So please you, let me now be left alone,

and let the nurse this night sit up with you,

for I am sure you have your hands full all,

in this so sudden business.

- Good night.

Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.

- Farewell.

God knows when we shall meet again.

I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins

that almost freezes up the heat of life.

I'll call them back again to comfort me.

Nurse!

What should she do here?

My dismal scene I needs must act alone.

Come, vial.

What if this mixture do not work at all?

Shall I be married then tomorrow morning?

No, no, this shall forbid it.

Lie thou there.

What if it be a poison which the friar subtly hath

ministered to have me dead?

Lest in this marriage he should be dishonored,

because he married me before to Romeo?

I fear it is, and yet methinks it should not,

for he hath still been tried a holy man.

How if, when I am laid into the tomb,

I wake before the time that Romeo come to redeem me?

There's a fearful point!

Shall I not then be stifled in the vault

to whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,

and there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?

Or if I live, is it not very like,

the horrible conceit of death and night,

together with the terror of the place,

as in a vault, an ancient receptacle,

where for these many hundred years the bones

of all my buried ancestors are packed?

Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,

lies festering in his shroud, where as they say,

at some hours in the night spirits resort.

Alack, alack, is it not like that I,

so early waking, what with loathsome smells,

and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,

that living mortals hearing them run mad!

Oh if I wake, shall I not be distraught,

environed with all these hideous fears,

and madly play with my forefather's joints,

and pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?

And in this rage with some great kinsman's bone,

as with a club, dash out my desperate brains?

(Juliet gasping)

Oh look, methinks I see my cousin's ghost

seeking out Romeo that did spit his body

upon a rapier's point.

Stay, Tybalt, stay!

Romeo, Romeo,

Romeo, here's drink!

I drink to thee.

(church bell tolling)

- Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse.

- They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

- Come, stir, stir, stir!

The second cock hath crowed.

The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock.

Look to the baked meats, good Angelica,

spare not for cost.

- Go, you cotquean, go,

get you to bed.

Faith, you'll be sick tomorrow for this night's watching.

- No, not a whit.

What I have watched ere now all night for lesser cause,

and ne'er been sick.

- Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time,

but I will watch you from such watching now.

- A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!

Now, fellow, what is there?

(servant mumbling around bread)

- Things for the cook, sir, but I--

- Make haste, make haste, make haste!

Oh good faith, 'tis day.

The County will be here with music straight,

for so he said he would.

(distant music playing)

I hear him near.

Nurse! Wife!

What ho! What, Nurse I say!

Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up.

I'll go and chat with Paris.

Hie, make haste!

Make haste!

The Bridegroom he is come already.

Make haste, I say!

- Mistress, what, Mistress!

Juliet!

Fast, I warrant her, she,

Why Lamb, why, Ladybird?

Fie, you slug-a-bed!

Why Love, I say?

Madam?

Sweetheart?

Why, bride?

What not a word?

You take your pennyworths now, sleep for a week,

for the next night, I warrant, the County Paris hath

set up his rest that you shall rest but little.

God forgive me, marry and Amen.

(audience laughing)

How sound is she asleep!

I must needs wake her.

Madam, Madam, Madam!

Ay, let the County take you in your bed,

he'll fright you up, i'faith.

Will it not be?

What?

Dressed and in your clothes and down again?

I must needs wake you.

Lady, lady, lady!

(knife clattering to floor)

(Nurse gasping)

Alas, alas,

help,

help, my lady's dead.

Oh weraday, that ever I was born!

Some aqua vitae, ho!

My lord, my lady!

- What noise is here?

- Oh lamentable day!

- What is the matter?

- Look, look! Oh heavy day!

- Oh me, oh me, my child, my only life!

Revive, look up, or I shall die with thee!

Help! Help!

Call help! - For shame,

bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.

- She's dead!

Deceased, she's dead!

Alack the day.

- Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!

- Ha! Let me see her.

Out, alas, she's cold.

- Oh lamentable day!

- Oh woeful time.

- Death lies on her like an untimely frost

upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

- Come, is the bride ready to go to Church?

(Lady weeping)

- Ready to go, but never to return.

Death is my son-in-Law, Death is my heir!

My daughter he hath wedded!

I will die and leave him all.

Life, living, all is Death's.

(Capulet weeping)

- Have I thought long to see this morning's face,

and doth it give me such a sight as this?

Oh love, oh life, not life but love in death!

(all lamenting)

- Peace oh, for shame!

Confusion's cure lives not in these confusions.

Heaven and yourself had part in this fair maid,

now heaven hath all, and all the better is it for the maid!

Dry up your tears and as the custom is,

in all her best array bear her to church.

Sir, go you in and Madam go with him and go, Sir Paris.

Everyone prepare to follow this fair corse unto her grave.

The heavens do lour upon you for some ill.

Move them no more by crossing their high will.

(somber bell tolling)

- All things that we ordained festival,

turn from their office to black funeral.

Our instruments to melancholy bells,

our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse.

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges turn,

and all things change them to the contrary.

- If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,

my dreams presage some joyful news at hand.

My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,

and all this day an unaccustomed spirit

lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead.

Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think.

And breathed such life with kisses in my lips

that I revived, and was an emperor.

News from Verona!

How now, Balthasar!

Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?

How doth my lady?

Is my father well?

How fares my Juliet?

That I ask again, for nothing can be ill if she be well.

- Then she is well and nothing can be ill.

Her body sleeps in Capel's Monument,

and her immortal part with angels lives.

I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,

and presently took post to tell it you.

Oh pardon me for bringing these ill news,

since you did leave it for my office, sir.

- Is it e'en so?

Then I defy you, stars!

Thou knowest my lodging.

Get me ink and paper and hire post horses.

I will hence tonight.

- I do beseech you, sir, have patience.

Your looks are pale and wild

and do import some misadventure.

- Hush, thou art deceived.

Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

- No, my good lord.

- No matter, get thee gone and hire those horses.

I'll be with thee straight.

Well Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.

Let's see for means.

Oh mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts

of desperate men.

I do remember an apothecary and hereabouts he dwells,

which late I noted in tattered weeds,

with overwhelming brows, culling of simples.

Meager were his looks, sharp misery had worn him

to the bones.

Noting this penury to myself I said

and if a man did need a poison now,

whose sale is present death in Mantua,

Here is a caitiff wretch would sell it him.

Oh this same thought did but forerun my need,

and this same needy man must sell it me.

What ho, Apothecary!

Who calls so loud?

- Come hither, man.

I see that thou art poor, hold, there is forty ducats.

Let me have a dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear

as will disperse itself through all the veins,

that the life-weary taker may fall dead.

- Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law

is death to any he that utters them.

- Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,

and fearest to die?

Death is in thy looks, contempt

and beggary hangs upon thy back.

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law.

The world affords no law to make thee rich,

then be not poor, but break it and take this.

- My poverty but not my will consents.

- I pay thy poverty and not thy will.

- Put this in any liquid thing you will,

and drink it off and if you had the strength

of twenty men it would dispatch you straight.

- There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,

doing more murders in this loathsome world

than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.

Farewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.

Come, cordial and not poison,

go with me to Juliet's grave for there must I use thee.

- Holy Franciscan Friar, Brother, ho!

- This same should be the voice of Friar John.

Welcome from Mantua, what says Romeo?

Or if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

- Going to find a barefoot brother out,

one of our order to accompany me,

here in this city visiting the sick and finding him.

The searchers of the town, suspecting that we both were

in a house where the infectious pestilence did reign,

sealed up the doors and would not let us forth,

so that my speed to Mantua there was stayed.

- Who bare my letter then to Romeo?

- I could not send it!

Here it is again, nor get a messenger to bring it thee,

so fearful were they of infection.

- Unhappy fortune!

By my brotherhood!

The letter was not nice but full of charge of dear import.

Friar John, go hence,

Get me an iron crow and bring it straight into my cell.

- Brother, I'll bring it thee.

- Now must I to the monument alone,

within this three hours will fair Juliet wake.

Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb!

- Give me the light and stand thou all aloof.

Yet take it hence for I would not be seen.

Under yond yew trees lay thee all along,

holding thy ear close to the hollow ground.

So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,

but thou shalt hear it.

Whistle then to me as signal

that thou hearest something approach.

Do as I bid thee, go.

- I am almost afraid to stand alone

here in the Churchyard, yet I will adventure.

- Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew.

Oh woe, thy canopy is dust and stones

which with sweet water nightly I will dew.

Or wanting that with tears distilled by moans.

The obsequies that I for thee will keep

nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.

(page whistling)

The boy gives warning something doth approach.

What cursed foot wanders this way tonight?

- Give me the wrenching iron.

Hold, take this letter.

See thou deliver it to my lord and father.

Give me the light.

Upon thy life I charge thee, whatsoe'er thou hearest

or seest, stand all aloof and do not interrupt me

in my course.

Why I descend into this bed of death

is partly to behold my lady's face,

but chiefly to take thence from her dead finger

a precious ring, a ring that I must use in dear employment.

Therefore hence, be gone.

But if thou jealous dost return to pry

in what I further shall intend to do,

by heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint

and strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.

- I will be gone sir and not trouble you.

- So shalt thou show me friendship.

(audience laughing)

Take thou that.

Live and be prosperous and farewell good fellow.

- For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout.

His looks I fear and his intents I doubt.

- Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,

gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,

Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open!

And in despite I'll cram thee with more food.

- Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!

Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.

Obey and go with me, for thou must die.

- I must indeed and therefore came I hither.

Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.

Put not another sin upon my head

by urging me to fury.

Oh be gone!

- Oh lord! I will go call the watch!

- By heaven I love thee better than myself.

Stay not, be gone.

Live and hereafter say,

a madman's mercy bid thee run away.

- I do defy thy conjurations and apprehend thee

for a felon here.

- Wilt thou provoke me?

Then have at thee, boy!

Ha! - Ah!

(Paris screaming)

- Oh I am slain!

If thou be merciful,

open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

- In faith, I will.

Let me peruse this face, Mercutio's kinsman,

noble County Paris.

What said my man when my betossed soul

did not attend him as we rode?

I think he told me Paris should have married Juliet.

Said he not so or did I dream it so?

Or am I mad hearing him talk of Juliet,

to think it was so?

Oh give me thy hand, one writ with me

in sour misfortune's book.

I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.

A grave?

Oh no a lantern slaughtered youth,

for here lies Juliet and her beauty makes

this vault a feasting presence full of light.

Death, lie thou there by a dead man interred.

How oft when men are at the point of death,

have they been merry which their keepers call

a lightening before death.

Oh how may I call this a lightening?

Oh my Love,

my wife,

Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,

hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.

Thou art not conquered.

Beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips

and in thy cheeks, and Death's pale flag

is not advanced there.

Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?

Oh what more favor can I do to thee,

than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain

to sunder his that was thine enemy?

Forgive me, cousin!

Oh, sweet Juliet,

Why art thou yet so fair?

Shall I believe that unsubstantial Death is amorous,

and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here

in dark to be his paramour?

For fear of that I still will stay with thee,

and never from this palace of dim night depart again.

Here,

here will I remain with worms that are thy chambermaids.

Oh here will I set up my everlasting rest,

and shake the yoke of inauspicious stars

from this world-wearied flesh.

Eyes, look your last.

Arms, take your last embrace,

and lips,

oh you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss

a dateless bargain to engrossing Death.

Come bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide!

Thou desperate pilot now at once

run on the dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark.

Here's to my love.

(Romeo grunting and gasping)

Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick.

Thus with a kiss I die.

(Romeo grunting and gasping)

- Saint Francis be my speed.

How oft tonight have my old feet stumbled at graves?

(gasps) Who's there?

- Here's one, a friend and one that knows you well.

- Bliss be upon you.

Tell me good my friend, what torch is yond that vainly

lends his light to grubs and eyeless skulls?

As I discern, it burneth in the Capel's Monument.

- It doth so, holy sir, and there's my master,

one that you love.

- Who is it? - Romeo.

- How long hath he been there?

- Full half an hour.

- Go with me to the vault.

- I dare not, sir, my master knows not but I am gone hence,

and fearfully did menace me with death if I did stay

to look on his intents.

- Stay then, I'll go alone.

Fear comes upon me.

Oh much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

- As I did sleep under this yew tree here,

I dreamt my master and another fought,

and that my master slew him.

- Romeo!

(Friar panting)

Oh!

Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains

the stony entrance of this sepulcher?

Romeo?

Oh!

Pale!

Who else?

What, Paris too?

And steeped in blood?

Oh what an unkind hour is guilty of this lamentable chance?

The lady stirs.

- Oh comfortable Friar, where is my lord?

I do remember well where I should be and there I am.

Where is my, Romeo?

- I hear some noise.

lady, come from that nest of death, contagion,

and unnatural sleep.

A greater power than we can contradict

hath thwarted our attempts.

Come, come away. Ho!

Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead!

Stay not to question for the watch is coming.

Come, go, good Juliet, I dare no longer stay.

- Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.

What's here?

A cup closed in my true love's hand?

Poison I see, hath been his timeless end.

Oh churl, drunk all and left no friendly drop

to help me after.

I will kiss thy lips, haply some poison yet doth

hang on them to make me die with a restorative.

Thy lips are warm.

Lead boy, which way?

- Yea noise?

Then I'll be brief.

Oh happy dagger.

This is thy sheath.

There rest, and let me die.

(Juliet gasps)

- This is the place, there where the torch doth burn.

- The ground is bloody.

Oh most pitiful sight.

Go tell the Prince.

Run to the Capulets, raise up the Montagues.

Some others search.

We see the ground whereon these woes do lie,

but the true ground of all these piteous woes

we cannot without circumstance descry.

Here's Romeo's man.

We found him in the churchyard.

Hold him in safety till

the Prince come hither.

- Here's a Friar with instruments upon him

fit to open dead men's tombs.

- A great suspicion. Stay the Friar too.

- Romeo! Romeo!

Romeo! Juliet!

Juliet! Juliet!

Paris!

- What misadventure is so early up,

that calls our person from our morning's rest?

- What should it be that they so shriek abroad?

- The people in the street cry Romeo,

some Juliet and some Paris and all run,

with open outcry toward our monument.

- What fear is this which startles in our ears?

- Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain,

and Romeo dead and Juliet, dead before, warm and new killed.

- Oh heavens!

Oh Wife, look how our daughter bleeds!

- Oh me, this sight of death is as a bell,

that warns my old age to a sepulcher.

- Come Montague, for thou art early up

to see thy son and heir now early down.

- Alas, my liege, Benvolio is dead tonight.

Grief and his own hand hath stopped his breath.

What further woe conspires against my age?

- Look and thou shalt see.

- Oh most woeful hour that ere time saw.

- Oh thou untaught!

What manners is in this, to press before thy

father to a grave?

- Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,

till we can clear these ambiguities,

and know their spring, their head, their true descent.

Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

- I am the greatest able to do least,

yet most suspected as the time and place

doth make against me of this direful murder.

- Then say at once what thou dost know in this.

- Romeo there dead was husband to that Juliet.

And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife.

I married them and their stolen marriage day

was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death

banished the new-made bridegroom from this city,

for whom and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.

You to remove that siege of grief from her,

betrothed and would have married her perforce

to County Paris.

Then comes she to me and with wild looks bid me

devise some mean to rid her from this second marriage,

or in my cell there would she kill herself.

Then gave I her so tutored by my art,

a sleeping potion which so took effect as I intended,

for it wrought on her the form of death.

Meantime I writ to Romeo, that he should hither come

as this dire night, to help to take her

from her borrowed grave, but he which bore my letter,

Friar John, was stayed by accident,

and yesternight returned my letter back.

Then, all alone came I to take her from her kindred's vault.

But when I came, some minute ere the time of her awaking,

here untimely lay the noble Paris and true Romeo dead.

She wakes and I entreated her come forth,

and bear this work of heaven with patience,

but then a noise did scare me from the tomb.

And she, too desperate, would not go with me,

but as it seems, did violence on herself.

- Where's Romeo's man?

What can he say in this?

- I brought my master news of Juliet's death,

and then in post he came from Mantua to this same place,

to this same monument.

This letter he early bid me give his father.

- Give me the letter, I will look on it.

Where is the County's Page that raised the watch?

Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

- He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave,

and bid me stand aloof and so I did.

Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb,

and by and by my master drew on him,

and then I ran away to call the watch.

- This letter doth make good the Friar's words.

Their course of love, the tidings of her death.

And here he writes that he did buy a poison

of a poor 'pothecary and therewithal came to this vault,

to die and lie with Juliet.

Where be these enemies?

Capulet, Montague, see what a scourge is laid

upon your hate, that heaven finds means

to kill your joys with love.

And I, for winking at your discords too,

have lost a brace of kinsmen.

All are punished.

- Oh brother Montague, give me thy hand.

This is my daughter's jointure,

for no more can I demand.

- But I can give thee more,

for I will raise her statue in pure gold,

that while Verona by that name is known,

there shall no figure at such rate be set

as that of true and faithful Juliet.

- As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie,

poor sacrifices of our enmity.

- A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun for sorrow will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.

Some shall be pardoned and some punished,

for never was a story of more woe

than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

(somber bell tolls)

(audience applauding)

(jovial music)