ROMEO 
  '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 honourable state, more courtship lives
  In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize
  On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand
  And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
  Who even in pure and vestal modesty,
  Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
  But Romeo may not; he is banished:
  Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
  They are free men, but I am banished.
  And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?
  Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
  No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
  But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'?
  O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
  Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
  Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
  A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
  To mangle me with that word 'banished'?

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.

ROMEO 
  O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  I'll give thee armour to keep off that word:
  Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
  To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

ROMEO 
  Yet 'banished'? 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.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  O, then I see that madmen have no ears.

ROMEO 
  How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.

ROMEO 
  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 within
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.

ROMEO 
  Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,
  Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

  Knocking
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;
  Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;

  Knocking
  Run to my study. By and by! God's will,
  What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

  Knocking
  Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

Nurse 
  [Within] Let me come in, and you shall know
  my errand;
  I come from Lady Juliet.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Welcome, then.

  Enter Nurse
Nurse 
  O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
  Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

Nurse 
  O, he is even in my mistress' case,
  Just in her case! O woful sympathy!
  Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,
  Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
  Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:
  For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
  Why should you fall into so deep an O?

ROMEO 
  Nurse!

Nurse 
  Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all.

ROMEO 
  Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
  Doth she not think me an old murderer,
  Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
  With blood removed but little from her own?
  Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
  My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurse 
  O, 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.

ROMEO 
  As if that name,
  Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
  Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
  Murder'd her kinsman. O, 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.

  Drawing his sword
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Hold thy desperate hand:
  Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
  Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
  The unreasonable fury of a beast:
  Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
  Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
  Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
  I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
  Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
  And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,
  By doing damned hate upon thyself?
  Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
  Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
  In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
  Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
  Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
  And usest none in that true use indeed
  Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:
  Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
  Digressing from the valour of a man;
  Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
  Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
  Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
  Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
  Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,
  Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
  And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
  What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
  For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
  There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
  But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:
  The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend
  And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
  A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;
  Happiness courts thee in her best array;
  But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,
  Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
  Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
  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 went'st 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.

Nurse 
  O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
  To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!
  My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

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

Nurse 
  Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:
  Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

  Exit
ROMEO 
  How well my comfort is revived by this!

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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.

ROMEO 
  But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
  It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.

  Exeunt
SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house.
  Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS 
CAPULET 
  Things have fall'n 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.
  'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:
  I promise you, but for your company,
  I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

PARIS 
  These times of woe afford no time to woo.
  Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

LADY CAPULET 
  I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
  To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.

CAPULET 
  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' love;
  And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--
  But, soft! what day is this?

PARIS 
  Monday, my lord,

CAPULET 
  Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,
  O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,
  She shall be married to this noble earl.
  Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
  We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two;
  For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
  It may be thought we held him carelessly,
  Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
  Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
  And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

PARIS 
  My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.

CAPULET 
  Well get you gone: o' 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 very late,
  That we may call it early by and by.
  Good night.

  Exeunt
SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.
  Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window 
JULIET 
  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.

ROMEO 
  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.

JULIET 
  Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
  It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
  To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
  And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
  Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.

ROMEO 
  Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
  I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
  I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,
  'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
  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 is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

JULIET 
  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.
  Some say the lark makes sweet division;
  This doth not so, for she divideth us:
  Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
  O, now I would they had changed voices too!
  Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
  Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,
  O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.

ROMEO 
  More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!

  Enter Nurse, to the chamber
Nurse 
  Madam!

JULIET 
  Nurse?

Nurse 
  Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:
  The day is broke; be wary, look about.

  Exit
JULIET 
  Then, window, let day in, and let life out.

ROMEO 
  Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

  He goeth down
JULIET 
  Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!
  I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
  For in a minute there are many days:
  O, by this count I shall be much in years
  Ere I again behold my Romeo!

ROMEO 
  Farewell!
  I will omit no opportunity
  That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

JULIET 
  O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

ROMEO 
  I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve
  For sweet discourses in our time to come.

JULIET 
  O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
  Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
  As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
  Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.

ROMEO 
  And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
  Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!

  Exit
JULIET 
  O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
  If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
  That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
  For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
  But send him back.

LADY CAPULET 
  [Within] Ho, daughter! are you up?

JULIET 
  Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?
  Is she not down so late, or up so early?
  What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

  Enter LADY CAPULET
LADY CAPULET 
  Why, how now, Juliet!

JULIET 
  Madam, I am not well.

LADY CAPULET 
  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;
  Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love;
  But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

JULIET 
  Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

LADY CAPULET 
  So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
  Which you weep for.

JULIET 
  Feeling so the loss,
  Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

LADY CAPULET 
  Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,
  As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

JULIET 
  What villain madam?

LADY CAPULET 
  That same villain, Romeo.

JULIET 
  [Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.--
  God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart;
  And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.

LADY CAPULET 
  That is, because the traitor murderer lives.

JULIET 
  Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:
  Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!

LADY CAPULET 
  We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not:
  Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
  Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,
  Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram,
  That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
  And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

JULIET 
  Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
  With Romeo, till I behold him--dead--
  Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd.
  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. O, how my heart abhors
  To hear him named, and cannot come to him.
  To wreak the love I bore my cousin
  Upon his body that slaughter'd him!

LADY CAPULET 
  Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
  But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

JULIET 
  And joy comes well in such a needy time:
  What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

LADY CAPULET 
  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 expect'st not nor I look'd not for.

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

LADY CAPULET 
  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.

JULIET 
  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!

LADY CAPULET 
  Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,
  And see how he will take it at your hands.

  Enter CAPULET and Nurse
CAPULET 
  When the sun sets, the air 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? In one little body
  Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;
  For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
  Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
  Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;
  Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,
  Without a sudden calm, will overset
  Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife!
  Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

LADY CAPULET 
  Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
  I would the fool were married to her grave!

CAPULET 
  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 blest,
  Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
  So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

JULIET 
  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.

CAPULET 
  How now, how now, chop-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 'gainst 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!

LADY CAPULET 
  Fie, fie! what, are you mad?

JULIET 
  Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
  Hear me with patience but to speak a word.

CAPULET 
  Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
  I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday,
  Or never after look me in the face:
  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!

Nurse 
  God in heaven bless her!
  You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.

CAPULET 
  And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
  Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.

Nurse 
  I speak no treason.

CAPULET 
  O, God ye god-den.

Nurse 
  May not one speak?

CAPULET 
  Peace, you mumbling fool!
  Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl;
  For here we need it not.

LADY CAPULET 
  You are too hot.

CAPULET 
  God's bread! it makes me mad:
  Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,
  Alone, in company, still my care hath been
  To have her match'd: and having now provided
  A gentleman of noble parentage,
  Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
  Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,
  Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man;
  And then to have a wretched puling fool,
  A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
  To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love,
  I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.'
  But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you:
  Graze where you will you shall not house with me:
  Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
  Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
  An 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.

  Exit
JULIET 
  Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
  That sees into the bottom of my grief?
  O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!
  Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
  Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
  In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

LADY CAPULET 
  Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
  Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.

  Exit
JULIET 
  O God!--O 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 practise stratagems
  Upon so soft a subject as myself!
  What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
  Some comfort, nurse.

Nurse 
  Faith, here it is.
  Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing,
  That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
  Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
  Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
  I think it best you married with the county.
  O, 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.

JULIET 
  Speakest thou from thy heart?

Nurse 
  And from my soul too;
  Or else beshrew them both.

JULIET 
  Amen!

Nurse 
  What?

JULIET 
  Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
  Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,
  Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,
  To make confession and to be absolved.

Nurse 
  Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.

  Exit
JULIET 
  Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
  Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
  Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
  Which she hath praised him with above compare
  So many thousand times? Go, counsellor;
  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.

  Exit
ACT IV
SCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell.
  Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS 
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.

PARIS 
  My father Capulet will have it so;
  And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  You say you do not know the lady's mind:
  Uneven is the course, I like it not.

PARIS 
  Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
  And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
  For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
  Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
  That she doth give her sorrow so much sway,
  And in his wisdom hastes our marriage,
  To stop the inundation of her tears;
  Which, too much minded by herself alone,
  May be put from her by society:
  Now do you know the reason of this haste.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  [Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
  Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

  Enter JULIET
PARIS 
  Happily met, my lady and my wife!

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

PARIS 
  That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.

JULIET 
  What must be shall be.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  That's a certain text.

PARIS 
  Come you to make confession to this father?

JULIET 
  To answer that, I should confess to you.

PARIS 
  Do not deny to him that you love me.

JULIET 
  I will confess to you that I love him.

PARIS 
  So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.

JULIET 
  If I do so, it will be of more price,
  Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.

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

JULIET 
  The tears have got small victory by that;
  For it was bad enough before their spite.

PARIS 
  Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.

JULIET 
  That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
  And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

PARIS 
  Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.

JULIET 
  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?

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
  My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

PARIS 
  God shield I should disturb devotion!
  Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye:
  Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.

  Exit
JULIET 
  O shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
  Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Ah, 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.

JULIET 
  Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st 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 join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
  And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
  Shall be the label to another deed,
  Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
  Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
  Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time,
  Give me some present counsel, or, behold,
  'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
  Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
  Which the commission of thy years and art
  Could to no issue of true honour bring.
  Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
  If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope,
  Which craves as desperate an execution.
  As that is desperate which we would prevent.
  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,
  That copest with death himself to scape from it:
  And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy.

JULIET 
  O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
  From off the battlements of yonder tower;
  Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
  Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
  Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
  O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
  With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;
  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 unstain'd wife to my sweet love.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
  To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow:
  To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;
  Let not thy 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 humour, for no pulse
  Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:
  No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
  The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
  To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall,
  Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
  Each part, deprived of supple government,
  Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
  And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
  Thou shalt continue two and forty 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 uncover'd 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.
  And this shall free thee from this present shame;
  If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
  Abate thy valour in the acting it.

JULIET 
  Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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.

JULIET 
  Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.
  Farewell, dear father!

  Exeunt
SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house.
  Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen 
CAPULET 
  So many guests invite as here are writ.

  Exit First Servant
  Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.

Second Servant 
  You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they
  can lick their fingers.

CAPULET 
  How canst thou try them so?

Second Servant 
  Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his
  own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his
  fingers goes not with me.

CAPULET 
  Go, be gone.

  Exit Second Servant
  We shall be much unfurnished for this time.
  What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?

Nurse 
  Ay, forsooth.

CAPULET 
  Well, he may chance to do some good on her:
  A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.

Nurse 
  See where she comes from shrift with merry look.

  Enter JULIET
CAPULET 
  How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding?

JULIET 
  Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
  Of disobedient opposition
  To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd
  By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
  And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you!
  Henceforward I am ever ruled by you.

CAPULET 
  Send for the county; go tell him of this:
  I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.

JULIET 
  I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell;
  And gave him what becomed love I might,
  Not step o'er the bounds of modesty.

CAPULET 
  Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up:
  This is as't should be. Let me see the county;
  Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
  Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar,
  Our whole city is much bound to him.

JULIET 
  Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
  To help me sort such needful ornaments
  As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?

LADY CAPULET 
  No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.

CAPULET 
  Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow.

  Exeunt JULIET and Nurse
LADY CAPULET 
  We shall be short in our provision:
  'Tis now near night.

CAPULET 
  Tush, I will stir about,
  And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife:
  Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
  I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone;
  I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho!
  They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself
  To County Paris, to prepare him up
  Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,
  Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

  Exeunt
SCENE III. Juliet's chamber.
  Enter JULIET and Nurse 
JULIET 
  Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse,
  I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night,
  For I have need of many orisons
  To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
  Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin.

  Enter LADY CAPULET
LADY CAPULET 
  What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?

JULIET 
  No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
  As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:
  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.

LADY CAPULET 
  Good night:
  Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.

  Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse
JULIET 
  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 to-morrow morning?
  No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.

  Laying down her dagger
  What if it be a poison, which the friar
  Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
  Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
  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:--
  O, 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?
  O, 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, I come! this do I drink to thee.

  She falls upon her bed, within the curtains
SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house.
  Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse 
LADY CAPULET 
  Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

Nurse 
  They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

  Enter CAPULET
CAPULET 
  Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd,
  The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:
  Look to the baked meats, good Angelica:
  Spare not for the cost.

Nurse 
  Go, you cot-quean, go,
  Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow
  For this night's watching.

CAPULET 
  No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now
  All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.

LADY CAPULET 
  Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
  But I will watch you from such watching now.

  Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse
CAPULET 
  A jealous hood, a jealous hood!

  Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets
  Now, fellow,
  What's there?

First Servant 
  Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.

CAPULET 
  Make haste, make haste.

  Exit First Servant
  Sirrah, fetch drier logs:
  Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

Second Servant 
  I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,
  And never trouble Peter for the matter.

  Exit
CAPULET 
  Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
  Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day:
  The county will be here with music straight,
  For so he said he would: I hear him near.

  Music within
  Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!

  Re-enter Nurse
  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.

  Exeunt
SCENE V. Juliet's chamber.
  Enter Nurse 
Nurse 
  Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she:
  Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
  Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! 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, 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?

  Undraws the curtains
  What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again!
  I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady!
  Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead!
  O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!
  Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!

  Enter LADY CAPULET
LADY CAPULET 
  What noise is here?

Nurse 
  O lamentable day!

LADY CAPULET 
  What is the matter?

Nurse 
  Look, look! O heavy day!

LADY CAPULET 
  O me, O me! My child, my only life,
  Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
  Help, help! Call help.

  Enter CAPULET
CAPULET 
  For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.

Nurse 
  She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!

LADY CAPULET 
  Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!

CAPULET 
  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!

LADY CAPULET 
  O woful time!

CAPULET 
  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
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

CAPULET 
  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, living, all is Death's.

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

LADY CAPULET 
  Accursed, 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 
  O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
  Most lamentable day, most woful day,
  That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
  O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
  Never was seen so black a day as this:
  O woful day, O woful day!

PARIS 
  Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
  Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd,
  By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
  O love! O life! not life, but love in death!

CAPULET 
  Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
  Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
  To murder, murder 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.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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,
  But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
  The most you sought was her promotion;
  For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced:
  And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
  Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
  O, 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 fond nature bids us an lament,
  Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

CAPULET 
  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.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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 lour upon you for some ill;
  Move them no more by crossing their high will.

  Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE
First Musician 
  Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.

Nurse 
  Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up;
  For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

  Exit
First Musician 
  Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

  Enter PETER
PETER 
  Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's
  ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'

First Musician 
  Why 'Heart's ease?'

PETER 
  O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My
  heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump,
  to comfort me.

First Musician 
  Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now.

PETER 
  You will not, then?

First Musician 
  No.

PETER 
  I will then give it you soundly.

First Musician 
  What will you give us?

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

First Musician 
  Then I will give you the serving-creature.

PETER 
  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?

First Musician 
  An you re us and fa us, you note us.

Second Musician 
  Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

PETER 
  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 grief 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?

Musician 
  Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

PETER 
  Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?

Second Musician 
  I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver.

PETER 
  Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

Third Musician 
  Faith, I know not what to say.

PETER 
  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
  With speedy help doth lend redress.'

  Exit
First Musician 
  What a pestilent knave is this same!

Second Musician 
  Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the
  mourners, and stay dinner.

  Exeunt
ACT V
SCENE I. Mantua. A street.
  Enter ROMEO 
ROMEO 
  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 breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
  That I revived, and was an emperor.
  Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
  When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

  Enter BALTHASAR, booted
  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.

BALTHASAR 
  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:
  O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
  Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

ROMEO 
  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.

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

ROMEO 
  Tush, thou art deceived:
  Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
  Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

BALTHASAR 
  No, my good lord.

ROMEO 
  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: O 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 tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
  Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
  Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
  And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
  An alligator stuff'd, and other skins
  Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
  A beggarly account of empty boxes,
  Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds,
  Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses,
  Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
  Noting this penury, to myself I said
  'An if a man did need a poison now,
  Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
  Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.'
  O, this same thought did but forerun my need;
  And this same needy man must sell it me.
  As I remember, this should be the house.
  Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.
  What, ho! apothecary!

  Enter Apothecary
Apothecary 
  Who calls so loud?

ROMEO 
  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
  And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
  As violently as hasty powder fired
  Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Apothecary 
  Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
  Is death to any he that utters them.

ROMEO 
  Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
  And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
  Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
  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.

Apothecary 
  My poverty, but not my will, consents.

ROMEO 
  I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Apothecary 
  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.

ROMEO 
  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.

  Exeunt
SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell.
  Enter FRIAR JOHN 
FRIAR JOHN 
  Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

  Enter FRIAR LAURENCE
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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.

FRIAR JOHN 
  Going to find a bare-foot brother out
  One of our order, to associate 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,
  Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth;
  So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?

FRIAR JOHN 
  I could not send it,--here it is again,--
  Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
  So fearful were they of infection.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
  The letter was not nice but full of charge
  Of dear import, and the neglecting it
  May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
  Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
  Unto my cell.

FRIAR JOHN 
  Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.

  Exit
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Now must I to the monument alone;
  Within three hours will fair Juliet wake:
  She will beshrew me much that Romeo
  Hath had no notice of these accidents;
  But I will write again to Mantua,
  And keep her at my cell till Romeo come;
  Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb!

  Exit
SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets.
  Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch 
PARIS 
  Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof:
  Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
  Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along,
  Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
  So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
  Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,
  But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
  As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
  Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

PAGE 
  [Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
  Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.

  Retires
PARIS 
  Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,--
  O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;--
  Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,
  Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans:
  The obsequies that I for thee will keep
  Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.

  The Page whistles
  The boy gives warning something doth approach.
  What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
  To cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
  What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile.

  Retires
  Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c
ROMEO 
  Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
  Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
  See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
  Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee,
  Whate'er thou hear'st 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:
  The time and my intents are savage-wild,
  More fierce and more inexorable far
  Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

BALTHASAR 
  I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

ROMEO 
  So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that:
  Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow.

BALTHASAR 
  [Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout:
  His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

  Retires
ROMEO 
  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!

  Opens the tomb
PARIS 
  This is that banish'd haughty Montague,
  That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief,
  It is supposed, the fair creature died;
  And here is come to do some villanous shame
  To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.

  Comes forward
  Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague!
  Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
  Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:
  Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

ROMEO 
  I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.
  Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
  Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone;
  Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
  Put not another sin upon my head,
  By urging me to fury: O, be gone!
  By heaven, I love thee better than myself;
  For I come hither arm'd against myself:
  Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say,
  A madman's mercy bade thee run away.

PARIS 
  I do defy thy conjurations,
  And apprehend thee for a felon here.

ROMEO 
  Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy!

  They fight
PAGE 
  O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

  Exit
PARIS 
  O, I am slain!

  Falls
  If thou be merciful,
  Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

  Dies
ROMEO 
  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? O, give me thy hand,
  One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
  I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
  A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd 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 interr'd.

  Laying PARIS in the tomb
  How oft when men are at the point of death
  Have they been merry! which their keepers call
  A lightning before death: O, how may I
  Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife!
  Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
  Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
  Thou art not conquer'd; 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?
  O, what more favour 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! Ah, dear 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 chamber-maids; O, 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, O you
  The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
  A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
  Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
  Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
  The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
  Here's to my love!

  Drinks
  O true apothecary!
  Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

  Dies
  Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, 
  crow, and spade
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
  Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there?

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

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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.

BALTHASAR 
  It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
  One that you love.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Who is it?

BALTHASAR 
  Romeo.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  How long hath he been there?

BALTHASAR 
  Full half an hour.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Go with me to the vault.

BALTHASAR 
  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.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me:
  O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

BALTHASAR 
  As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,
  I dreamt my master and another fought,
  And that my master slew him.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  Romeo!

  Advances
  Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains
  The stony entrance of this sepulchre?
  What mean these masterless and gory swords
  To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

  Enters the tomb
  Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too?
  And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour
  Is guilty of this lamentable chance!
  The lady stirs.

  JULIET wakes
JULIET 
  O comfortable friar! where is my lord?
  I do remember well where I should be,
  And there I am. Where is my Romeo?

  Noise within
FRIAR LAURENCE 
  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 intents. Come, come away.
  Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
  And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
  Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
  Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;
  Come, go, good Juliet,

  Noise again
  I dare no longer stay.

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

  Exit FRIAR LAURENCE
  What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand?
  Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:
  O 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 die with a restorative.

  Kisses him
  Thy lips are warm.

First Watchman 
  [Within] Lead, boy: which way?

JULIET 
  Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!

  Snatching ROMEO's dagger
  This is thy sheath;

  Stabs herself
  there rust, and let me die.

  Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies
  Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS
PAGE 
  This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn.

First Watchman 
  The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard:
  Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach.
  Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain,
  And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
  Who here hath lain these two days buried.
  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.

  Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR
Second Watchman 
  Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard.

First Watchman 
  Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither.

  Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE
Third Watchman 
  Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps:
  We took this mattock and this spade from him,
  As he was coming from this churchyard side.

First Watchman 
  A great suspicion: stay the friar too.

  Enter the PRINCE and Attendants
PRINCE 
  What misadventure is so early up,
  That calls our person from our morning's rest?

  Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others
CAPULET 
  What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?

LADY CAPULET 
  The people in the street cry Romeo,
  Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run,
  With open outcry toward our monument.

PRINCE 
  What fear is this which startles in our ears?

First Watchman 
  Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain;
  And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before,
  Warm and new kill'd.

PRINCE 
  Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.

First Watchman 
  Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man;
  With instruments upon them, fit to open
  These dead men's tombs.

CAPULET 
  O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
  This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house
  Is empty on the back of Montague,--
  And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom!

LADY CAPULET 
  O me! this sight of death is as a bell,
  That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

  Enter MONTAGUE and others
PRINCE 
  Come, Montague; for thou art early up,
  To see thy son and heir more early down.

MONTAGUE 
  Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night;
  Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath:
  What further woe conspires against mine age?

PRINCE 
  Look, and thou shalt see.

MONTAGUE 
  O thou untaught! what manners is in this?
  To press before thy father to a grave?

PRINCE 
  Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
  Till we can clear these ambiguities,
  And know their spring, their head, their
  true descent;
  And then will I be general of your woes,
  And lead you even to death: meantime forbear,
  And let mischance be slave to patience.
  Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  I am the greatest, able to do least,
  Yet most suspected, as the time and place
  Doth make against me of this direful murder;
  And here I stand, both to impeach and purge
  Myself condemned and myself excused.

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

FRIAR LAURENCE 
  I will be brief, for my short date of breath
  Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
  Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
  And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife:
  I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day
  Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death
  Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city,
  For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
  You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
  Betroth'd 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 tutor'd 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 borrow'd grave,
  Being the time the potion's force should cease.
  But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
  Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight
  Return'd my letter back. Then all alone
  At the prefixed hour of her waking,
  Came I to take her from her kindred's vault;
  Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
  Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
  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.
  All this I know; and to the marriage
  Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this
  Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
  Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
  Unto the rigour of severest law.

PRINCE 
  We still have known thee for a holy man.
  Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this?

BALTHASAR 
  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,
  And threatened me with death, going in the vault,
  I departed not and left him there.

PRINCE 
  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?

PAGE 
  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.

PRINCE 
  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 punish'd.

CAPULET 
  O brother Montague, give me thy hand:
  This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
  Can I demand.

MONTAGUE 
  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.

CAPULET 
  As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie;
  Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

PRINCE 
  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 pardon'd, and some punished:
  For never was a story of more woe
  Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

  Exeunt
