I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady! Enter LADY CAPULET. NURSE. LA. CAP. What noise is here? O lamentable day! Look, look! O heavy day! LA. CAP. What is the matter? LA. CAP. O me, O me!-my child, my only life, Help, help!-call help. Enter CAPULET. 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 dead. 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. 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? 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, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. NURSE. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! PAR. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! 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!- 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 hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death; On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, CAP. All things that we ordained festival, 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. PET. 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!" O, 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, Then music, with her silver sound; Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver sound? 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. 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. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you. It is-music with her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding: Then music, with her silver sound, [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. [Exeunt. 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. (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,) Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, Enter BALTHASAR. News from Verona!-How now, Balthasar? BAL. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill. ROM. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!- BAL. I do beseech you, sir, have patience. Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROM. Tush, thou art deceiv'd; Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do: ROM. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. [Exit BALTHASAR. Let's see for means:-O, mischief! thou art swift I do remember an apothecary,— And hereabouts he dwells,-which late I noted |