&

Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death:-then banished Is death mis-term'd. Calling death banishment, Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment. This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. "T is 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 may 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;
This may flies do, when I from this must fly-
(And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death)—
But Romeo may not, he is banished.b

Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground

a (A), Hence.

b We have restored this passage to the reading of the folio. The lines were transposed by Steevens, without regard to any copy. In the first quarto the passage is altogether different. In that of 1609 it runs thus:

"This may flies do, when I from this must fly ;-
(And say'st thou yet that exile is not death)-

But Romeo may not, he is banished.

Flies may do this, but I from this must fly,
They are free men, but I am bauished."

• Thus (D).

Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears
Rom. How should they, when that wise men
have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. 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 might'st thou speak, then might'st thou
tear thy hair,

And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide
[Knocking within.
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick

thyself.

Doth not she think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd 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.

Rom.

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. [Draws his sword. Fri. 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! And ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both! Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,* 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 sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;

Which, like an 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,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,”
Is set a-fire 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;

(4) reads

And lay thy lady, too, that lives in thee."

There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy :" The law, that threaten'd death, became thy friend,

And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy: ·
A pack of blessing lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench,
Thou puttest up 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 sct,
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 thy 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 staid here all

the night,

To hear good counsel: O, what learning is !— My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

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

Hie

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you,
sir:
you, make haste, for it grows very late.
[Erit Nurse.
Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands
all your state;

Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd 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.

Rom. 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. Cup. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily,

▸ (4), which modern editors have followed, gives “happy " too."

b Thus (A). The folio. mis-stinped

e Puttest up. So the folio. (D) reads pouts thy forting Is to put up used as to put aside?

That we have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she lov'd 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.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to
Woo;

Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

Lat. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to

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 Thurs-
day?

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

Cap. 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 late, that we
May call it early by and by :-Good night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V-Loggia to Juliet's Chamber.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Another term of falconry. The new is the hawk's cage.

Rom. 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's tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. 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's not to be gone. Rom. 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.

Jul. It is, it is, hie bence, 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

O! by this count I shall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall

scrve

For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Jul. O 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 look 'st pale. Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do

you:

Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu ! [Exit ROMEO.

Jul. 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.

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?

Jul. 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 ?

Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,-
Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram,&
That he shall soon keep Tybait company:
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied.
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor heart, so 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 nam'd,-and cannot come to him,--
To wreak the love I bore my cousin

Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

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

But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl

Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy b time:

What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
La. Cap. 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.
Jul. Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
La. Cap. Marry, my child, early next Thurs-

day morn,

The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The county Paris, at St. Peter's church,
Shall happily make thee a joyful bride.

Jul. Now, by St. 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!

a (A) (the other lines being different) has,

"That shall bestow on him so sure a draught" b (d), needful.

La. Cap. Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,

And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and NURSE.

Cap. 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? In one little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sca, 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 delivered to her our decree?

La. Cap. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives
you thanks.

I would the fool were married to her grave! Cap. 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 bless'd,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Jul. 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.b
Cap. How now! how now, chop-logic! What
is this ?

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
bless'd

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.
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your

Peace, you mumbling fool!

Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.

La. Cap.

You are too hot.
Cap. God's bread! it makes me mad.
Day, right, 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, an 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:
be mine, I'll give you to my friend ;

An

An

no

But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To with Paris to St. Peter's church, go

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!

You tallow face!

La. Cap. Fie, fie! what are you mad? Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Cap Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch

o (D) gives us air.

b Meant tore-meant as love.

o (C) has this line, which is not in the folio:

"And yet not proud;-Mistress, minion, you."

you

you

be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' 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.