| 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. | 10 |
| | I must be gone and live, or stay and die. | |
| 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; | 20 |
| | 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. | 25 |
| 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: | 30 |
| | 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. | 35 |
| 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: | 95 |
| | 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 | 100 |
| | 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 | 105 |
| | Upon his body that slaughter'd him! | |
| JULIET | |
Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, | 120 |
| | 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, | 125 |
| | It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, | |
| | Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! | |
| CAPULET | |
When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; | 130 |
| | 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; | 135 |
| | 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 | 140 |
| | Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! | |
| | Have you deliver'd to her our decree? | |
| 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, | 155 |
| | 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! | 160 |
| | You tallow-face! | |
| CAPULET | |
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! | |
| | I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, | 165 |
| | 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, | 170 |
| | And that we have a curse in having her: | |
| | Out on her, hilding! | |
| CAPULET | |
God's bread! it makes me mad: | |
| | Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, | |
| | Alone, in company, still my care hath been | 185 |
| | 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; | 190 |
| | 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: | 195 |
| | 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 | 200 |
| | 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, | 205 |
| | 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. | 210 |
| 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, | 215 |
| | 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? | 220 |
| | 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. | 225 |
| | 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 | 230 |
| | 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. | 235 |
| 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; | 250 |
| | 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] |
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