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Ful, Obreak, my heart !-poor bankrupt, break at once;
To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here ;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier !
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had !
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman !
That ever I should live to see thee dead!
Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd ? and is Tybalt dead ?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord ?-
Then, dreadful trumpet, found the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone ?
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.
Jul. O God !did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood ?
Nurse. It did, it did ; alas the day! it did.
Jul. O ser nt heart, hid with a flow'ring face !
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical !
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvilh-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinelt show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'ft,
A damned saint, an honourable villain !
O, nature! what ladit thou to do in hell,
When thou did it bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ?-
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace !
There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vita:
These griefs, these woes, these forrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo !
Blister'd be thy tongue,
For such a wish! he was not born to shame :
Upon his brow shame is alham'd to fit;
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
o, what a beast was I to chide at him!
Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin ?
Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband ? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it ?But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband : Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have lain ; And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband : All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then ? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me : I would forget it fain; But, o! it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds : Tybalt is dead, and Romeombanished; That-bonished, that one word—banished, Hath sain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there : Ory--if four woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,Why follow'd not, when the faid-Tybalt's dead, Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished, -to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All Nain, all dead :-Romeo is banished,
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe found.
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse :
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears ? mine shall be
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords :-Poor ropes, you are beguild,
and I; for Romeo is exil'd :
He made you for a highway to my bed ;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords ; come, nurse ; I'll to my wedding bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber : I'll find Romeo
To comfort you :-I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
Enter Friar LAURENCE and Romeo.
Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man;
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Is my dear fon with such sour company :
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom ?
Fri. A gentler judgment vanith'd from his lips,
Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say_death :
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: do not say—banishment.
Fri. Hence 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 banishment
Is death mis-term’d: calling death—banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'it upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hatl: rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment :
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy : heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little moufe, 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;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must ily;
They are free men, but I am banished.
And fay'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 confeflor,
A fin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,
To mangle me with that word-banishment?
Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word,
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. 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.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have noeyes ?
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou doft 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 spe k, then might' ċ th ju tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.