Page images

I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady!
Alas! alas !—Help! help! my lady 's dead!
0, well-a-day, that ever I was born !-
Some aqua vito, ho !—my lord! my lady!


LA. CAP. What noise is here?

O lamentable day!
LA. CAP. What is the matter ?

Look, look! O heavy day!
LA. CAP. O me, O me!—my child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee !-
Help, help!-call help.


CAP. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
NURSE. She's dead, deceas’d, she's dead; alack the day!
LA. CAP. Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, she's

CAP. Ha! let me see her:-Out, alas! she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff ;
Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

NURSE. O lamentable day!
LA. Cap.

O woeful time!
CAP. Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians.
FRI. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

CAP. Ready to go, but never to return:
O son, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife:-There she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded! I will die,

And leave him all; life-leaving, all is death's.

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

La. CAP. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour, that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight.

NURSE. () woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
Most lamentable day! most woeful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! 0 day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woeful day, 0 woeful day!

Par. Beguild, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable Death, by thee beguild,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown !-
O love! O life! not life, but love in death!

Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! -
Uncomfortable time! why cam’st thou now
To murther, murther, our solemnity ?-
O child! O child my soul, and not my child !
Dead art thou !-alack! my child is dead!
And, with my child, my joys are buried !

Fri. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now Heaven bath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But Heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For 't was your heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself ?

, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well married that lives married long;
But she's best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary


On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though some nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

CAP. All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.

FRI. Sir, go you in,—and, madam, go with him;-
And go, sir Paris ;-every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
The Heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.

[Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR. 1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.

NURSE. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up, For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit NURSE. 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Enter PETER. Per. Musicians, O, musicians, "Heart's ease, Heart's ease;" O, an you will have me live, play “Heart's ease.”

1 Mus. Why “Heart's ease ?”

PET. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays—“My heart is full!” 0, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.

2 Mus. Not a dump we; 't is no time to play now.
PET. You will not then?
Mus. No.
PET. I will then give it you soundly.
1 Mus. What will you give us ?

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; Do you note me?

1 Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us.

2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

PET. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger:

Answer me like men:

When griping griefs the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,

Then music, with her silver sound;
Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver sound ?
What say you, Simon Catling?

1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck ?
2 Mus. I say—silver sound, because musicians sound for

silver. PET. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost ? 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. 0, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say you. It is—music with her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding :

Then music, with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.

[Exit, singing. 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same!

2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here: tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.




SCENE 1.—Mantua. A Street.

Enter ROMEO.
Rom. 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 unaccustom'd 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 breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar ?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well ?
How doth my lady Juliet ? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

BAL. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capels' 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:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars !
Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

Tush, thou art deceiv’d;
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

Bal. No, my good lord.

No matter: get thee gone
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.

[Exit BALTHASAR. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means :—0, 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

« PreviousContinue »