The Works of William Shakespeare

894

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Call, good Mercutio.
Nay, I'll conjure too.-
Mer.
Romeo! humours! madam! passion! lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but-Ah me! couple but-love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,
When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maid. -
He heareth not, stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure hin.-
I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,
By her forehead, and her scarlet lip,

By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite; my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those
trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mer. 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, good night;-I'll to my truckle-beld;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?
Ben.
Go then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here, that means not to be found.

[Exeunt.

Jul.

Rom.

Ah 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 up-turned wond'ring 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.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Ro
meo?

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.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

[Aside.
Jul. '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 name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
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.

Rom.

I take thee at thy word
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never wil! be Romeo.
Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd
in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?

Rom.

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. Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words SCENE II.-Capulet's garden. Enter Romeo. Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound, Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.-Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague? Rom. Neither, fair saint, [Juliet appears above, at a window.

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, '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 the 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 eye 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!

(1) Alluding to the old ballad of the king and
the beggar.

(2) This phrase in Shakspeare's time was used as an expression of tenderness.

either thee dislike.

Jul. 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.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perc
these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out :
And what love can do, that dares love attempt,
Therefore thy kinsmen are not let to me.

Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Rom. Alack! there lies more perit in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not for the world, they saw thee here.
Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from their

sight;

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.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this
place?

Rom. 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 wash'd with the furthest sea,

I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my face;

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night.
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-Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou may'st 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 may'st think my haviour' light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.2
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou over-heard'st, ere 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.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,-
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant

moon,

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, 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.

Rom. It is my soul, that calls upon my name: Do not swear at all; How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by?
Jul.
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.

Rom.

If my heart's dear loveJul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvis'd, 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! Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? Rom. The exchange of thy love's faithful vow

for mine.

Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again.

Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

Jul. 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.

[Nurse calls within.
I hear some noise within; Dear love, adieu!
Anon, good nurse!-Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come again.

[Exit.

Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Rom.

At what o'clock to-morrow

At the hour of nine.

'tis twenty years till then.

Jul. I will not fail:
have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb'ring how I love thy company.

Forgetting any other home but this.
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,

Jul. '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,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

Rom. I would, I were thy bird.
Jul.

Sweet, so would 1:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! parting is such swee

sorrow,

Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell;

His help to crave, and my dear hap' to tell. [Exit. SCENE III.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket.

Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,

Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light. And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels

(6) Fetters. (7) Chance, fortune. (8) Spotted, streaked.

From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's' wheels:

Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up 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 divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find;
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace,2 that lies

In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.

Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison has residence, and med'cine power:

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!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not laste!
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 wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentenes
then-

Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
Fri.
Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another out to have.

Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she, whom I love

now,

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ;

part;

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes 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.
Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good morrow, father!

Benedicite!

Fri. What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?— Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth, with unstuff'd brain, Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art up-rous'd by some distemp❜rature; Or if not so, then here I hit it rightOur Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's wo. Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou been then?

Rom. 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: I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. Rom. 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 combin'd, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us this day.

The other did not so.

O, she knew weil,

Fri.
Thy love did read by rote, and 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' rancour to pure love.
Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.'
Fri. Wisely, and slow; they stumble, that run
fast.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—A street. Enter Benvolio ana
Mercutio.

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline,

Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.
Mer. A challenge, on my life.

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter.

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;" And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom; the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house,-of the first and second cause: Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay !"

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!-By

Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here! Jesu, a very good blade !-a very tall man!—a

Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,

(1) The sun. (2) Virtue.

(3) i. e. It is of the utmost consequence for me to be hasty.

very good whore !-Why, is not this a lamentable

(4) Arrow. (5) See the story of Reynard the fox (6) By notes pricked down.

(7) Terme of the fencing-school.

thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!!

Enter Romeo.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring:-0 flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!-Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen-wench;-Marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her: Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbé, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose.-Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop.2 You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Rom. Good-morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; Can you not conceive.

Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and, in such a case as mine, a man may strain courtesy.

Mer. That's as much as to say-such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Rom. Meaning-to court'sy.

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Rom. A most courteous exposition.

Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.

Mer. Right.

Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chace, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose?

Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not.

Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

Rom. I stretch it out for that word-broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide

a broad goose.

Mer. Why, is not this better now 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 drivelling love is like a great

(1) In ridicule of Frenchified coxcombs. (2) Trowsers or pantaloons, a French fashion in Shakspeare's time.

(3) A pun on counterfeit money, called slips.
(4) Shoe.
(5) Slight, thin.

(6) A horse-race in any direction the leader thooses to take.

(*) An apple. (8) Sof stretching leather.

natural, that runs lolling up and down, to hide hit bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

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

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, 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. Rom. Here's goodly geer!

Enter Nurse and Peter.

Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail!

Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock. Nurse. Peter!

Peter. Anon?

Nurse. My fan, Peter."

Mer. Pr'ythee, do, good Peter, to hide her face, for her fan's the fairer of the two.

Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, 10 fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den?"

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick" of noon.

Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself to mar.

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ;-For himself to mar, quoth'a ?-Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I can find the young Romeo?

Rom. 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.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i'faith; wisely, wisely.

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

Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What hast thou found?

Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

An old hare hoar, 12
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in lent:
But a hare that is hoar,
Is too much for a score,
When it hoars ere it be spent.

Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady," [Exe. Mer. and Ben. Nurse. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery ?is Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and

(9) It was the custom for servants to carry the lady's fan.

(10) Good even.

(12) Hoary, mouldy.

(11) Point.

(13) The burden of an old song.

(14) A term of disrespect in contradistinction t gentlemen.

(15) Roguery.

twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirtgills; I am none of his skains-mates:-And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, 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.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!-Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade 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 behaviour, 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.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,

Nurse. Good heart! and, i'faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.

Nurse. I will tell her, sir,-that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to skrift?

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.
Farewell! Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.
Farewell!-Commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee!-Hark
you, sir.

Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse?

nurse;

In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance, she cannot meet him: that's not so.-
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over louring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd 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 twelve
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.

Enter Nurse and Peter.

O God, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter.
Jul. 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.

Nurse. I am weary, give me leave a while;-
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!
Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy

Do you not see, that I am out of breath?

Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast
breath

To say to me-that thou art out of breath?
The excuse, that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.

Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that;

say

Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, lady-Lord, lord!-when 'twas a little prating not he; though his face be better than any man's, thing,-0,-there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good foot, and a body,-though they be not to be talked soul, had as leave sce a toad, a very toad, as see on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris of courtesy,-but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I lamb.-Go thy ways, wench; serve God.-What, say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal have you dined at home? world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

Jul. No, no: But all this did I know before;
What says he of our marriage? what of that?
Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head
have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o't'other side,-0, my back, my back!-
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!

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The Works of William Shakespeare: Comprising His Dramatic and ..., Volume 2