Shakespeare's "Romeo & Juliet"

Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling.

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity.

Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time, Give me some present counsel; or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the empire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour br

Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

I am not for this ambling.

Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench (marry, she had a better love to berhyme her), Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose.

And since that time it is eleven years, For then she could stand high-lone; nay, by th' rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow; And then my husband (God be with his soul!

For this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

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

R is for the- No; I know it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!

[To Servant, giving him a paper] Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay- Exeunt [Capulet and Paris].

Shall I believe That unsubstantial Death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour?

O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.

Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night; Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

For this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes, This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him only lacks a cover.

Two such opposed kings 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.

Your looks are pale and wild and do import Some misadventure.

She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.

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.'

Let me peruse this face.

Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

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 this many hundred years the bones Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies fest'ring 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 th...

Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.

Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing- O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him.

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?

More validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies than Romeo.

What further woe conspires against mine age?

Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.

Meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience.

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.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine.

Cap. 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.

Cap. How now, my headstrong?

How now? a conduit, girl?

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five-and-twenty years, and then we mask'd. 2.

Therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

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, depriv'd of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; And ...

Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till Holy Church incorporate two in one.

Then gave I her (so tutored by my art) A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death.

I will not budge for no man's pleasure,
Enter Romeo.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would 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.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would 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.

O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soft'ned valour's steel
Enter Benvolio.

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.

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.

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 scattered, to make up a show.

Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.

I do remember an apothecary, And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples.

Scurvy knave!

The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light; And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.

Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by-and-by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain; And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.

'A bears him like a portly gentleman, And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.

For this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.

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

That were some spite; my invocation Is fair and honest: in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him.

And this shall free thee from this present shame, If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear Abate thy valour in the acting it.

This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish, hairs, Which once untangled much misfortune bodes This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage.

O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd and cannot come to him, To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

By my troth, it is well said.

'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-
Why 'silver sound'?

Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.

Mon. Both by myself and many other friend; But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself- I will not say how true- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Par. I do defy thy, conjuration And apprehend thee for a felon here.

For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world.

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?

'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-
Why 'silver sound'?

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

All this- uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd- Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it.

Unseemly woman in a seeming man!

I do remember an apothecary, And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples.

Two such opposed kings 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.

Jul. O Fortune, Fortune! all men call thee fickle.

What a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!

At lovers' perjuries, They say Jove laughs.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.

Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.

We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry.

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 this many hundred years the bones Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd; Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies fest'ring 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 th...

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, depriv'd of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; And ...

What, dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

THE PROLOGUE
Enter Chorus.

Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker mall fall dead, And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath As violently as hasty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Piteous predicament!

'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he, And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said 'Ay.' Wife.

Uneven is the course; I like it not.

Cap. No, not a whit.

Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

More validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies than Romeo.

O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities; For naught 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.

My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.

Or if thou thinkest 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.

The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice.

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

Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Cank'red with peace, to part your cank'red hate.

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, depriv'd of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; And ...

It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ.

You have dancing shoes With nimble soles; I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.

Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night.

Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops- Jul. O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

Rom. I pray thee chide not.

Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, By some vile forfeit of untimely death.

If thou art Dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.

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, depriv'd of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; And ...

Going to find a barefoot 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.

All this- uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd- Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it.

Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

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!

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

Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself!

Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence, and medicine power; For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning; One pain is lessoned by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish.

What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins!

Jul. Do not swear at all; Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee.

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.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabb'd with a white wench's black eye; shot through 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?

Come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg'd 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.

Capulet, Montage, See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

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O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd and cannot come to him, To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

Give me a case to put my visage in.

Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt In my behalf- my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander- Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman.

Towards him I made; but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood.

It is my will; the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I farther shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.

Jul. [aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.

Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning; One pain is lessoned by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish.

Rom. Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shriv'd and married.

Rom. If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.'

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.

All this- uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd- Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast; Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it.

Let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, I'll be a candle-holder and look on; The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.

What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins!

Sojourn in Mantua.

Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

The day is broke; be wary, look about.

Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty.

And in this state she 'gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.

More light, you knaves! and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.

Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees To be consorted with the humorous night.

Enter Friar [Laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade.

What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins!

A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume.

Hence, and stand aloof.

Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!

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 sacrific'd, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law.

Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest East bean to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight And makes himself an artificial night.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest East bean to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight And makes himself an artificial night.

Thy form cries out thou art; Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast.

Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

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.

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.

Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here To beg your pardon.

Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs; Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me?

Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse, I pray thee leave me to myself to-night; For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin.

Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would 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.

Look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

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Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament.

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

An thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords.

Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

What, dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

What, rouse thee, man!

It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ.

If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.

Though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talk'd on, yet they are past compare.

Jul. 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'ercover'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 l...

So tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them.

Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.

There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.

A pack of blessings light upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbhav'd and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love.

So please you step aside, I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncovered on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.

Par. 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.

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.

She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair.

A pack of blessings light upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbhav'd and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love.

Enter an officer, and three or four Citizens with clubs or partisans.

Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast, By some vile forfeit of untimely death.

Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress.

Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

ACT II. Scene I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest East bean to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight And makes himself an artificial night.

I beseech you follow straight.

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh; Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied!

I will apprehend him.

Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage!

Follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of my own.

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Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse.

Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

Rom. Here's goodly gear!

If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.

Borrow Cupid's wings And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. Give me a torch.

Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

And in this state she 'gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on cursies straight; O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees; O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.