Naskah Drama Asli Romeo and Juliet

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1K2K T-E T&.GE%0 '! &'(E' .)% 89LIET by Willia "ha#espeare

%ra atis Personae $horus. Escalus, Prince of 7erona. Paris, a young $ount, #ins an to the Prince. (ontague, heads of two houses at Dariance with each other. $apulet, heads of two houses at Dariance with each other. .n old (an, of the $apulet fa ily. &o eo, son to (ontague. Tybalt, nephew to Lady $apulet. (ercutio, #ins an to the Prince and friend to &o eo. 6enDolio, nephew to (ontague, and friend to &o eo Tybalt, nephew to Lady $apulet. !riar Laurence, !ranciscan. !riar 8ohn, !ranciscan. 6althasar, serDant to &o eo. .bra , serDant to (ontague. "a pson, serDant to $apulet. Gregory, serDant to $apulet. Peter, serDant to 8ulietNs nurse. .n .pothecary. Three (usicians. .n 'fficer. Lady (ontague, wife to (ontague. Lady $apulet, wife to $apulet. 8uliet, daughter to $apulet. )urse to 8uliet. $itiCens of 7eronaO Gentle en and Gentlewo en of both housesO (as#ers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watch en, "erDants, and .ttendants. "$E)E.447eronaO (antua.

T-E P&'L'G9E Enter $horus. $hor. Two households, both ali#e in dignity, In fair 7erona, where we lay our scene, !ro ancient grudge brea# to new utiny, Where ciDil blood a#es ciDil hands unclean. !ro forth the fatal loins of these two foes . pair of star4crossNd loDers ta#e their lifeO Whose isadDenturNd piteous oDerthrows %oth with their death bury their parentsN strife. The fearful passage of their death4 ar#Nd loDe, .nd the continuance of their parentsN rage, Which, but their childrenNs end, naught could re oDe, Is now the two hoursN traffic of our stageO The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall iss, our toil shall striDe to end.

?Exit.A

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.$T I. "cene I. 7erona. . public place. Enter "a pson and Gregory :with swords and buc#lers; of the house of $apulet. "a p. Gregory, on y word, weNll not carry coals. Greg. )o, for then we should be colliers. "a p. I ean, an we be in choler, weNll draw. Greg. .y, while you liDe, draw your nec# out of collar. "a p. I stri#e Ruic#ly, being oDed. Greg. 6ut thou art not Ruic#ly oDed to stri#e. "a p. . dog of the house of (ontague oDes e. Greg. To oDe is to stir, and to be Daliant is to stand. Therefore, if thou art oDed, thou runnNst away. "a p. . dog of that house shall oDe e to stand. I will ta#e the wall of any an or aid of (ontagueNs. Greg. That shows thee a wea# slaDeO for the wea#est goes to the wall. "a p. NTis trueO and therefore wo en, being the wea#er Dessels, are eDer thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push (ontagueNs en fro the wall and thrust his aids to the wall. Greg. The Ruarrel is between our asters and us their en. "a p. NTis all one. I will show yself a tyrant. When I haDe fought with the en, I will be cruel with the aids4 I will cut off their heads. Greg. The heads of the aidsU "a p. .y, the heads of the aids, or their aidenheads. Ta#e it in what sense thou wilt. Greg. They ust ta#e it in sense that feel it. "a p. (e they shall feel while I a able to standO and Ntis #nown I a a pretty piece of flesh. Greg. NTis well thou art not fishO if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor48ohn. %raw thy tool* -ere co es two of the house of (ontagues. Enter two other "erDing en ?.bra and 6althasarA.

"a p. (y na#ed weapon is out. Suarrel* I will bac# thee. Greg. -owU turn thy bac# and runU "a p. !ear e not. Greg. )o, arry. I fear thee* "a p. Let us ta#e the law of our sidesO let the begin. Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let the ta#e it as they list. "a p. )ay, as they dare. I will bite y thu b at the O which is disgrace to the , if they bear it. .br. %o you bite your thu b at us, sirU "a p. I do bite y thu b, sir. .br. %o you bite your thu b at us, sirU "a p. ?aside to GregoryA Is the law of our side if I say ayU Greg. ?aside to "a psonA )o. "a p. )o, sir, I do not bite y thu b at you, sirO but I bite y thu b, sir. Greg. %o you Ruarrel, sirU .br. Suarrel, sirU )o, sir. "a p. 6ut if you do, sir, a for you. I serDe as good a an as you. .br. )o better. "a p. Well, sir. Enter 6enDolio. Greg. ?aside to "a psonA "ay Nbetter.N -ere co es one of y asterNs #ins en. "a p. 0es, better, sir. .br. 0ou lie. "a p. %raw, if you be en. Gregory, re e ber thy swashing blow. They fight. 6en. Part, fools* ?6eats down their swords.A Put up your swords. 0ou #now not what you do. Enter Tybalt. Tyb. What, art thou drawn a ong these heartless hindsU Turn thee 6enDolio* loo# upon thy death. 6en. I do but #eep the peace. Put up thy sword, 'r anage it to part these en with e. Tyb. What, drawn, and tal# of peaceU I hate the word .s I hate hell, all (ontagues, and thee. -aDe at thee, coward* They fight. Enter an officer, and three or four $itiCens with clubs or partisans. 'fficer. $lubs, bills, and partisans* "tri#e* beat the down* $itiCens. %own with the $apulets* %own with the (ontagues* Enter 'ld $apulet in his gown, and his Wife. $ap. What noise is thisU GiDe e y long sword, ho* Wife. . crutch, a crutch* Why call you for a swordU $ap. (y sword, I say* 'ld (ontague is co e .nd flourishes his blade in spite of e.

Enter 'ld (ontague and his Wife. (on. Thou Dillain $apulet*4 -old e not, let e go. (. Wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to see# a foe. Enter Prince Escalus, with his Train. Prince. &ebellious subjects, ene ies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour4stained steel4 Will they not hearU What, ho* you en, you beasts, That Ruench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing fro your Deins* 'n pain of torture, fro those bloody hands Throw your iste pered weapons to the ground .nd hear the sentence of your oDed prince. Three ciDil brawls, bred of an airy word 6y thee, old $apulet, and (ontague, -aDe thrice disturbNd the Ruiet of our streets .nd ade 7eronaNs ancient citiCens $ast by their graDe besee ing orna ents To wield old partisans, in hands as old, $an#Nred with peace, to part your can#Nred hate. If eDer you disturb our streets again, 0our liDes shall pay the forfeit of the peace. !or this ti e all the rest depart away. 0ou, $apulet, shall go along with eO .nd, (ontague, co e you this afternoon, To #now our farther pleasure in this case, To old !reetown, our co on judg ent place. 'nce ore, on pain of death, all en depart. Exeunt ?all but (ontague, his Wife, and 6enDolioA. (on. Who set this ancient Ruarrel new abroachU "pea#, nephew, were you by when it beganU 6en. -ere were the serDants of your adDersary .nd yours, close fighting ere I did approach. I drew to part the . In the instant ca e The fiery Tybalt, with his sword preparNdO Which, as he breathNd defiance to y ears, -e swung about his head and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hissNd hi in scorn. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, $a e ore and ore, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince ca e, who parted either part. (. Wife. ', where is &o eoU "aw you hi to4dayU &ight glad I a he was not at this fray. 6en. (ada , an hour before the worshippNd sun PeerNd forth the golden window of the East, . troubled ind draDe e to wal# abroadO Where, underneath the groDe of syca ore That westward rooteth fro the cityNs side, "o early wal#ing did I see your son. Towards hi I adeO but he was ware of e .nd stole into the coDert of the wood. I4 easuring his affections by y own, Which then ost sought where ost ight not be found, 6eing one too any by y weary self4 PursuNd y hu our, not Pursuing his,

.nd gladly shunnNd who gladly fled fro e. (on. (any a orning hath he there been seen, With tears aug enting the fresh orningNs dew, .dding to clouds ore clouds with his deep sighsO 6ut all so soon as the all4cheering sun "hould in the farthest East bean to draw The shady curtains fro .uroraNs bed, .way fro light steals ho e y heaDy son .nd priDate in his cha ber pens hi self, "huts up his windows, loc#s fair daylight out .nd a#es hi self an artificial night. 6lac# and portentous ust this hu our proDe 9nless good counsel ay the cause re oDe. 6en. (y noble uncle, do you #now the causeU (on. I neither #now it nor can learn of hi . 6en. -aDe you i portunNd hi by any eansU (on. 6oth by yself and any other friendsO 6ut he, his own affectionsN counsellor, Is to hi self4 I will not say how true4 6ut to hi self so secret and so close, "o far fro sounding and discoDery, .s is the bud bit with an enDious wor Ere he can spread his sweet leaDes to the air 'r dedicate his beauty to the sun. $ould we but learn fro whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly giDe cure as #now. Enter &o eo. 6en. "ee, where he co es. "o please you step aside, INll #now his grieDance, or be uch denied. (on. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift. $o e, ada , letNs away, Exeunt ?(ontague and WifeA. 6en. Good orrow, cousin. &o . Is the day so youngU 6en. 6ut new struc# nine. &o . .h e* sad hours see long. Was that y father that went hence so fastU 6en. It was. What sadness lengthens &o eoNs hoursU &o . )ot haDing that which haDing a#es the short. 6en. In loDeU &o . 'ut4 6en. 'f loDeU &o . 'ut of her faDour where I a in loDe. 6en. .las that loDe, so gentle in his Diew, "hould be so tyrannous and rough in proof* &o . .las that loDe, whose Diew is uffled still, "hould without eyes see pathways to his will* Where shall we dineU ' e* What fray was hereU 0et tell e not, for I haDe heard it all. -ereNs uch to do with hate, but ore with loDe. Why then, ' brawling loDe* ' loDing hate* ' anything, of nothing first create* ' heaDy lightness* serious Danity* (isshapen chaos of well4see ing for s* !eather of lead, bright s o#e, cold fire, sic# health* "till4wa#ing sleep, that is not what it is

This loDe feel I, that feel no loDe in this. %ost thou not laughU 6en. )o, coC, I rather weep. &o . Good heart, at whatU 6en. .t thy good heartNs oppression. &o . Why, such is loDeNs transgression. Griefs of ine own lie heaDy in y breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to haDe it prest With ore of thine. This loDe that thou hast shown %oth add ore grief to too uch of ine own. LoDe is a s o#e raisNd with the fu e of sighsO 6eing purgNd, a fire spar#ling in loDersN eyesO 6eing DexNd, a sea nourishNd with loDersN tears. What is it elseU . adness ost discreet, . cho#ing gall, and a preserDing sweet. !arewell, y coC. 6en. "oft* I will go along. .n if you leaDe e so, you do e wrong. &o . Tut* I haDe lost yselfO I a not hereE This is not &o eo, heNs so e other where. 6en. Tell e in sadness, who is that you loDeU &o . What, shall I groan and tell theeU 6en. GroanU Why, noO 6ut sadly tell e who. &o . 6id a sic# an in sadness a#e his will. .h, word ill urgNd to one that is so ill* In sadness, cousin, I do loDe a wo an. 6en. I ai Nd so near when I supposNd you loDNd. &o . . right good ar# an* .nd sheNs fair I loDe. 6en. . right fair ar#, fair coC, is soonest hit. &o . Well, in that hit you iss. "heNll not be hit With $upidNs arrow. "he hath %ianNs wit, .nd, in strong proof of chastity well ar Nd, !ro LoDeNs wea# childish bow she liDes unhar Nd. "he will not stay the siege of loDing ter s, )or bide thN encounter of assailing eyes, )or ope her lap to saint4seducing gold. ', sheNs rich in beautyO only poor That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 6en. Then she hath sworn that she will still liDe chasteU &o . "he hath, and in that sparing a#es huge wasteO !or beauty, starDNd with her seDerity, $uts beauty off fro all posterity. "he is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To erit bliss by a#ing e despair. "he hath forsworn to loDe, and in that Dow %o I liDe dead that liDe to tell it now. 6en. 6e rulNd by eE forget to thin# of her. &o . ', teach e how I should forget to thin#* 6en. 6y giDing liberty unto thine eyes. Exa ine other beauties. &o . NTis the way To call hers :exRuisite; in Ruestion ore. These happy as#s that #iss fair ladiesN brows, 6eing blac# puts us in ind they hide the fair. -e that is struc#en blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. "how e a istress that is passing fair,

What doth her beauty serDe but as a note Where I ay read who passNd that passing fairU !arewell. Thou canst not teach e to forget. 6en. INll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt.

"cene II. . "treet. Enter $apulet, $ounty Paris, and ?"erDantA 4the $lown. $ap. 6ut (ontague is bound as well as I, In penalty ali#eO and Ntis not hard, I thin#, !or en so old as we to #eep the peace. Par. 'f honourable rec#oning are you both, .nd pity Ntis you liDNd at odds so long. 6ut now, y lord, what say you to y suitU $ap. 6ut saying oNer what I haDe said beforeE (y child is yet a stranger in the world, "he hath not seen the change of fourteen yearsO Let two ore su ers wither in their pride Ere we ay thin# her ripe to be a bride. Par. 0ounger than she are happy others ade. $ap. .nd too soon arrNd are those so early ade. The earth hath swallowed all y hopes but sheO "he is the hopeful lady of y earth. 6ut woo her, gentle Paris, get her heartO (y will to her consent is but a part. .n she agree, within her scope of choice Lies y consent and fair according Doice. This night I hold an old accusto Nd feast, Whereto I haDe inDited any a guest, "uch as I loDeO and you a ong the store, 'ne ore, ost welco e, a#es y nu ber ore. .t y poor house loo# to behold this night Earth4treading stars that a#e dar# heaDen light. "uch co fort as do lusty young en feel When well apparellNd .pril on the heel 'f li ping Winter treads, eDen such delight . ong fresh fe ale buds shall you this night Inherit at y house. -ear all, all see, .nd li#e her ost whose erit ost shall beO Which, on ore Diew of any, ine, being one, (ay stand in nu ber, though in rec#Nning none. $o e, go with e. ?To "erDant, giDing hi a paperA Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair 7eronaO find those persons out Whose na es are written there, and to the say, (y house and welco e on their pleasure stay4 Exeunt ?$apulet and ParisA. "erD. !ind the out whose na es are written hereU It is written that the shoe a#er should eddle with his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil and the painter with his netsO but I a sent to find those persons whose na es are

here writ, and can neDer find what na es the writing person hath here writ. I ust to the learned. In good ti e* Enter 6enDolio and &o eo. 6en. Tut, an, one fire burns out anotherNs burningO 'ne pain is lessened by anotherNs anguishO Turn giddy, and be holp by bac#ward turningO 'ne desperate grief cures with anotherNs languish. Ta#e thou so e new infection to thy eye, .nd the ran# poison of the old will die. &o . 0our plantain leaf is excellent for that. 6en. !or what, I pray theeU &o . !or your bro#en shin. 6en. Why, &o eo, art thou adU &o . )ot ad, but bound ore than a ad an isO "hut up in prison, #ept without y food, WhippNd and tor ented and4 God4den, good fellow. "erD. God giN go4den. I pray, sir, can you readU &o . .y, ine own fortune in y isery. "erD. Perhaps you haDe learned it without boo#. 6ut I pray, can you read anything you seeU &o . .y, If I #now the letters and the language. "erD. 0e say honestly. &est you erry* &o . "tay, fellowO I can read. -e reads. N"ignior (artino and his wife and daughtersO $ounty .nsel o and his beauteous sistersO The lady widow of 7itruDioO "ignior Placentio and -is loDely niecesO (ercutio and his brother 7alentineO (ine uncle $apulet, his wife, and daughtersO (y fair niece &osaline and LiDiaO "ignior 7alentio and his cousin TybaltO Lucio and the liDely -elena.N ?GiDes bac# the paper.A . fair asse bly. Whither should they co eU "erD. 9p. &o . WhitherU "erD. To supper, to our house. &o . Whose houseU "erD. (y asterNs. &o . Indeed I should haDe as#Nd you that before. "erD. )ow INll tell you without as#ing. (y aster is the great rich $apuletO and if you be not of the house of (ontagues, I pray co e and crush a cup of wine. &est you erry* Exit. 6en. .t this sa e ancient feast of $apuletNs "ups the fair &osaline who thou so loDNstO With all the ad ired beauties of 7erona. Go thither, and with unattainted eye $o pare her face with so e that I shall show, .nd I will a#e thee thin# thy swan a crow. &o . When the deDout religion of ine eye

(aintains such falsehood, then turn tears to firesO .nd these, who, often drownNd, could neDer die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars* 'ne fairer than y loDeU The all4seeing sun )eNer saw her atch since first the world begun. 6en. Tut* you saw her fair, none else being by, -erself poisNd with herself in either eyeO 6ut in that crystal scales let there be weighNd 0our ladyNs loDe against so e other aid That I will show you shining at this feast, .nd she shall scant show well that now see s best. &o . INll go along, no such sight to be shown, 6ut to rejoice in splendour of y own. ?Exeunt.A

"cene III. $apuletNs house. Enter $apuletNs Wife, and )urse. Wife. )urse, whereNs y daughterU $all her forth to )urse. )ow, by y aidenhead at twelDe year old, I bade her co e. What, la b* what ladybird* God forbid* WhereNs this girlU What, 8uliet* Enter 8uliet. 8ul. -ow nowU Who callsU )urse. 0our other. 8ul. (ada , I a here. What is your willU Wife. This is the atter4 )urse, giDe leaDe awhile, We ust tal# in secret. )urse, co e bac# againO I haDe re e bNred e, thouNs hear our counsel. Thou #nowest y daughterNs of a pretty age. )urse. !aith, I can tell her age unto an hour. Wife. "heNs not fourteen. )urse. INll lay fourteen of y teeth4 .nd yet, to y teen be it spo#en, I haDe but four4 "he is not fourteen. -ow long is it now To La astideU Wife. . fortnight and odd days. )urse. EDen or odd, of all days in the year, $o e La as EDe at night shall she be fourteen. "usan and she :God rest all $hristian souls*; Were of an age. Well, "usan is with GodO "he was too good for e. 6ut, as I said, 'n La as EDe at night shall she be fourteenO That shall she, arryO I re e ber it well. NTis since the earthRua#e now eleDen yearsO .nd she was weanNd :I neDer shall forget it;, 'f all the days of the year, upon that dayO !or I had then laid wor wood to y dug, "itting in the sun under the doDehouse wall. (y lord and you were then at (antua. )ay, I do bear a brain. 6ut, as I said, e.

When it did taste the wor wood on the nipple 'f y dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug* "ha#e, Ruoth the doDehouse* NTwas no need, I trow, To bid e trudge. .nd since that ti e it is eleDen years, !or then she could stand aloneO nay, by thN rood, "he could haDe run and waddled all aboutO !or eDen the day before, she bro#e her browO .nd then y husband :God be with his soul* N. was a erry an; too# up the child. N0ea,N Ruoth he, Ndost thou fall upon thy faceU Thou wilt fall bac#ward when thou hast ore witO Wilt thou not, 8uleUN and, by y holida , The pretty wretch left crying, and said N.y.N To see now how a jest shall co e about* I warrant, an I should liDe a thousand yeas, I neDer should forget it. NWilt thou not, 8uleUN Ruoth he, .nd, pretty fool, it stinted, and said N.y.N Wife. Enough of this. I pray thee hold thy peace. )urse. 0es, ada . 0et I cannot choose but laugh To thin# it should leaDe crying and say N.y.N .nd yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow . bu p as big as a young coc#NrelNs stoneO . perilous #noc#O and it cried bitterly. N0ea,N Ruoth y husband, NfallNst upon thy faceU Thou wilt fall bac#ward when thou co est to ageO Wilt thou not, 8uleUN It stinted, and said N.y.N 8ul. .nd stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. )urse. Peace, I haDe done. God ar# thee to his grace* Thou wast the prettiest babe that eNer I nursNd. .n I ight liDe to see thee arried once, I haDe y wish. Wife. (arry, that N arryN is the Dery the e I ca e to tal# of. Tell e, daughter 8uliet, -ow stands your disposition to be arriedU 8ul. It is an honour that I drea not of. )urse. .n honourU Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suc#Nd wisdo fro thy teat. Wife. Well, thin# of arriage now. 0ounger than you, -ere in 7erona, ladies of estee , .re ade already others. 6y y count, I was your other uch upon these years That you are now a aid. Thus then in briefE The Daliant Paris see#s you for his loDe. )urse. . an, young lady* lady, such a an .s all the world4 why heNs a an of wax. Wife. 7eronaNs su er hath not such a flower. )urse. )ay, heNs a flower, in faith4 a Dery flower. Wife. What say youU $an you loDe the gentle anU This night you shall behold hi at our feast. &ead oNer the Dolu e of young ParisN face, .nd find delight writ there with beautyNs penO Exa ine eDery arried linea ent, .nd see how one another lends contentO .nd what obscurNd in this fair Dolu e lies !ind written in the argent of his eyes, This precious boo# of loDe, this unbound loDer, To beautify hi only lac#s a coDer.

The fish liDes in the sea, and Ntis uch pride !or fair without the fair within to hide. That boo# in anyNs eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps loc#s in the golden storyO "o shall you share all that he doth possess, 6y haDing hi a#ing yourself no less. )urse. )o lessU )ay, bigger* Wo en grow by en Wife. "pea# briefly, can you li#e of ParisN loDeU 8ul. INll loo# to li#e, if loo#ing li#ing oDeO 6ut no ore deep will I endart ine eye Than your consent giDes strength to a#e it fly. Enter "erDing an. "erD. (ada , the guests are co e, supper serDNd up, you callNd, y young lady as#Nd for, the nurse cursNd in the pantry, and eDerything in extre ity. I ust hence to wait. I beseech you follow straight. Wife. We follow thee. Exit ?"erDing anA. 8uliet, the $ounty stays. )urse. Go, girl, see# happy nights to happy days. Exeunt.

"cene I7. . street. Enter &o eo, (ercutio, 6enDolio, with fiDe or six other (as#ersO Torchbearers. &o . What, shall this speech be spo#e for our excuseU 'r shall we on without apologyU 6en. The date is out of such prolixity. WeNll haDe no $upid hoodwin#Nd with a scarf, 6earing a TartarNs painted bow of lath, "caring the ladies li#e a crow#eeperO )or no without4boo# prologue, faintly spo#e .fter the pro pter, for our entranceO 6ut, let the easure us by what they will, WeNll easure the a easure, and be gone. &o . GiDe e a torch. I a not for this a bling. 6eing but heaDy, I will bear the light. (er. )ay, gentle &o eo, we ust haDe you dance. &o . )ot I, belieDe e. 0ou haDe dancing shoes With ni ble solesO I haDe a soul of lead "o sta#es e to the ground I cannot oDe. (er. 0ou are a loDer. 6orrow $upidNs wings .nd soar with the aboDe a co on bound. &o . I a too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathersO and so bound I cannot bound a pitch aboDe dull woe. 9nder loDeNs heaDy burthen do I sin#. (er. .nd, to sin# in it, should you burthen loDe4 Too great oppression for a tender thing. &o . Is loDe a tender thingU It is too rough,

Too rude, too boistNrous, and it pric#s li#e thorn. (er. If loDe be rough with you, be rough with loDe. Pric# loDe for pric#ing, and you beat loDe down. GiDe e a case to put y Disage in. . Disor for a Disor* What care I What curious eye doth Ruote defor itiesU -ere are the beetle brows shall blush for e. 6en. $o e, #noc# and enterO and no sooner in 6ut eDery an beta#e hi to his legs. &o . . torch for e* Let wantons light of heart Tic#le the senseless rushes with their heelsO !or I a proDerbNd with a grandsire phrase, INll be a candle4holder and loo# onO The ga e was neNer so fair, and I a done. (er. Tut* dunNs the ouse, the constableNs own word* If thou art %un, weNll draw thee fro the ire 'f this sir4reDerence loDe, wherein thou stic#Nst 9p to the ears. $o e, we burn daylight, ho* &o . )ay, thatNs not so. (er. I ean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in Dain, li#e la ps by day. Ta#e our good eaning, for our judg ent sits !iDe ti es in that ere once in our fiDe wits. &o . .nd we ean well, in going to this asRueO 6ut Ntis no wit to go. (er. Why, ay one as#U &o . I drea t a drea to4night. (er. .nd so did I. &o . Well, what was yoursU (er. That drea ers often lie. &o . In bed asleep, while they do drea things true. (er. ', then I see Sueen (ab hath been with you. "he is the fairiesN idwife, and she co es In shape no bigger than an agate stone 'n the forefinger of an alder an, %rawn with a tea of little ato ies .thwart enNs noses as they lie asleepO -er wagon spo#es ade of long spinnersN legs, The coDer, of the wings of grasshoppersO -er traces, of the s allest spiderNs webO -er collars, of the oonshineNs watNry bea sO -er whip, of cric#etNs boneO the lash, of fil O -er wagoner, a s all grey4coated gnat, )ot half so big as a round little wor Pric#Nd fro the laCy finger of a aidO -er chariot is an e pty haCelnut, (ade by the joiner sRuirrel or old grub, Ti e out oN ind the fairiesN coach a#ers. .nd in this state she gallops night by night Through loDersN brains, and then they drea of loDeO 'Ner courtiersN #nees, that drea on cursies straightO 'Ner lawyersN fingers, who straight drea on feesO 'Ner ladiesN lips, who straight on #isses drea , Which oft the angry (ab with blisters plagues, 6ecause their breaths with sweet eats tainted are. "o eti e she gallops oNer a courtierNs nose, .nd then drea s he of s elling out a suitO .nd so eti e co es she with a tithe4pigNs tail

Tic#ling a parsonNs nose as Na lies asleep, Then drea s he of another benefice. "o eti es she driDeth oNer a soldierNs nec#, .nd then drea s he of cutting foreign throats, 'f breaches, a buscadoes, "panish blades, 'f healths fiDe fado deepO and then anon %ru s in his ear, at which he starts and wa#es, .nd being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two .nd sleeps again. This is that Dery (ab That plats the anes of horses in the night .nd ba#es the elfloc#s in foul sluttish, hairs, Which once untangled uch isfortune bodes This is the hag, when aids lie on their bac#s, That presses the and learns the first to bear, (a#ing the wo en of good carriage. This is she4 &o . Peace, peace, (ercutio, peace* Thou tal#Nst of nothing. (er. True, I tal# of drea sO Which are the children of an idle brain, 6egot of nothing but Dain fantasyO Which is as thin of substance as the air, .nd ore inconstant than the wind, who wooes EDen now the froCen boso of the )orth .nd, being angerNd, puffs away fro thence, Turning his face to the dew4dropping "outh. 6en. This wind you tal# of blows us fro ourselDes. "upper is done, and we shall co e too late. &o . I fear, too earlyO for y ind isgiDes "o e conseRuence, yet hanging in the stars, "hall bitterly begin his fearful date With this nightNs reDels and expire the ter 'f a despised life, closNd in y breast, 6y so e Dile forfeit of unti ely death. 6ut he that hath the steerage of y course %irect y sail* 'n, lusty gentle en* 6en. "tri#e, dru . They arch about the stage. ?Exeunt.A

"cene 7. $apuletNs house. "erDing en co e forth with nap#ins. 1. "erD. WhereNs Potpan, that he helps not to ta#e awayU -e shift a trencher* he scrape a trencher* <. "erD. When good anners shall lie all in one or two enNs hands, and they unwashNd too, Ntis a foul thing. 1. "erD. .way with the join4stools, re oDe the court4cubbert, loo# to the plate. Good thou, saDe e a piece of archpane and, as thou loDes e, let the porter let in "usan Grindstone and )ell. .nthony, and Potpan*

<. "erD. .y, boy, ready. 1. "erD. 0ou are loo#Nd for and callNd for, as#Nd for and sought for, in the great cha ber. 5. "erD. We cannot be here and there too. $heerly, boys* 6e bris# awhile, and the longer liDer ta#e all. Exeunt. Enter the (as#ers, Enter, ?with "erDants,A $apulet, his Wife, 8uliet, Tybalt, and all the Guests and Gentlewo en to the (as#ers. $ap. Welco e, gentle en* Ladies that haDe their toes 9nplaguNd with corns will haDe a bout with you. .h ha, y istresses* which of you all Will now deny to danceU "he that a#es dainty, "he INll swear hath corns. . I co e near ye nowU Welco e, gentle en* I haDe seen the day That I haDe worn a Disor and could tell . whispering tale in a fair ladyNs ear, "uch as would please. NTis gone, Ntis gone, Ntis gone* 0ou are welco e, gentle en* $o e, usicians, play. . hall, a hall* giDe roo * and foot it, girls. (usic plays, and they dance. (ore light, you #naDes* and turn the tables up, .nd Ruench the fire, the roo is grown too hot. .h, sirrah, this unloo#Nd4for sport co es well. )ay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin $apulet, !or you and I are past our dancing days. -ow long isNt now since last yourself and I Were in a as#U <. $ap. 6yNr Lady, thirty years. $ap. What, anU NTis not so uch, Ntis not so uch* NTis since the nuptial of Lucentio, $o e Pentecost as Ruic#ly as it will, "o e fiDe4and4twenty years, and then we as#Nd. <. $ap. NTis ore, Ntis ore* -is son is elder, sirO -is son is thirty. $ap. Will you tell e thatU -is son was but a ward two years ago. &o . ?to a "erDing anA What ladyNs that, which doth enrich the hand 'f yonder #nightU "erD. I #now not, sir. &o . ', she doth teach the torches to burn bright* It see s she hangs upon the chee# of night Li#e a rich jewel in an EthiopNs ear4 6eauty too rich for use, for earth too dear* "o shows a snowy doDe trooping with crows .s yonder lady oNer her fellows shows. The easure done, INll watch her place of stand .nd, touching hers, a#e blessed y rude hand. %id y heart loDe till nowU !orswear it, sight* !or I neNer saw true beauty till this night. Tyb. This, by his Doice, should be a (ontague. !etch e y rapier, boy. What, dares the slaDe $o e hither, coDerNd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our sole nityU )ow, by the stoc# and honour of y #in,

To stri#e hi dead I hold it not a sin. $ap. Why, how now, #ins anU Wherefore stor you soU Tyb. 9ncle, this is a (ontague, our foeO . Dillain, that is hither co e in spite To scorn at our sole nity this night. $ap. 0oung &o eo is itU Tyb. NTis he, that Dillain &o eo. $ap. $ontent thee, gentle coC, let hi alone. N. bears hi li#e a portly gentle an, .nd, to say truth, 7erona brags of hi To be a Dirtuous and well4goDernNd youth. I would not for the wealth of all this town -ere in y house do hi disparage ent. Therefore be patient, ta#e no note of hi . It is y willO the which if thou respect, "how a fair presence and put off these frowns, .n ill4besee ing se blance for a feast. Tyb. It fits when such a Dillain is a guest. INll not endure hi . $ap. -e shall be endurNd. What, good an boyU I say he shall. Go to* . I the aster here, or youU Go to* 0ouNll not endure hi U God shall end y soul* 0ouNll a#e a utiny a ong y guests* 0ou will set coc#4a4hoop* youNll be the an* Tyb. Why, uncle, Ntis a sha e. $ap. Go to, go to* 0ou are a saucy boy. IsNt so, indeedU This tric# ay chance to scathe you. I #now what. 0ou ust contrary e* (arry, Ntis ti e.4 Well said, y hearts*4 0ou are a princox4 go* 6e Ruiet, or4 (ore light, ore light*4 !or sha e* INll a#e you RuietO what*4 $heerly, y hearts* Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler eeting (a#es y flesh tre ble in their different greeting. I will withdrawO but this intrusion shall, )ow see ing sweet, conDert to bittNrest gall. Exit. &o . If I profane with y unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is thisE (y lips, two blushing pilgri s, ready stand To s ooth that rough touch with a tender #iss. 8ul. Good pilgri , you do wrong your hand too uch, Which annerly deDotion shows in thisO !or saints haDe hands that pilgri sN hands do touch, .nd pal to pal is holy pal ersN #iss. &o . -aDe not saints lips, and holy pal ers tooU 8ul. .y, pilgri , lips that they ust use in prayNr. &o . ', then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do* They prayO grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 8ul. "aints do not oDe, though grant for prayersN sa#e. &o . Then oDe not while y prayerNs effect I ta#e. Thus fro y lips, by thine y sin is purgNd. ?/isses her.A 8ul. Then haDe y lips the sin that they haDe too#. &o . "in fro y lipsU ' trespass sweetly urgNd* GiDe e y sin again. ?/isses her.A 8ul. 0ou #iss by thN boo#. )urse. (ada , your other craDes a word with you. &o . What is her otherU

)urse. (arry, bachelor, -er other is the lady of the house. .nd a good lady, and a wise and Dirtuous. I nursNd her daughter that you tal#Nd withal. I tell you, he that can lay hold of her "hall haDe the chin#s. &o . Is she a $apuletU ' dear account* y life is y foeNs debt. 6en. .way, be goneO the sport is at the best. &o . .y, so I fearO the ore is y unrest. $ap. )ay, gentle en, prepare not to be goneO We haDe a trifling foolish banRuet towards. Is it eNen soU Why then, I than# you all. I than# you, honest gentle en. Good night. (ore torches here* ?Exeunt (as#ers.A $o e on then, letNs to bed. .h, sirrah, by y fay, it waxes lateO INll to y rest. Exeunt ?all but 8uliet and )urseA. 8ul. $o e hither, nurse. What is yond gentle anU )urse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 8ul. WhatNs he that now is going out of doorU )urse. (arry, that, I thin#, be young Petruchio. 8ul. WhatNs he that follows there, that would not danceU )urse. I #now not. 8ul. Go as# his na e.4 If he be arried, (y graDe is li#e to be y wedding bed. )urse. -is na e is &o eo, and a (ontague, The only son of your great ene y. 8ul. (y only loDe, sprung fro y only hate* Too early seen un#nown, and #nown too late* Prodigious birth of loDe it is to e That I ust loDe a loathed ene y. )urse. WhatNs thisU whatNs thisU 8ul. . rhy e I learnt eDen now 'f one I dancNd withal. 'ne calls within, N8uliet.N )urse. .non, anon* $o e, letNs awayO the strangers all are gone. Exeunt.

, "-./E"PE.&E I" $'P0&IG-T 122341225 60 W'&L% LI6&.&0, I)$., .)% I" P&'7I%E% 60 P&'8E$T G9TE)6E&G ETEMT '! $.&)EGIE (ELL') 9)I7E&"IT0 WIT- PE&(I""I'). ELE$T&')I$ .)% (.$-I)E &E.%.6LE $'PIE" (.0 6E %I"T&I69TE% "' L')G ." "9$- $'PIE" :1; .&E !'& 0'9& '& 'T-E&" PE&"').L 9"E ')L0, .)% :<; .&E )'T %I"T&I69TE% '& 9"E% $'((E&$I.LL0. P&'-I6ITE% $'((E&$I.L %I"T&I69TI') I)$L9%E" 60 .)0 "E&7I$E T-.T $-.&GE" !'& %'W)L'.% TI(E '& !'& (E(6E&"-IP.==

P&'L'G9E Enter $horus.

$hor. )ow old desire doth in his deathbed lie, .nd young affection gapes to be his heirO That fair for which loDe groanNd for and would die, With tender 8uliet atchNd, is now not fair. )ow &o eo is beloDNd, and loDes again, .li#e bewitched by the char of loo#sO 6ut to his foe supposNd he ust co plain, .nd she steal loDeNs sweet bait fro fearful hoo#s. 6eing held a foe, he ay not haDe access To breathe such Dows as loDers use to swear, .nd she as uch in loDe, her eans uch less To eet her new beloDed anywhereO 6ut passion lends the power, ti e eans, to eet, Te pNring extre ities with extre e sweet. Exit.

.$T II. "cene I. . lane by the wall of $apuletNs orchard. Enter &o eo alone. &o . $an I go forward when y heart is hereU Turn bac#, dull earth, and find thy centre out. ?$li bs the wall and leaps down within it.A Enter 6enDolio with (ercutio. 6en. &o eo* y cousin &o eo* &o eo* (er. -e is wise, .nd, on y life, hath stolNn hi ho e to bed. 6en. -e ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall. $all, good (ercutio. (er. )ay, INll conjure too. &o eo* hu ours* ad an* passion* loDer* .ppear thou in the li#eness of a sighO "pea# but one rhy e, and I a satisfied* $ry but N.h e*N pronounce but NloDeN and NdoDeNO "pea# to y gossip 7enus one fair word, 'ne nic#na e for her purblind son and heir, 0oung auburn $upid, he that shot so tri When /ing $ophetua loDNd the beggar aid* -e heareth not, he stirreth not, be oDeth notO The ape is dead, and I ust conjure hi . I conjure thee by &osalineNs bright eyes. 6y her high forehead and her scarlet lip, 6y her fine foot, straight leg, and RuiDering thigh, .nd the de esnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy li#eness thou appear to us* 6en. .n if he hear thee, thou wilt anger hi . (er. This cannot anger hi . NTwould anger hi To raise a spirit in his istressN circle 'f so e strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjurNd it down. That were so e spiteO y inDocation Is fair and honestE in his istressN na e,

I conjure only but to raise up hi . 6en. $o e, he hath hid hi self a ong these trees To be consorted with the hu orous night. 6lind is his loDe and best befits the dar#. (er. If loDe be blind, loDe cannot hit the ar#. )ow will he sit under a edlar tree .nd wish his istress were that #ind of fruit .s aids call edlars when they laugh alone. ', &o eo, that she were, ' that she were .n open et cetera, thou a popNrin pear* &o eo, good night. INll to y truc#le4bedO This field4bed is too cold for e to sleep. $o e, shall we goU 6en. Go then, for Ntis in Dain NTo see# hi here that eans not to be found. Exeunt.

"cene II. $apuletNs orchard. Enter &o eo. &o . -e jests at scars that neDer felt a wound. Enter 8uliet aboDe at a window. 6ut soft* What light through yonder window brea#sU It is the East, and 8uliet is the sun* .rise, fair sun, and #ill the enDious oon, Who is already sic# and pale with grief That thou her aid art far ore fair than she. 6e not her aid, since she is enDious. -er Destal liDery is but sic# and green, .nd none but fools do wear it. $ast it off. It is y ladyO ', it is y loDe* ' that she #new she were* "he spea#s, yet she says nothing. What of thatU -er eye discoursesO I will answer it. I a too boldO Ntis not to e she spea#s. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaDen, -aDing so e business, do entreat her eyes To twin#le in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her headU The brightness of her chee# would sha e those stars .s daylight doth a la pO her eyes in heaDen Would through the airy region strea so bright That birds would sing and thin# it were not night. "ee how she leans her chee# upon her hand* ' that I were a gloDe upon that hand, That I ight touch that chee#* 8ul. .h e* &o . "he spea#s. ', spea# again, bright angel* for thou art .s glorious to this night, being oNer y head, .s is a winged essenger of heaDen

9nto the white4upturned wondNring eyes 'f ortals that fall bac# to gaCe on hi When he bestrides the laCy4pacing clouds .nd sails upon the boso of the air. 8ul. ' &o eo, &o eo* wherefore art thou &o eoU %eny thy father and refuse thy na e* 'r, if thou wilt not, be but sworn y loDe, .nd INll no longer be a $apulet. &o . ?asideA "hall I hear ore, or shall I spea# at thisU 8ul. NTis but thy na e that is y ene y. Thou art thyself, though not a (ontague. WhatNs (ontagueU it is nor hand, nor foot, )or ar , nor face, nor any other part 6elonging to a an. ', be so e other na e* WhatNs in a na eU That which we call a rose 6y any other na e would s ell as sweet. "o &o eo would, were he not &o eo callNd, &etain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. &o eo, doff thy na eO .nd for that na e, which is no part of thee, Ta#e all yself. &o . I ta#e thee at thy word. $all e but loDe, and INll be new baptiCNdO -enceforth I neDer will be &o eo. 8ul. What an art thou that, thus bescreenNd in night, "o stu blest on y counselU &o . 6y a na e I #now not how to tell thee who I a . (y na e, dear saint, is hateful to yself, 6ecause it is an ene y to thee. -ad I it written, I would tear the word. 8ul. (y ears haDe yet not drun# a hundred words 'f that tongueNs utterance, yet I #now the sound. .rt thou not &o eo, and a (ontagueU &o . )either, fair saint, if either thee disli#e. 8ul. -ow ca Nst thou hither, tell e, and whereforeU The orchard walls are high and hard to cli b, .nd the place death, considering who thou art, If any of y #ins en find thee here. &o . With loDeNs light wings did I oNerperch these wallsO !or stony li its cannot hold loDe out, .nd what loDe can do, that dares loDe atte pt. Therefore thy #ins en are no let to e. 8ul. If they do see thee, they will urther thee. &o . .lac#, there lies ore peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords* Loo# thou but sweet, .nd I a proof against their en ity. 8ul. I would not for the world they saw thee here. &o . I haDe nightNs cloa# to hide e fro their sightO .nd but thou loDe e, let the find e here. (y life were better ended by their hate Than death prorogued, wanting of thy loDe. 8ul. 6y whose direction foundNst thou out this placeU &o . 6y loDe, that first did pro pt e to enRuire. -e lent e counsel, and I lent hi eyes. I a no pilotO yet, wert thou as far .s that Dast shore washNd with the farthest sea, I would adDenture for such erchandise.

8ul. Thou #nowest the as# of night is on y faceO Else would a aiden blush bepaint y chee# !or that which thou hast heard e spea# to4night. !ain would I dwell on for 4 fain, fain deny What I haDe spo#eO but farewell co pli ent* %ost thou loDe e, I #now thou wilt say N.yNO .nd I will ta#e thy word. 0et, if thou swearNst, Thou ayst proDe false. .t loDersN perjuries, They say 8oDe laughs. ' gentle &o eo, If thou dost loDe, pronounce it faithfully. 'r if thou thin#est I a too Ruic#ly won, INll frown, and be perDerse, and say thee nay, "o thou wilt wooO but else, not for the world. In truth, fair (ontague, I a too fond, .nd therefore thou ayst thin# y haDiour lightO 6ut trust e, gentle an, INll proDe ore true Than those that haDe ore cunning to be strange. I should haDe been ore strange, I ust confess, 6ut that thou oDerheardNst, ere I was ware, (y true4loDe passion. Therefore pardon e, .nd not i pute this yielding to light loDe, Which the dar# night hath so discoDered. &o . Lady, by yonder blessed oon I swear, That tips with silDer all these fruit4tree tops4 8ul. ', swear not by the oon, thN inconstant oon, That onthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy loDe proDe li#ewise Dariable. &o . What shall I swear byU 8ul. %o not swear at allO 'r if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of y idolatry, .nd INll belieDe thee. &o . If y heartNs dear loDe4 8ul. Well, do not swear. .lthough I joy in thee, I haDe no joy of this contract to4night. It is too rash, too unadDisNd, too suddenO Too li#e the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say NIt lightens.N "weet, good night* This bud of loDe, by su erNs ripening breath, (ay proDe a beauteous flowNr when next we eet. Good night, good night* .s sweet repose and rest $o e to thy heart as that within y breast* &o . ', wilt thou leaDe e so unsatisfiedU 8ul. What satisfaction canst thou haDe to4nightU &o . ThN exchange of thy loDeNs faithful Dow for ine. 8ul. I gaDe thee ine before thou didst reRuest itO .nd yet I would it were to giDe again. &o . WouldNst thou withdraw itU !or what purpose, loDeU 8ul. 6ut to be fran# and giDe it thee again. .nd yet I wish but for the thing I haDe. (y bounty is as boundless as the sea, (y loDe as deepO the ore I giDe to thee, The ore I haDe, for both are infinite. I hear so e noise within. %ear loDe, adieu* ?)urseA calls within. .non, good nurse* "weet (ontague, be true. "tay but a little, I will co e again. ?Exit.A &o . ' blessed, blessed night* I a afeard,

6eing in night, all this is but a drea , Too flattering4sweet to be substantial. Enter 8uliet aboDe. 8ul. Three words, dear &o eo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of loDe be honourable, Thy purpose arriage, send e word to4 orrow, 6y one that INll procure to co e to thee, Where and what ti e thou wilt perfor the riteO .nd all y fortunes at thy foot INll lay .nd follow thee y lord throughout the world. )urse. :within; (ada * 8ul. I co e, anon.4 6ut if thou eanest not well, I do beseech thee4 )urse. :within; (ada * 8ul. 6y4and4by I co e.4 To cease thy suit and leaDe e to y grief. To4 orrow will I send. &o . "o thriDe y soul4 8ul. . thousand ti es good night* Exit. &o . . thousand ti es the worse, to want thy light* LoDe goes toward loDe as schoolboys fro their boo#sO 6ut loDe fro loDe, towards school with heaDy loo#s. Enter 8uliet again, ?aboDeA. 8ul. -ist* &o eo, hist* ' for a falconerNs Doice To lure this tassel4gentle bac# again* 6ondage is hoarse and ay not spea# aloudO Else would I tear the caDe where Echo lies, .nd a#e her airy tongue ore hoarse than ine With repetition of y &o eoNs na e. &o eo* &o . It is y soul that calls upon y na e. -ow silDer4sweet sound loDersN tongues by night, Li#e softest usic to attending ears* 8ul. &o eo* &o . (y dearU 8ul. .t what oNcloc# to4 orrow "hall I send to theeU &o . 6y the hour of nine. 8ul. I will not fail. NTis twenty years till then. I haDe forgot why I did call thee bac#. &o . Let e stand here till thou re e ber it. 8ul. I shall forget, to haDe thee still stand there, &e e bNring how I loDe thy co pany. &o . .nd INll still stay, to haDe thee still forget, !orgetting any other ho e but this. 8ul. NTis al ost orning. I would haDe thee gone4 .nd yet no farther than a wantonNs bird, That lets it hop a little fro her hand, Li#e a poor prisoner in his twisted gyDes, .nd with a sil# thread pluc#s it bac# again, "o loDing4jealous of his liberty. &o . I would I were thy bird. 8ul. "weet, so would I. 0et I should #ill thee with uch cherishing.

Good night, good night* Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be orrow. ?Exit.A &o . "leep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast* Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest* -ence will I to y ghostly fatherNs cell, -is help to craDe and y dear hap to tell. Exit

"cene III. !riar LaurenceNs cell. Enter !riar, ?LaurenceA alone, with a bas#et. !riar. The grey4eyNd orn s iles on the frowning night, $hec#Nring the Eastern clouds with strea#s of lightO .nd flec#ed dar#ness li#e a drun#ard reels !ro forth dayNs path and TitanNs fiery wheels. )on, ere the sun adDance his burning eye The day to cheer and nightNs dan# dew to dry, I ust up4fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious4juiced flowers. The earth thatNs natureNs other is her to b. What is her burying gaDe, that is her wo bO .nd fro her wo b children of diDers #ind We suc#ing on her natural boso findO (any for any Dirtues excellent, )one but for so e, and yet all different. ', ic#le is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true RualitiesO !or naught so Dile that on the earth doth liDe 6ut to the earth so e special good doth giDeO )or aught so good but, strainNd fro that fair use, &eDolts fro true birth, stu bling on abuse. 7irtue itself turns Dice, being isapplied, .nd Dice so eti eNs by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this s all flower Poison hath residence, and edicine powerO !or this, being s elt, with that part cheers each partO 6eing tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed #ings enca p the still In an as well as herbs4 grace and rude willO .nd where the worser is predo inant, !ull soon the can#er death eats up that plant. Enter &o eo. &o . Good orrow, father. !riar. 6enedicite* What early tongue so sweet saluteth eU 0oung son, it argues a diste pered head "o soon to bid good orrow to thy bed. $are #eeps his watch in eDery old anNs eye, .nd where care lodges sleep will neDer lieO 6ut where unbruised youth with unstuffNd brain

%oth couch his li bs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth e assure Thou art uprousNd with so e diste pNratureO 'r if not so, then here I hit it right4 'ur &o eo hath not been in bed to4night. &o . That last is true4the sweeter rest was ine. !riar. God pardon sin* Wast thou with &osalineU &o . With &osaline, y ghostly fatherU )o. I haDe forgot that na e, and that na eNs woe. !riar. ThatNs y good son* 6ut where hast thou been thenU &o . INll tell thee ere thou as# it e again. I haDe been feasting with ine ene y, Where on a sudden one hath wounded e ThatNs by e wounded. 6oth our re edies Within thy help and holy physic lies. I bear no hatred, blessed an, for, lo, (y intercession li#ewise steads y foe. !riar. 6e plain, good son, and ho ely in thy drift &iddling confession finds but riddling shrift. &o . Then plainly #now y heartNs dear loDe is set 'n the fair daughter of rich $apuletO .s ine on hers, so hers is set on ine, .nd all co binNd, saDe what thou ust co bine 6y holy arriage. When, and where, and how We et, we wooNd, and ade exchange of Dow, INll tell thee as we passO but this I pray, That thou consent to arry us to4day. !riar. -oly "aint !rancis* What a change is here* Is &osaline, that thou didst loDe so dear, "o soon forsa#enU 0oung enNs loDe then lies )ot truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 8esu (aria* What a deal of brine -ath washNd thy sallow chee#s for &osaline* -ow uch salt water thrown away in waste, To season loDe, that of it doth not taste* The sun not yet thy sighs fro heaDen clears, Thy old groans ring yet in ine ancient ears. Lo, here upon thy chee# the stain doth sit 'f an old tear that is not washNd off yet. If eNer thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for &osaline. .nd art thou changNdU Pronounce this sentence thenE Wo en ay fall when thereNs no strength in en. &o . Thou chidNst e oft for loDing &osaline. !riar. !or doting, not for loDing, pupil ine. &o . .nd badNst e bury loDe. !riar. )ot in a graDe To lay one in, another out to haDe. &o . I pray thee chide not. "he who I loDe now %oth grace for grace and loDe for loDe allow. The other did not so. !riar. ', she #new well Thy loDe did read by rote, that could not spell. 6ut co e, young waDerer, co e go with e. In one respect INll thy assistant beO !or this alliance ay so happy proDe To turn your householdsN rancour to pure loDe. &o . ', let us hence* I stand on sudden haste.

!riar. Wisely, and slow. They stu ble that run fast. Exeunt.

"cene I7. . street. Enter 6enDolio and (ercutio. (er. Where the deDil should this &o eo beU $a e he not ho e to4nightU 6en. )ot to his fatherNs. I spo#e with his an. (er. Why, that sa e pale hard4hearted wench, that &osaline, Tor ents hi so that he will sure run ad. 6en. Tybalt, the #ins an to old $apulet, -ath sent a letter to his fatherNs house. (er. . challenge, on y life. 6en. &o eo will answer it. (er. .ny an that can write ay answer a letter. 6en. )ay, he will answer the letterNs aster, how he dares, being dared. (er. .las, poor &o eo, he is already dead* stabbNd with a white wenchNs blac# eyeO shot through the ear with a loDe songO the Dery pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow4boyNs butt4shaftO and is he a an to encounter TybaltU 6en. Why, what is TybaltU (er. (ore than Prince of $ats, I can tell you. ', heNs the courageous captain of co pli ents. -e fights as you sing pric#song4#eeps ti e, distance, and proportionO rests e his ini rest, one, two, and the third in your boso * the Dery butcher of a sil# button, a duellist, a duellist* a gentle an of the Dery first house, of the first and second cause. .h, the i ortal passado* the punto reDerse* the hay. 6en. The whatU (er. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes4 these new tuners of accent* N6y 8esu, a Dery good blade* a Dery tall an* a Dery good whore*N Why, is not this a la entable thing, grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion4 ongers, these pardona4 iNs, who stand so uch on the new for that they cannot sit at ease on the old benchU ', their bones, their bones* Enter &o eo. 6en. -ere co es &o eo* here co es &o eo* (er. Without his roe, li#e a dried herring. ' flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified* )ow is he for the nu bers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to his lady, was but a #itchen wench : arry, she

had a better loDe to berhy e her;, %ido a dowdy, $leopatra a gypsy, -elen and -ero hildings and harlots, This be a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. "ignior &o eo, bon jour* ThereNs a !rench salutation to your !rench slop. 0ou gaDe us the counterfeit fairly last night. &o . Good orrow to you both. What counterfeit did I giDe youU (er. The slip, sir, the slip. $an you not conceiDeU &o . Pardon, good (ercutio. (y business was great, and in such a case as ine a an ay strain courtesy. (er. ThatNs as uch as to say, such a case as yours constrains a an to bow in the ha s. &o . (eaning, to cursy. (er. Thou hast ost #indly hit it. &o . . ost courteous exposition. (er. )ay, I a the Dery pin# of courtesy. &o . Pin# for flower. (er. &ight. &o . Why, then is y pu p well4flowerNd. (er. Well said* !ollow e this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pu p, that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest ay re ain, after the wearing, solely singular. &o . ' single4sold jest, solely singular for the singleness* (er. $o e between us, good 6enDolio* (y wits faint. &o . "wits and spurs, swits and spurs* or INll cry a atch. (er. )ay, if our wits run the wild4goose chase, I a doneO for thou hast ore of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, I a sure, I haDe in y whole fiDe. Was I with you there for the gooseU &o . Thou wast neDer with e for anything when thou wast not there for the goose. (er. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. &o . )ay, good goose, bite not* (er. Thy wit is a Dery bitter sweetingO it is a ost sharp sauce. &o . .nd is it not, then, well serDNd in to a sweet gooseU (er. ', hereNs a wit of cheDeril, that stretches fro an inch narrow to an ell broad* &o . I stretch it out for that word Nbroad,N which, added to the goose, proDes thee far and wide a broad goose. (er. Why, is not this better now than groaning for loDeU )ow art thou sociable, now art thou &o eoO now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature. !or this driDelling loDe is li#e a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. 6en. "top there, stop there* (er. Thou desirest e to stop in y tale against the hair.

6en. Thou wouldst else haDe ade thy tale large. (er. ', thou art deceiDNd* I would haDe ade it shortO for I was co e to the whole depth of y tale, and eant indeed to occupy the argu ent no longer. &o . -ereNs goodly gear* Enter )urse and her (an ?PeterA. (er. . sail, a sail* 6en. Two, two* a shirt and a s oc#. )urse. Peter* Peter. .non. )urse. (y fan, Peter. (er. Good Peter, to hide her faceO for her fanNs the fairer face of the two. )urse. God ye good orrow, gentle en. (er. God ye good4den, fair gentlewo an. )urse. Is it good4denU (er. NTis no less, I tell yeO for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the pric# of noon. )urse. 'ut upon you* What a an are you* &o . 'ne, gentlewo an, that God hath ade for hi self to ar. )urse. 6y y troth, it is well said. N!or hi self to ar,N Ruoth NaU Gentle en, can any of you tell e where I ay find the young &o eoU &o . I can tell youO but young &o eo will be older when you haDe found hi than he was when you sought hi . I a the youngest of that na e, for fault of a worse. )urse. 0ou say well. (er. 0ea, is the worst wellU 7ery well too#, iN faith* wisely, wisely. )urse. If you be he, sir, I desire so e confidence with you. 6en. "he will endite hi to so e supper. (er. . bawd, a bawd, a bawd* "o ho* &o . What hast thou foundU (er. )o hare, sirO unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is so ething stale and hoar ere it be spent -e wal#s by the and sings. .n old hare hoar, .nd an old hare hoar, Is Dery good eat in LentO 6ut a hare that is hoar Is too uch for a score When it hoars ere it be spent. &o eo, will you co e to your fatherNsU WeNll to dinner thither. &o . I will follow you. (er. !arewell, ancient lady. !arewell,

?singsA lady, lady, lady. Exeunt (ercutio, 6enDolio. )urse. (arry, farewell* I Pray you, "ir, what saucy erchant was this that was so full of his roperyU &o . . gentle an, nurse, that loDes to hear hi self tal# and will spea# ore in a inute than he will stand to in a onth. )urse. .n Na spea# anything against e, INll ta#e hi down, an Na were lustier than he is, and twenty such jac#sO and if I cannot, INll find those that shall. "curDy #naDe* I a none of his flirt4gillsO I a none of his s#ains4 ates. .nd thou ust stand by too, and suffer eDery #naDe to use e at his pleasure* Peter. I saw no an use you at his pleasure. If I had, y weapon should Ruic#ly haDe been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as s oon as another an, if I see occasion in a good Ruarrel, and the law on y side. )urse. )ow, afore God, I a so Dexed that eDery part about e RuiDers. "curDy #naDe* Pray you, sir, a wordO and, as I told you, y young lady bid e enRuire you out. What she bid e say, I will #eep to yselfO but first let e tell ye, if ye should lead her into a foolNs paradise, as they say, it were a Dery gross #ind of behaDiour, as they sayO for the gentlewo an is youngO and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offNred to any gentlewo an, and Dery wea# dealing. &o . )urse, co end e to thy lady and istress. I protest unto thee4 )urse. Good heart, and iN faith I will tell her as uch. Lord, Lord* she will be a joyful wo an. &o . What wilt thou tell her, nurseU Thou dost not ar# e. )urse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I ta#e it, is a gentle anli#e offer. &o . 6id her deDise "o e eans to co e to shrift this afternoonO .nd there she shall at !riar LaurenceN cell 6e shriDNd and arried. -ere is for thy pains. )urse. )o, truly, sirO not a penny. &o . Go to* I say you shall. )urse. This afternoon, sirU Well, she shall be there. &o . .nd stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall. Within this hour y an shall be with thee .nd bring thee cords ade li#e a tac#led stair, Which to the high topgallant of y joy (ust be y conDoy in the secret night.

!arewell. 6e trusty, and INll Ruit thy pains. !arewell. $o end e to thy istress. )urse. )ow God in heaDen bless thee* -ar# you, sir. &o . What sayNst thou, y dear nurseU )urse. Is your an secretU %id you neNer hear say, Two ay #eep counsel, putting one awayU &o . I warrant thee y anNs as true as steel. )urse. Well, sir, y istress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord* when Ntwas a little prating thing4 ', there is a noble an in town, one Paris, that would fain lay #nife aboardO but she, good soul, had as lieDe see a toad, a Dery toad, as see hi . I anger her so eti es, and tell her that Paris is the properer anO but INll warrant you, when I say so, she loo#s as pale as any clout in the Dersal world. %oth not rose ary and &o eo begin both with a letterU &o . .y, nurseO what of thatU 6oth with an &. )urse. .h, oc#er* thatNs the dogNs na e. & is for the4 )oO I #now it begins with so e other letterO and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rose ary, that it would do you good to hear it. &o . $o end e to thy lady. )urse. .y, a thousand ti es. ?Exit &o eo.A Peter* Peter. .non. )urse. Peter, ta#e y fan, and go before, and apace. Exeunt.

"cene 7. $apuletNs orchard. Enter 8uliet. 8ul. The cloc# struc# nine when I did send the nurseO In half an hour she pro isNd to return. Perchance she cannot eet hi . ThatNs not so. ', she is la e* LoDeNs heralds should be thoughts, Which ten ti es faster glide than the sunNs bea s %riDing bac# shadows oDer lowNring hills. Therefore do ni ble4pinionNd doDes draw LoDe, .nd therefore hath the wind4swift $upid wings. )ow is the sun upon the high ost hill 'f this dayNs journey, and fro nine till twelDe Is three long hoursO yet she is not co e. -ad she affections and war youthful blood, "he would be as swift in otion as a ballO (y words would bandy her to y sweet loDe, .nd his to e, 6ut old fol#s, any feign as they were dead4

9nwieldy, slow, heaDy and pale as lead. Enter )urse ?and PeterA. ' God, she co es* ' honey nurse, what newsU -ast thou et with hi U "end thy an away. )urse. Peter, stay at the gate. ?Exit Peter.A 8ul. )ow, good sweet nurse4 ' Lord, why loo#Nst thou sadU Though news be sad, yet tell the errilyO If good, thou sha est the usic of sweet news 6y playing it to e with so sour a face. )urse. I a aweary, giDe e leaDe awhile. !ie, how y bones ache* What a jaunce haDe I had* 8ul. I would thou hadst y bones, and I thy news. )ay, co e, I pray thee spea#. Good, good nurse, spea#. )urse. 8esu, what haste* $an you not stay awhileU %o you not see that I a out of breathU 8ul. -ow art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to e that thou art out of breathU The excuse that thou dost a#e in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good or badU .nswer to that. "ay either, and INll stay the circu stance. Let e be satisfied, isNt good or badU )urse. Well, you haDe ade a si ple choiceO you #now not how to choose a an. &o eoU )o, not he. Though his face be better than any anNs, yet his leg excels all enNsO and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be tal#Nd on, yet they are past co pare. -e is not the flower of courtesy, but, INll warrant hi , as gentle as a la b. Go thy ways, wenchO serDe God. What, haDe you dinNd at ho eU 8ul. )o, no. 6ut all this did I #now before. What says he of our arriageU What of thatU )urse. Lord, how y head aches* What a head haDe I* It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. (y bac# oN tN other side,4 ah, y bac#, y bac#* 6eshrew your heart for sending e about To catch y death with jauncing up and down* 8ul. IN faith, I a sorry that thou art not well. "weet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell e, what says y loDeU )urse. 0our loDe says, li#e an honest gentle an, and a courteous, and a #ind, and a handso eO and, I warrant, a Dirtuous4 Where is your otherU 8ul. Where is y otherU Why, she is within. Where should she beU -ow oddly thou repliest* N0our loDe says, li#e an honest gentle an, HWhere is your otherUHN )urse. ' GodNs Lady dear* .re you so hotU (arry co e up, I trow. Is this the poultice for y aching bonesU -enceforward do your essages yourself. 8ul. -ereNs such a coil* $o e, what says &o eoU

)urse. -aDe you got leaDe to go to shrift to4dayU 8ul. I haDe. )urse. Then hie you hence to !riar LaurenceN cellO There stays a husband to a#e you a wife. )ow co es the wanton blood up in your chee#sE TheyNll be in scarlet straight at any news. -ie you to churchO I ust another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your loDe (ust cli b a birdNs nest soon when it is dar#. I a the drudge, and toil in your delightO 6ut you shall bear the burthen soon at night. GoO INll to dinnerO hie you to the cell. 8ul. -ie to high fortune* -onest nurse, farewell. Exeunt.

"cene 7I. !riar LaurenceNs cell. Enter !riar ?LaurenceA and &o eo. !riar. "o s ile the heaDens upon this holy act That after4hours with sorrow chide us not* &o . . en, a en* 6ut co e what sorrow can, It cannot counterDail the exchange of joy That one short inute giDes e in her sight. %o thou but close our hands with holy words, Then loDe4deDouring death do what he dare4 It is enough I ay but call her ine. !riar. These Diolent delights haDe Diolent ends .nd in their triu ph die, li#e fire and powder, Which, as they #iss, consu e. The sweetest honey Is loathso e in his own deliciousness .nd in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore loDe oderatelyE long loDe doth soO Too swift arriDes as tardy as too slow. Enter 8uliet. -ere co es the lady. ', so light a foot Will neNer wear out the eDerlasting flint. . loDer ay bestride the gossa er That idles in the wanton su er air, .nd yet not fallO so light is Danity. 8ul. Good eDen to y ghostly confessor. !riar. &o eo shall than# thee, daughter, for us both. 8ul. .s uch to hi , else is his than#s too uch. &o . .h, 8uliet, if the easure of thy joy 6e heapNd li#e ine, and that thy s#ill be ore To blaCon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich usicNs tongue 9nfold the i aginNd happiness that both &eceiDe in either by this dear encounter. 8ul. $onceit, ore rich in atter than in words, 6rags of his substance, not of orna ent. They are but beggars that can count their worthO

6ut y true loDe is grown to such excess cannot su up su of half y wealth. !riar. $o e, co e with e, and we will a#e short wor#O !or, by your leaDes, you shall not stay alone Till -oly $hurch incorporate two in one. ?Exeunt.A

, "-./E"PE.&E I" $'P0&IG-T 122341225 60 W'&L% LI6&.&0, I)$., .)% I" P&'7I%E% 60 P&'8E$T G9TE)6E&G ETEMT '! $.&)EGIE (ELL') 9)I7E&"IT0 WIT- PE&(I""I'). ELE$T&')I$ .)% (.$-I)E &E.%.6LE $'PIE" (.0 6E %I"T&I69TE% "' L')G ." "9$- $'PIE" :1; .&E !'& 0'9& '& 'T-E&" PE&"').L 9"E ')L0, .)% :<; .&E )'T %I"T&I69TE% '& 9"E% $'((E&$I.LL0. P&'-I6ITE% $'((E&$I.L %I"T&I69TI') I)$L9%E" 60 .)0 "E&7I$E T-.T $-.&GE" !'& %'W)L'.% TI(E '& !'& (E(6E&"-IP.==

.$T III. "cene I. . public place. Enter (ercutio, 6enDolio, and (en. 6en. I pray thee, good (ercutio, letNs retire. The day is hot, the $apulets abroad. .nd if we eet, we shall not scape a brawl, !or now, these hot days, is the ad blood stirring. (er. Thou art li#e one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a taDern, claps e his sword upon the table and says NGod send e no need of thee*N and by the operation of the second cup draws hi on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. 6en. . I li#e such a fellowU (er. $o e, co e, thou art as hot a jac# in thy ood as any in ItalyO and as soon oDed to be oody, and as soon oody to be oDed. 6en. .nd what toU (er. )ay, an there were two such, we should haDe none shortly, for one would #ill the other. Thou* why, thou wilt Ruarrel with a an that hath a hair ore or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt Ruarrel with a an for crac#ing nuts, haDing no other reason but because thou hast haCel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a RuarrelU Thy head is as full of Ruarrels as an egg is full of eatO and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for Ruarrelling. Thou hast RuarrellNd with a an for coughing in the street, because he hath wa#ened thy dog

that hath lain asleep in the sun. %idst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter, with another for tying his new shoes with an old ribandU .nd yet thou wilt tutor e fro Ruarrelling* 6en. .n I were so apt to Ruarrel as thou art, any an should buy the fee si ple of y life for an hour and a Ruarter. (er. The fee si pleU ' si ple* Enter Tybalt and others. 6en. 6y y head, here co e the $apulets. (er. 6y y heel, I care not. Tyb. !ollow e close, for I will spea# to the . Gentle en, good den. . word with one of you. (er. .nd but one word with one of usU $ouple it with so ethingO a#e it a word and a blow. Tyb. 0ou shall find e apt enough to that, sir, an you will giDe e occasion. (er. $ould you not ta#e so e occasion without giDingU Tyb. (ercutio, thou consortest with &o eo. (er. $onsortU What, dost thou a#e us instrelsU .n thou a#e instrels of us, loo# to hear nothing but discords. -ereNs y fiddlestic#O hereNs that shall a#e you dance. Vounds, consort* 6en. We tal# here in the public haunt of en. Either withdraw unto so e priDate place .nd reason coldly of your grieDances, 'r else depart. -ere all eyes gaCe on us. (er. (enNs eyes were ade to loo#, and let the gaCe. I will not budge for no anNs pleasure, Enter &o eo. Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. -ere co es y (er. 6ut INll be hangNd, sir, if he wear your liDery. (arry, go before to field, heNll be your follower* 0our worship in that sense ay call hi an. Tyb. &o eo, the loDe I bear thee can afford )o better ter than thisE thou art a Dillain. &o . Tybalt, the reason that I haDe to loDe thee %oth uch excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting. 7illain a I none. Therefore farewell. I see thou #nowest e not. Tyb. 6oy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done eO therefore turn and draw. &o . I do protest I neDer injurNd thee, 6ut loDe thee better than thou canst deDise Till thou shalt #now the reason of y loDeO .nd so good $apulet, which na e I tender .s dearly as ine own, be satisfied. (er. ' cal , dishonourable, Dile sub ission* .lla stoccata carries it away. ?%raws.A Tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you wal#U Tyb. What wouldst thou haDe with eU an.

(er. Good /ing of $ats, nothing but one of your nine liDes. That I ean to a#e bold withal, and, as you shall use e hereafter, dry4beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluc# your sword out of his pitcher by the earsU (a#e haste, lest ine be about your ears ere it be out. Tyb. I a for you. ?%raws.A &o . Gentle (ercutio, put thy rapier up. (er. $o e, sir, your passado* ?They fight.A &o . %raw, 6enDolioO beat down their weapons. Gentle en, for sha e* forbear this outrage* Tybalt, (ercutio, the Prince expressly hath !orbid this bandying in 7erona streets. -old, Tybalt* Good (ercutio* Tybalt under &o eoNs ar thrusts (ercutio in, and flies ?with his !ollowersA. (er. I a hurt. . plague oN both your houses* I a sped. Is he gone and hath nothingU 6en. What, art thou hurtU (er. .y, ay, a scratch, a scratch. (arry, Ntis enough. Where is y pageU Go, Dillain, fetch a surgeon. ?Exit Page.A &o . $ourage, an. The hurt cannot be uch. (er. )o, Ntis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church doorO but Ntis enough, Ntwill serDe. .s# for e to4 orrow, and you shall find e a graDe an. I a peppered, I warrant, for this world. . plague oN both your houses* Vounds, a dog, a rat, a ouse, a cat, to scratch a an to death* a braggart, a rogue, a Dillain, that fights by the boo# of arith etic* Why the deDil ca e you between usU I was hurt under your ar . &o . I thought all for the best. (er. -elp e into so e house, 6enDolio, 'r I shall faint. . plague oN both your houses* They haDe ade wor sN eat of e. I haDe it, .nd soundly too. 0our houses* ?Exit. ?supported by 6enDolioA. &o . This gentle an, the PrinceNs near ally, (y Dery friend, hath got this ortal hurt In y behalf4 y reputation stainNd With TybaltNs slander4 Tybalt, that an hour -ath been y #ins an. ' sweet 8uliet, Thy beauty hath ade e effe inate .nd in y te per softNned DalourNs steel. Enter 6enDolio. 6en. ' &o eo, &o eo, braDe (ercutioNs dead* That gallant spirit hath aspirNd the clouds, Which too unti ely here did scorn the earth. &o . This dayNs blac# fate on oe days doth dependO This but begins the woe others ust end.

Enter Tybalt. 6en. -ere co es the furious Tybalt bac# again. &o . .liDe in triu ph, and (ercutio slainU .way to heaDen respectiDe lenity, .nd fire4eyNd fury be y conduct now* )ow, Tybalt, ta#e the NDillainN bac# again That late thou gaDest eO for (ercutioNs soul Is but a little way aboDe our heads, "taying for thine to #eep hi co pany. Either thou or I, or both, ust go with hi . Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort hi here, "halt with hi hence. &o . This shall deter ine that. They fight. Tybalt falls. 6en. &o eo, away, be gone* The citiCens are up, and Tybalt slain. "tand not a aCNd. The Prince will doo thee death If thou art ta#en. -ence, be gone, away* &o . ', I a fortuneNs fool* 6en. Why dost thou stayU Exit &o eo. Enter $itiCens. $itiCen. Which way ran he that #illNd (ercutioU Tybalt, that urtherer, which way ran heU 6en. There lies that Tybalt. $itiCen. 9p, sir, go with e. I charge thee in the PrinceNs na e obey. Enter Prince ?attendedA, 'ld (ontague, $apulet, their WiDes, and ?othersA. Prince. Where are the Dile beginners of this frayU 6en. ' noble Prince. I can discoDer all The unluc#y anage of this fatal brawl. There lies the an, slain by young &o eo, That slew thy #ins an, braDe (ercutio. $ap. Wife. Tybalt, y cousin* ' y brotherNs child* ' Prince* ' husband* ', the blood is spillNd 'f y dear #ins an* Prince, as thou art true, !or blood of ours shed blood of (ontague. ' cousin, cousin* Prince. 6enDolio, who began this bloody frayU 6en. Tybalt, here slain, who &o eoNs hand did stay. &o eo, that spo#e hi fair, bid hi bethin# -ow nice the Ruarrel was, and urgNd withal 0our high displeasure. .ll this4 uttered With gentle breath, cal loo#, #nees hu bly bowNd4 $ould not ta#e truce with the unruly spleen 'f Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold (ercutioNs breastO Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, .nd, with a artial scorn, with one hand beats $old death aside and with the other sends It bac# to Tybalt, whose dexterity &etorts it. &o eo he cries aloud,

N-old, friends* friends, part*N and swifter than his tongue, -is agile ar beats down their fatal points, .nd Ntwixt the rushesO underneath whose ar .n enDious thrust fro Tybalt hit the life 'f stout (ercutio, and then Tybalt fledO 6ut by4and4by co es bac# to &o eo, Who had but newly entertainNd reDenge, .nd toNt they go li#e lightningO for, ere I $ould draw to part the , was stout Tybalt slainO .nd, as he fell, did &o eo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let 6enDolio die. $ap. Wife. -e is a #ins an to the (ontagueO .ffection a#es hi false, he spea#s not true. "o e twenty of the fought in this blac# strife, .nd all those twenty could but #ill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, ust giDe. &o eo slew TybaltO &o eo ust not liDe. Prince. &o eo slew hi O he slew (ercutio. Who now the price of his dear blood doth oweU (on. )ot &o eo, PrinceO he was (ercutioNs friendO -is fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. Prince. .nd for that offence I ediately we do exile hi hence. I haDe an interest in your hateNs proceeding, (y blood for your rude brawls doth lie a4bleedingO 6ut INll a erce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of ine. I will be deaf to pleading and excusesO )or tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses. Therefore use none. Let &o eo hence in haste, Else, when he is found, that hour is his last. 6ear hence this body, and attend our will. (ercy but urders, pardoning those that #ill. Exeunt.

"cene II. $apuletNs orchard. Enter 8uliet alone. 8ul. Gallop apace, you fiery4footed steeds, Towards PhoebusN lodging* "uch a wagoner .s Phaeton would whip you to the West .nd bring in cloudy night i ediately. "pread thy close curtain, loDe4perfor ing night, That runaway eyes ay win#, and &o eo Leap to these ar s untal#Nd of and unseen. LoDers can see to do their a orous rites 6y their own beautiesO or, if loDe be blind, It best agrees with night. $o e, ciDil night, Thou sober4suited atron, all in blac#, .nd learn e how to lose a winning atch, PlayNd for a pair of stainless aidenhoods. -ood y un annNd blood, bating in y chee#s,

With thy blac# antle till strange loDe, grown bold, Thin# true loDe acted si ple odesty. $o e, nightO co e, &o eoO co e, thou day in nightO !or thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow upon a raDenNs bac#. $o e, gentle nightO co e, loDing, blac#4browNd nightO GiDe e y &o eoO and, when he shall die, Ta#e hi and cut hi out in little stars, .nd he will a#e the face of heaDen so fine That all the world will be in loDe with night .nd pay no worship to the garish sun. ', I haDe bought the ansion of a loDe, 6ut not possessNd itO and though I a sold, )ot yet enjoyNd. "o tedious is this day .s is the night before so e festiDal To an i patient child that hath new robes .nd ay not wear the . ', here co es y nurse, Enter )urse, with cords. .nd she brings newsO and eDery tongue that spea#s 6ut &o eoNs na e spea#s heaDenly eloRuence. )ow, nurse, what newsU What hast thou thereU the cords That &o eo bid thee fetchU )urse. .y, ay, the cords. ?Throws the down.A 8ul. .h e* what newsU Why dost thou wring thy handsU )urse. .h, weraday* heNs dead, heNs dead, heNs dead* We are undone, lady, we are undone* .lac# the day* heNs gone, heNs #illNd, heNs dead* 8ul. $an heaDen be so enDiousU )urse. &o eo can, Though heaDen cannot. ' &o eo, &o eo* Who eDer would haDe thought itU &o eo* 8ul. What deDil art thou that dost tor ent e thusU This torture should be roarNd in dis al hell. -ath &o eo slain hi selfU "ay thou but NI,N .nd that bare Dowel NIN shall poison ore Than the death4darting eye of coc#atrice. I a not I, if there be such an NINO 'r those eyes shut that a#e thee answer NI.N If he be slain, say NINO or if not, Nno.N 6rief sounds deter ine of y weal or woe. )urse. I saw the wound, I saw it with ine eyes, :God saDe the ar#*; here on his anly breast. . piteous corse, a bloody piteous corseO Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaubNd in blood, .ll in gore4blood. I swounded at the sight. 8ul. ', brea#, y heart* poor ban#rout, brea# at once* To prison, eyesO neNer loo# on liberty* 7ile earth, to earth resignO end otion here, .nd thou and &o eo press one heaDy bier* )urse. ' Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had* ' courteous Tybalt* honest gentle an That eDer I should liDe to see thee dead* 8ul. What stor is this that blows so contraryU Is &o eo slaughtNred, and is Tybalt deadU (y dear4loDNd cousin, and y dearer lordU

Then, dreadful tru pet, sound the general doo * !or who is liDing, if those two are goneU )urse. Tybalt is gone, and &o eo banishedO &o eo that #illNd hi , he is banished. 8ul. ' God* %id &o eoNs hand shed TybaltNs bloodU )urse. It did, it did* alas the day, it did* 8ul. ' serpent heart, hid with a flowNring face* %id eDer dragon #eep so fair a caDeU 6eautiful tyrant* fiend angelical* %oDe4featherNd raDen* wolDish4raDening la b* %espised substance of diDinest show* 8ust opposite to what thou justly see Nst4 . da ned saint, an honourable Dillain* ' nature, what hadst thou to do in hell When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In ortal paradise of such sweet fleshU Was eDer boo# containing such Dile atter "o fairly boundU ', that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace* )urse. ThereNs no trust, )o faith, no honesty in enO all perjurNd, .ll forsworn, all naught, all disse blers. .h, whereNs y anU GiDe e so e aRua Ditae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows a#e e old. "ha e co e to &o eo* 8ul. 6listerNd be thy tongue !or such a wish* -e was not born to sha e. 9pon his brow sha e is asha Nd to sitO !or Ntis a throne where honour ay be crownNd "ole onarch of the uniDersal earth. ', what a beast was I to chide at hi * )urse. Will you spea# well of hi that #illNd your cousinU 8ul. "hall I spea# ill of hi that is y husbandU .h, poor y lord, what tongue shall s ooth thy na e When I, thy three4hours wife, haDe angled itU 6ut wherefore, Dillain, didst thou #ill y cousinU That Dillain cousin would haDe #illNd y husband. 6ac#, foolish tears, bac# to your natiDe spring* 0our tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, ista#ing, offer up to joy. (y husband liDes, that Tybalt would haDe slainO .nd TybaltNs dead, that would haDe slain y husband. .ll this is co fortO wherefore weep I thenU "o e word there was, worser than TybaltNs death, That urdNred e. I would forget it fainO 6ut ', it presses to y e ory Li#e da ned guilty deeds to sinnersN inds* NTybalt is dead, and &o eo4 banished.N That Nbanished,N that one word Nbanished,N -ath slain ten thousand Tybalts. TybaltNs death Was woe enough, if it had ended thereO 'r, if sour woe delights in fellowship .nd needly will be ran#Nd with other griefs, Why followed not, when she said NTybaltNs dead,N Thy father, or thy other, nay, or both, Which odern la entation ight haDe oDNdU 6ut with a rearward following TybaltNs death, N&o eo is banishedN4 to spea# that word

Is father, other, Tybalt, &o eo, 8uliet, .ll slain, all dead. N&o eo is banishedN4 There is no end, no li it, easure, bound, In that wordNs deathO no words can that woe sound. Where is y father and y other, nurseU )urse. Weeping and wailing oDer TybaltNs corse. Will you go to the U I will bring you thither. 8ul. Wash they his wounds with tearsU (ine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for &o eoNs banish ent. Ta#e up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguilNd, 6oth you and I, for &o eo is exilNd. -e ade you for a highway to y bedO 6ut I, a aid, die aiden4widowed. $o e, cordsO co e, nurse. INll to y wedding bedO .nd death, not &o eo, ta#e y aidenhead* )urse. -ie to your cha ber. INll find &o eo To co fort you. I wot well where he is. -ar# ye, your &o eo will be here at night. INll to hi O he is hid at LaurenceN cell. 8ul. ', find hi * giDe this ring to y true #night .nd bid hi co e to ta#e his last farewell. Exeunt.

"cene III. !riar LaurenceNs cell. Enter !riar ?LaurenceA. !riar. &o eo, co e forthO co e forth, thou fearful .ffliction is enan ourNd of thy parts, .nd thou art wedded to cala ity. Enter &o eo. &o . !ather, what newsU What is the PrinceNs doo What sorrow craDes acRuaintance at y hand That I yet #now notU !riar. Too fa iliar Is y dear son with such sour co pany. I bring thee tidings of the PrinceNs doo . &o . What less than doo sday is the PrinceNs doo U !riar. . gentler judg ent DanishNd fro his lips4 )ot bodyNs death, but bodyNs banish ent. &o . -a, banish entU 6e erciful, say NdeathNO !or exile hath ore terror in his loo#, (uch ore than death. %o not say Nbanish ent.N !riar. -ence fro 7erona art thou banished. 6e patient, for the world is broad and wide. &o . There is no world without 7erona walls, 6ut purgatory, torture, hell itself. -ence banished is banishNd fro the world, .nd worldNs exile is death. Then Nbanish entN Is death ister Nd. $alling death Nbanish ent,N Thou cutNst y head off with a golden axe .nd s ilest upon the stro#e that urders e. an.

!riar. ' deadly sin* ' rude unthan#fulness* Thy fault our law calls deathO but the #ind Prince, Ta#ing thy part, hath brushNd aside the law, .nd turnNd that blac# word death to banish ent. This is dear ercy, and thou seest it not. &o . NTis torture, and not ercy. -eaDen is here, Where 8uliet liDesO and eDery cat and dog .nd little ouse, eDery unworthy thing, LiDe here in heaDen and ay loo# on herO 6ut &o eo ay not. (ore Dalidity, (ore honourable state, ore courtship liDes In carrion flies than &o eo. They ay seiCe 'n the white wonder of dear 8ulietNs hand .nd steal i ortal blessing fro her lips, Who, eDen in pure and Destal odesty, "till blush, as thin#ing their own #isses sinO 6ut &o eo ay not4 he is banished. This ay flies do, when I fro this ust flyO They are free en, but I a banished. .nd sayest thou yet that exile is not deathU -adst thou no poison ixNd, no sharp4ground #nife, )o sudden ean of death, though neNer so ean, 6ut NbanishedN to #ill e4 NbanishedNU ' friar, the da ned use that word in hellO -owling attends it* -ow hast thou the heart, 6eing a diDine, a ghostly confessor, . sin4absolDer, and y friend professNd, To angle e with that word NbanishedNU !riar. Thou fond ad an, hear e a little spea#. &o . ', thou wilt spea# again of banish ent. !riar. INll giDe thee ar our to #eep off that wordO .dDersityNs sweet il#, philosophy, To co fort thee, though thou art banished. &o . 0et NbanishedNU -ang up philosophy* 9nless philosophy can a#e a 8uliet, %isplant a town, reDerse a princeNs doo , It helps not, it preDails not. Tal# no ore. !riar. ', then I see that ad en haDe no ears. &o . -ow should they, when that wise en haDe no eyesU !riar. Let e dispute with thee of thy estate. &o . Thou canst not spea# of that thou dost not feel. Wert thou as young as I, 8uliet thy loDe, .n hour but arried, Tybalt urdered, %oting li#e e, and li#e e banished, Then ightst thou spea#, then ightst thou tear thy hair, .nd fall upon the ground, as I do now, Ta#ing the easure of an un ade graDe. /noc# ?withinA. !riar. .riseO one #noc#s. Good &o eo, hide thyself. &o . )ot IO unless the breath of heartsic# groans, (ist4li#e infold e fro the search of eyes. /noc#. !riar. -ar#, how they #noc#* WhoNs thereU &o eo, ariseO Thou wilt be ta#en.4 "tay awhile*4 "tand upO /noc#. &un to y study.4 6y4and4by*4 GodNs will, What si pleness is this.4 I co e, I co e* /noc#. Who #noc#s so hardU Whence co e youU WhatNs your willU )urse. ?withinA Let e co e in, and you shall #now y errand. I co e fro Lady 8uliet.

!riar. Welco e then. Enter )urse. )urse. ' holy friar, ', tell e, holy friar, Where is y ladyNs lord, whereNs &o eoU !riar. There on the ground, with his own tears ade drun#. )urse. ', he is eDen in y istressN case, 8ust in her case* !riar. ' woeful sy pathy* Piteous predica ent* )urse. EDen so lies she, 6lubbNring and weeping, weeping and blubbering. "tand up, stand up* "tand, an you be a an. !or 8ulietNs sa#e, for her sa#e, rise and stand* Why should you fall into so deep an 'U &o . :rises; )urse4 )urse. .h sir* ah sir* Well, deathNs the end of all. &o . "pa#est thou of 8ulietU -ow is it with herU %oth not she thin# e an old urtherer, )ow I haDe stainNd the childhood of our joy With blood re oDNd but little fro her ownU Where is sheU and how doth she* and what says (y concealNd lady to our cancellNd loDeU )urse. ', she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weepsO .nd now falls on her bed, and then starts up, .nd Tybalt callsO and then on &o eo cries, .nd then down falls again. &o . .s if that na e, "hot fro the deadly leDel of a gun, %id urther herO as that na eNs cursed hand (urderNd her #ins an. ', tell e, friar, tell e, In what Dile part of this anato y %oth y na e lodgeU Tell e, that I ay sac# The hateful ansion. ?%raws his dagger.A !riar. -old thy desperate hand. .rt thou a anU Thy for cries out thou artO Thy tears are wo anish, thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast. 9nsee ly wo an in a see ing an* 'r ill4besee ing beast in see ing both* Thou hast a aCNd e. 6y y holy order, I thought thy disposition better te perNd. -ast thou slain TybaltU Wilt thou slay thyselfU .nd slay thy lady that in thy life liDes, 6y doing da ned hate upon thyselfU Why railest thou on thy birth, the heaDen, and earthU "ince birth and heaDen and earth, all three do eet In thee at onceO which thou at once wouldst lose. !ie, fie, thou sha est thy shape, thy loDe, thy wit, Which, li#e a usurer, aboundNst in all, .nd usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedec# thy shape, thy loDe, thy wit. Thy noble shape is but a for of wax %igressing fro the Dalour of a anO Thy dear loDe sworn but hollow perjury, /illing that loDe which thou hast DowNd to cherishO Thy wit, that orna ent to shape and loDe,

(isshapen in the conduct of the both, Li#e powder in a s#illess soldierNs flas#, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, .nd thou dis e bNred with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, an* Thy 8uliet is aliDe, !or whose dear sa#e thou wast but lately dead. There art thou happy. Tybalt would #ill thee, 6ut thou slewest Tybalt. There art thou happy too. The law, that threatNned death, beco es thy friend .nd turns it to exile. There art thou happy. . pac# of blessings light upon thy bac#O -appiness courts thee in her best arrayO 6ut, li#e a isbehaDNd and sullen wench, Thou poutNst upon thy fortune and thy loDe. Ta#e heed, ta#e heed, for such die iserable. Go get thee to thy loDe, as was decreed, .scend her cha ber, hence and co fort her. 6ut loo# thou stay not till the watch be set, !or then thou canst not pass to (antua, Where thou shalt liDe till we can find a ti e To blaCe your arriage, reconcile your friends, 6eg pardon of the Prince, and call thee bac# With twenty hundred thousand ti es ore joy Than thou wentNst forth in la entation. Go before, nurse. $o end e to thy lady, .nd bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heaDy sorrow a#es the apt unto. &o eo is co ing. )urse. ' Lord, I could haDe stayNd here all the night To hear good counsel. ', what learning is* (y lord, INll tell y lady you will co e. &o . %o so, and bid y sweet prepare to chide. )urse. -ere is a ring she bid e giDe you, sir. -ie you, a#e haste, for it grows Dery late. Exit. &o . -ow well y co fort is reDiDNd by this* !riar. Go henceO good nightO and here stands all your stateE Either be gone before the watch be set, 'r by the brea# of day disguisNd fro hence. "ojourn in (antua. INll find out your an, .nd he shall signify fro ti e to ti e EDery good hap to you that chances here. GiDe e thy hand. NTis late. !arewellO good night. &o . 6ut that a joy past joy calls out on e, It were a grief so brief to part with thee. !arewell. Exeunt.

"cene I7. $apuletNs house Enter 'ld $apulet, his Wife, and Paris. $ap. Things haDe fallNn out, sir, so unluc#ily That we haDe had no ti e to oDe our daughter. Loo# you, she loDNd her #ins an Tybalt dearly,

.nd so did I. Well, we were born to die. NTis Dery lateO sheNll not co e down to4night. I pro ise you, but for your co pany, I would haDe been abed an hour ago. Par. These ti es of woe afford no tune to woo. (ada , good night. $o end e to your daughter. Lady. I will, and #now her ind early to4 orrowO To4night sheNs ewNd up to her heaDiness. $ap. "ir Paris, I will a#e a desperate tender 'f y childNs loDe. I thin# she will be rulNd In all respects by eO nay ore, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bedO .cRuaint her here of y son ParisN loDe .nd bid her : ar# you eU; on Wednesday next4 6ut, soft* what day is thisU Par. (onday, y lord. $ap. (onday* ha, ha* Well, Wednesday is too soon. Thursday let it be4 a Thursday, tell her "he shall be arried to this noble earl. Will you be readyU %o you li#e this hasteU WeNll #eep no great ado4 a friend or twoO !or har# you, Tybalt being slain so late, It ay be thought we held hi carelessly, 6eing our #ins an, if we reDel uch. Therefore weNll haDe so e half a doCen friends, .nd there an end. 6ut what say you to ThursdayU Par. (y lord, I would that Thursday were to4 orrow. $ap. Well, get you gone. . Thursday be it then. Go you to 8uliet ere you go to bedO Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. !arewell, y lord.4 Light to y cha ber, ho* .fore e, It is so Dery Dery late That we ay call it early by4and4by. Good night. Exeunt

"cene 7. $apuletNs orchard. Enter &o eo and 8uliet aloft, at the Window. 8ul. Wilt thou be goneU It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lar#, That piercNd the fearful hollow of thine ear. )ightly she sings on yond po egranate tree. 6elieDe e, loDe, it was the nightingale. &o . It was the lar#, the herald of the ornO )o nightingale. Loo#, loDe, what enDious strea#s %o lace the seDering clouds in yonder East. )ightNs candles are burnt out, and jocund day "tands tiptoe on the isty ountain tops. I ust be gone and liDe, or stay and die. 8ul. 0ond light is not daylightO I #now it, I. It is so e eteor that the sun exhales To be to thee this night a torchbearer

.nd light thee on the way to (antua. Therefore stay yetO thou needNst not to be gone. &o . Let e be taNen, let e be put to death. I a content, so thou wilt haDe it so. INll say yon grey is not the orningNs eye, NTis but the pale reflex of $ynthiaNs browO )or that is not the lar# whose notes do beat The Daulty heaDen so high aboDe our heads. I haDe ore care to stay than will to go. $o e, death, and welco e* 8uliet wills it so. -ow isNt, y soulU LetNs tal#O it is not day. 8ul. It is, it is* -ie hence, be gone, away* It is the lar# that sings so out of tune, "training harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. "o e say the lar# a#es sweet diDisionO This doth not so, for she diDideth us. "o e say the lar# and loathed toad changNd eyesO ', now I would they had changNd Doices too, "ince ar fro ar that Doice doth us affray, -unting thee hence with huntNs4up to the day* ', now be gone* (ore light and light it grows. &o . (ore light and light4 ore dar# and dar# our woes* Enter )urse. )urse. (ada * 8ul. )urseU )urse. 0our lady other is co ing to your cha ber. The day is bro#eO be wary, loo# about. 8ul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ?Exit.A &o . !arewell, farewell* 'ne #iss, and INll descend. -e goeth down. 8ul. .rt thou gone so, y lord, y loDe, y friendU I ust hear fro thee eDery day in the hour, !or in a inute there are any days. ', by this count I shall be uch in years Ere I again behold y &o eo* &o . !arewell* I will o it no opportunity That ay conDey y greetings, loDe, to thee. 8ul. ', thin#Nst thou we shall eDer eet againU &o . I doubt it notO and all these woes shall serDe !or sweet discourses in our ti e to co e. 8ul. ' God, I haDe an ill4diDining soul* (ethin#s I see thee, now thou art below, .s one dead in the botto of a to b. Either y eyesight fails, or thou loo#Nst pale. &o . .nd trust e, loDe, in y eye so do you. %ry sorrow drin#s our blood. .dieu, adieu* Exit. 8ul. ' !ortune, !ortune* all en call thee fic#le. If thou art fic#le, what dost thou with hi That is renownNd for faithU 6e fic#le, !ortune, !or then I hope thou wilt not #eep hi long 6ut send hi bac#. Lady. ?withinA -o, daughter* are you upU 8ul. Who isNt that callsU It is y lady other.

Is she not down so late, or up so earlyU What unaccusto Nd cause procures her hitherU Enter (other. Lady. Why, how now, 8ulietU 8ul. (ada , I a not well. Lady. EDer ore weeping for your cousinNs deathU What, wilt thou wash hi fro his graDe with tearsU .n if thou couldst, thou couldst not a#e hi liDe. Therefore haDe done. "o e grief shows uch of loDeO 6ut uch of grief shows still so e want of wit. 8ul. 0et let e weep for such a feeling loss. Lady. "o shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. 8ul. !eeling so the loss, I cannot choose but eDer weep the friend. Lady. Well, girl, thou weepNst not so uch for his death .s that the Dillain liDes which slaughterNd hi . 8ul. What Dillain, ada U Lady. That sa e Dillain &o eo. 8ul. ?asideA 7illain and he be any iles asunder.4 God pardon hi * I do, with all y heartO .nd yet no an li#e he doth grieDe y heart. Lady. That is because the traitor urderer liDes. 8ul. .y, ada , fro the reach of these y hands. Would none but I ight Denge y cousinNs death* Lady. We will haDe Dengeance for it, fear thou not. Then weep no ore. INll send to one in (antua, Where that sa e banishNd runagate doth liDe, "hall giDe hi such an unaccusto Nd dra That he shall soon #eep Tybalt co panyO .nd then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. 8ul. Indeed I neDer shall be satisfied With &o eo till I behold hi 4 dead4 Is y poor heart so for a #ins an DexNd. (ada , if you could find out but a an To bear a poison, I would te per itO That &o eo should, upon receipt thereof, "oon sleep in Ruiet. ', how y heart abhors To hear hi na Nd and cannot co e to hi , To wrea# the loDe I bore y cousin Tybalt 9pon his body that hath slaughterNd hi * Lady. !ind thou the eans, and INll find such a an. 6ut now INll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. 8ul. .nd joy co es well in such a needy ti e. What are they, I beseech your ladyshipU Lady. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, childO 'ne who, to put thee fro thy heaDiness, -ath sorted out a sudden day of joy That thou expects not nor I loo#Nd not for. 8ul. (ada , in happy ti e* What day is thatU Lady. (arry, y child, early next Thursday orn The gallant, young, and noble gentle an, The $ounty Paris, at "aint PeterNs $hurch, "hall happily a#e thee there a joyful bride. 8ul. )ow by "aint PeterNs $hurch, and Peter too, -e shall not a#e e there a joyful bride*

I wonder at this haste, that I ust wed Ere he that should be husband co es to woo. I pray you tell y lord and father, ada , I will not arry yetO and when I do, I swear It shall be &o eo, who you #now I hate, &ather than Paris. These are news indeed* Lady. -ere co es your father. Tell hi so yourself, .nd see how he will ta#e it at your hands. Enter $apulet and )urse. $ap. When the sun sets the air doth driCCle dew, 6ut for the sunset of y brotherNs son It rains downright. -ow nowU a conduit, girlU What, still in tearsU EDer ore showNringU In one little body Thou counterfeitNst a bar#, a sea, a windE !or still thy eyes, which I ay call the sea, %o ebb and flow with tearsO the bar# thy body is "ailing in this salt floodO the winds, thy sighs, Who, raging with thy tears and they with the , Without a sudden cal will oDerset Thy te pest4tossed body. -ow now, wifeU -aDe you deliDered to her our decreeU Lady. .y, sirO but she will none, she giDes you than#s. I would the fool were arried to her graDe* $ap. "oft* ta#e e with you, ta#e e with you, wife. -owU Will she noneU %oth she not giDe us than#sU Is she not proudU %oth she not count her blest, 9nworthy as she is, that we haDe wrought "o worthy a gentle an to be her bridegroo U 8ul. )ot proud you haDe, but than#ful that you haDe. Proud can I neDer be of what I hate, 6ut than#ful eDen for hate that is eant loDe. $ap. -ow now, how now, choplogicU What is thisU NProudN4 and NI than# youN4 and NI than# you notN4 .nd yet Nnot proudNU (istress inion you, Than# e no than#ings, nor proud e no prouds, 6ut fettle your fine joints Ngainst Thursday next To go with Paris to "aint PeterNs $hurch, 'r I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 'ut, you green4sic#ness carrion I out, you baggage* 0ou tallow4face* Lady. !ie, fie* what, are you adU 8ul. Good father, I beseech you on y #nees, -ear e with patience but to spea# a word. $ap. -ang thee, young baggage* disobedient wretch* I tell thee what4 get thee to church a Thursday 'r neDer after loo# e in the face. "pea# not, reply not, do not answer e* (y fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only childO 6ut now I see this one is one too uch, .nd that we haDe a curse in haDing her. 'ut on her, hilding* )urse. God in heaDen bless her* 0ou are to bla e, y lord, to rate her so. $ap. .nd why, y Lady Wisdo U -old your tongue,

Good Prudence. " atter with your gossips, go* )urse. I spea# no treason. $ap. ', God4i4god4en* )urse. (ay not one spea#U $ap. Peace, you u bling fool* 9tter your graDity oNer a gossipNs bowl, !or here we need it not. Lady. 0ou are too hot. $ap. GodNs bread I it a#es e ad. %ay, night, late, early, .t ho e, abroad, alone, in co pany, Wa#ing or sleeping, still y care hath been To haDe her atchNdO and haDing now proDided . gentle an of princely parentage, 'f fair de esnes, youthful, and nobly trainNd, "tuffNd, as they say, with honourable parts, ProportionNd as oneNs thought would wish a an4 .nd then to haDe a wretched puling fool, . whining a et, in her fortuneNs tender, To answer NINll not wed, I cannot loDeO I a too young, I pray you pardon eN* 6ut, an you will not wed, INll pardon you. GraCe where you will, you shall not house with e. Loo# toNt, thin# onNtO I do not use to jest. Thursday is nearO lay hand on heart, adDiseE .n you be ine, INll giDe you to y friendO .n you be not, hang, beg, starDe, die in the streets, !or, by y soul, INll neNer ac#nowledge thee, )or what is ine shall neDer do thee good. Trust toNt. 6ethin# you. INll not be forsworn. Exit. 8ul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds That sees into the botto of y griefU ' sweet y other, cast e not away* %elay this arriage for a onth, a wee#O 'r if you do not, a#e the bridal bed In that di onu ent where Tybalt lies. Lady. Tal# not to e, for INll not spea# a word. %o as thou wilt, for I haDe done with thee. Exit. 8ul. ' God*4 ' nurse, how shall this be preDentedU (y husband is on earth, y faith in heaDen. -ow shall that faith return again to earth 9nless that husband send it e fro heaDen 6y leaDing earthU $o fort e, counsel e. .lac#, alac#, that heaDen should practise stratage s 9pon so soft a subject as yself* What sayNst thouU -ast thou not a word of joyU "o e co fort, nurse. )urse. !aith, here it is. &o eo is banishNdO and all the world to nothing That he dares neNer co e bac# to challenge youO 'r if he do, it needs ust be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I thin# it best you arried with the $ounty. ', heNs a loDely gentle an* &o eoNs a dishclout to hi . .n eagle, ada , -ath not so green, so Ruic#, so fair an eye .s Paris hath. 6eshrew y Dery heart, I thin# you are happy in this second atch, !or it excels your firstO or if it did not,

0our first is dead4 or Ntwere as good he were .s liDing here and you no use of hi . 8ul. "pea#Nst thou this fro thy heartU )urse. .nd fro y soul tooO else beshrew the both. 8ul. . en* )urse. WhatU 8ul. Well, thou hast co forted e arDellous uch. Go inO and tell y lady I a gone, -aDing displeasNd y father, to LaurenceN cell, To a#e confession and to be absolDNd. )urse. (arry, I willO and this is wisely done. Exit. 8ul. .ncient da nation* ' ost wic#ed fiend* Is it ore sin to wish e thus forsworn, 'r to dispraise y lord with that sa e tongue Which she hath praisNd hi with aboDe co pare "o any thousand ti esU Go, counsellor* Thou and y boso henceforth shall be twain. INll to the friar to #now his re edy. If all else fail, yself haDe power to die. Exit.

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.$T I7. "cene I. !riar LaurenceNs cell. Enter !riar, ?LaurenceA and $ounty Paris. !riar. 'n Thursday, sirU The ti e is Dery short. Par. (y father $apulet will haDe it so, .nd I a nothing slow to slac# his haste. !riar. 0ou say you do not #now the ladyNs ind. 9neDen is the courseO I li#e it not. Par. I oderately she weeps for TybaltNs death, .nd therefore haDe I little tal#Nd of loDeO !or 7enus s iles not in a house of tears. )ow, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she do giDe her sorrow so uch sway, .nd in his wisdo hastes our arriage To stop the inundation of her tears, Which, too uch inded by herself alone, (ay be put fro her by society. )ow do you #now the reason of this haste. !riar. ?asideA I would I #new not why it should be slowNd.4 Loo#, sir, here co es the lady toward y cell. Enter 8uliet.

Par. -appily et, y lady and y wife* 8ul. That ay be, sir, when I ay be a wife. Par. That ay be ust be, loDe, on Thursday next. 8ul. What ust be shall be. !riar. ThatNs a certain text. Par. $o e you to a#e confession to this fatherU 8ul. To answer that, I should confess to you. Par. %o not deny to hi that you loDe e. 8ul. I will confess to you that I loDe hi . Par. "o will ye, I a sure, that you loDe e. 8ul. If I do so, it will be of ore price, 6eing spo#e behind your bac#, than to your face. Par. Poor soul, thy face is uch abusNd with tears. 8ul. The tears haDe got s all Dictory by that, !or it was bad enough before their spite. Par. Thou wrongNst it ore than tears with that report. 8ul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truthO .nd what I spa#e, I spa#e it to y face. Par. Thy face is ine, and thou hast slandNred it. 8ul. It ay be so, for it is not ine own. .re you at leisure, holy father, now, 'r shall I co e to you at eDening assU !riar. (y leisure serDes e, pensiDe daughter, now. (y lord, we ust entreat the ti e alone. Par. God shield I should disturb deDotion* 8uliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye. Till then, adieu, and #eep this holy #iss. Exit. 8ul. ', shut the door* and when thou hast done so, $o e weep with e4 past hope, past cure, past help* !riar. .h, 8uliet, I already #now thy griefO It strains e past the co pass of y wits. I hear thou ust, and nothing ay prorogue it, 'n Thursday next be arried to this $ounty. 8ul. Tell e not, friar, that thou hearNst of this, 9nless thou tell e how I ay preDent it. If in thy wisdo thou canst giDe no help, %o thou but call y resolution wise .nd with this #nife INll help it presently. God joinNd y heart and &o eoNs, thou our handsO .nd ere this hand, by thee to &o eoNs sealNd, "hall be the label to another deed, 'r y true heart with treacherous reDolt Turn to another, this shall slay the both. Therefore, out of thy long4experiencNd ti e, GiDe e so e present counselO or, behold, NTwixt y extre es and e this bloody #nife "hall play the e pire, arbitrating that Which the co ission of thy years and art $ould to no issue of true honour bring. 6e not so long to spea#. I long to die If what thou spea#Nst spea# not of re edy. !riar. -old, daughter. I do spy a #ind of hope, Which craDes as desperate an execution .s that is desperate which we would preDent. If, rather than to arry $ounty Paris Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it li#ely thou wilt underta#e

. thing li#e death to chide away this sha e, That copNst with death hi self to scape fro itO .nd, if thou darNst, INll giDe thee re edy. 8ul. ', bid e leap, rather than arry Paris, !ro off the battle ents of yonder tower, 'r wal# in thieDish ways, or bid e lur# Where serpents areO chain e with roaring bears, 'r shut e nightly in a charnel house, 'NercoDerNd Ruite with dead enNs rattling bones, With ree#y shan#s and yellow chapless s#ullsO 'r bid e go into a new4 ade graDe .nd hide e with a dead an in his shroud4 Things that, to hear the told, haDe ade e tre ble4 .nd I will do it without fear or doubt, To liDe an unstainNd wife to y sweet loDe. !riar. -old, then. Go ho e, be erry, giDe consent To arry Paris. Wednesday is to4 orrow. To4 orrow night loo# that thou lie aloneO Let not the nurse lie with thee in thy cha ber. Ta#e thou this Dial, being then in bed, .nd this distilled liRuor drin# thou offO When presently through all thy Deins shall run . cold and drowsy hu ourO for no pulse "hall #eep his natiDe progress, but surceaseO )o war th, no breath, shall testify thou liDestO The roses in thy lips and chee#s shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyesN windows fall Li#e death when he shuts up the day of lifeO Each part, depriDNd of supple goDern ent, "hall, stiff and star# and cold, appear li#e deathO .nd in this borrowed li#eness of shrun# death Thou shalt continue two4and4forty hours, .nd then awa#e as fro a pleasant sleep. )ow, when the bridegroo in the orning co es To rouse thee fro thy bed, there art thou dead. Then, as the anner of our country is, In thy best robes uncoDered on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that sa e ancient Dault Where all the #indred of the $apulets lie. In the ean ti e, against thou shalt awa#e, "hall &o eo by y letters #now our driftO .nd hither shall he co eO and he and I Will watch thy wa#ing, and that Dery night "hall &o eo bear thee hence to (antua. .nd this shall free thee fro this present sha e, If no inconstant toy nor wo anish fear .bate thy Dalour in the acting it. 8ul. GiDe e, giDe e* ', tell not e of fear* !riar. -old* Get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolDe. INll send a friar with speed To (antua, with y letters to thy lord. 8ul. LoDe giDe e strength* and strength shall help afford. !arewell, dear father. Exeunt.

"cene II. $apuletNs house. Enter !ather $apulet, (other, )urse, and "erDing en, two or three. $ap. "o any guests inDite as here are writ. ?Exit a "erDing an.A "irrah, go hire e twenty cunning coo#s. "erD. 0ou shall haDe none ill, sirO for INll try if they can lic# their fingers. $ap. -ow canst thou try the soU "erD. (arry, sir, Ntis an ill coo# that cannot lic# his own fingers. Therefore he that cannot lic# his fingers goes not with e. $ap. Go, begone. Exit "erDing an. We shall be uch unfurnishNd for this ti e. What, is y daughter gone to !riar LaurenceU )urse. .y, forsooth. $ap. Well, be ay chance to do so e good on her. . peeDish self4willNd harlotry it is. Enter 8uliet. )urse. "ee where she co es fro shrift with erry loo#. $ap. -ow now, y headstrongU Where haDe you been gaddingU 8ul. Where I haDe learnt e to repent the sin 'f disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and a enjoinNd 6y holy Laurence to fall prostrate here To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you* -enceforward I a eDer rulNd by you. $ap. "end for the $ounty. Go tell hi of this. INll haDe this #not #nit up to4 orrow orning. 8ul. I et the youthful lord at LaurenceN cell .nd gaDe hi what beco ed loDe I ight, )ot stepping oNer the bounds of odesty. $ap. Why, I a glad onNt. This is well. "tand up. This is asNt should be. Let e see the $ounty. .y, arry, go, I say, and fetch hi hither. )ow, afore God, this reDerend holy friar, .ll our whole city is uch bound to hi . 8ul. )urse, will you go with e into y closet To help e sort such needful orna ents .s you thin# fit to furnish e to4 orrowU (other. )o, not till Thursday. There is ti e enough. $ap. Go, nurse, go with her. WeNll to church to4 orrow. Exeunt 8uliet and )urse. (other. We shall be short in our proDision. NTis now near night. $ap. Tush, I will stir about, .nd all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife. Go thou to 8uliet, help to dec# up her. INll not to bed to4nightO let e alone. INll play the housewife for this once. What, ho*

They are all forthO well, I will wal# yself To $ounty Paris, to prepare hi up .gainst to4 orrow. (y heart is wondrous light, "ince this sa e wayward girl is so reclai Nd. Exeunt.

"cene III. 8ulietNs cha ber. Enter 8uliet and )urse. 8ul. .y, those attires are bestO but, gentle nurse, I pray thee leaDe e to yself to4nightO !or I haDe need of any orisons To oDe the heaDens to s ile upon y state, Which, well thou #nowest, is cross and full of sin. Enter (other. (other. What, are you busy, hoU )eed you y helpU 8ul. )o, ada O we haDe cullNd such necessaries .s are behoDeful for our state to4 orrow. "o please you, let e now be left alone, .nd let the nurse this night sit up with youO !or I a sure you haDe your hands full all In this so sudden business. (other. Good night. Get thee to bed, and restO for thou hast need. Exeunt ?(other and )urse.A 8ul. !arewell* God #nows when we shall eet again. I haDe a faint cold fear thrills through y Deins That al ost freeCes up the heat of life. INll call the bac# again to co fort e. )urse*4 What should she do hereU (y dis al scene I needs ust act alone. $o e, Dial. What if this ixture do not wor# at allU "hall I be arried then to4 orrow orningU )o, )o* This shall forbid it. Lie thou there. Lays down a dagger. What if it be a poison which the friar "ubtilly hath inistNred to haDe e dead, Lest in this arriage he should be dishonourNd 6ecause he arried e before to &o eoU I fear it isO and yet ethin#s it should not, !or he hath still been tried a holy an. I will not entertain so bad a thought. -ow if, when I a laid into the to b, I wa#e before the ti e that &o eo $o e to redee eU ThereNs a fearful point* "hall I not then be stifled in the Dault, To whose foul outh no healthso e air breathes in, .nd there die strangled ere y &o eo co esU 'r, if I liDe, is it not Dery li#e The horrible conceit of death and night,

Together with the terror of the place4 .s in a Dault, an ancient receptacle Where for this any hundred years the bones 'f all y buried ancestors are pac#NdO Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festNring in his shroudO where, as they say, .t so e hours in the night spirits resort4 .lac#, alac#, is it not li#e that I, "o early wa#ing4 what with loathso e s ells, .nd shrie#s li#e andra#es torn out of the earth, That liDing ortals, hearing the , run ad4 ', if I wa#e, shall I not be distraught, EnDironed with all these hideous fears, .nd adly play with y forefathersN joints, .nd pluc# the angled Tybalt fro his shroud, .nd, in this rage, with so e great #ins anNs bone .s with a club dash out y despNrate brainsU ', loo#* ethin#s I see y cousinNs ghost "ee#ing out &o eo, that did spit his body 9pon a rapierNs point. "tay, Tybalt, stay* &o eo, I co e* this do I drin# to thee. "he ?drin#s andA falls upon her bed within the curtains.

"cene I7. $apuletNs house. Enter Lady of the -ouse and )urse. Lady. -old, ta#e these #eys and fetch ore spices, nurse. )urse. They call for dates and Ruinces in the pastry. Enter 'ld $apulet. $ap. $o e, stir, stir, stir* The second coc# hath crowNd, The curfew bell hath rung, Ntis three oNcloc#. Loo# to the ba#Nd eats, good .ngelicaO "pare not for cost. )urse. Go, you cot4Ruean, go, Get you to bed* !aith, youNll be sic# to4 orrow !or this nightNs watching. $ap. )o, not a whit. What, I haDe watchNd ere now .ll night for lesser cause, and neNer been sic#. Lady. .y, you haDe been a ouse4hunt in your ti eO 6ut I will watch you fro such watching now. Exeunt Lady and )urse. $ap. . jealous hood, a jealous hood* Enter three or four ?!ellows, with spits and logs and bas#ets. What is thereU )ow, fellow, !ellow. Things for the coo#, sirO but I #now not what. $ap. (a#e haste, a#e haste. ?Exit !ellow.A "irrah, fetch drier logs. $all PeterO he will show thee where they are.

!ellow. I haDe a head, sir, that will find out logs .nd neDer trouble Peter for the atter. $ap. (ass, and well saidO a erry whoreson, ha* Thou shalt be loggerhead. ?Exit !ellow.A Good faith, Ntis day. The $ounty will be here with usic straight, !or so he said he would. Play usic. I hear hi near. )urse* Wife* What, ho* What, nurse, I say* Enter )urse. Go wa#en 8ulietO go and tri her up. INll go and chat with Paris. -ie, a#e haste, (a#e haste* The bridegroo he is co e alreadyE (a#e haste, I say. ?Exeunt.A

"cene 7. 8ulietNs cha ber. ?Enter )urse.A )urse. (istress* what, istress* 8uliet* !ast, I warrant her, she. Why, la b* why, lady* !ie, you slug4abed* Why, loDe, I say* ada * sweetheart* Why, bride* What, not a wordU 0ou ta#e your pennyworths now* "leep for a wee#O for the next night, I warrant, The $ounty Paris hath set up his rest That you shall rest but little. God forgiDe e* (arry, and a en. -ow sound is she asleep* I needs ust wa#e her. (ada , ada , ada * .y, let the $ounty ta#e you in your bed* -eNll fright you up, iN faith. Will it not beU ?%raws aside the curtains.A What, dressNd, and in your clothes, and down againU I ust needs wa#e you. Lady* lady* lady* .las, alas* -elp, help* (y ladyNs dead* ' weraday that eDer I was born* "o e aRua4Ditae, ho* (y lord* y lady* Enter (other. (other. What noise is hereU )urse. ' la entable day* (other. What is the atterU )urse. Loo#, loo#* ' heaDy day* (other. ' e, ' e* (y child, y only life* &eDiDe, loo# up, or I will die with thee* -elp, help* $all help. Enter !ather. !ather. !or sha e, bring 8uliet forthO her lord is co e. )urse. "heNs dead, deceasNdO sheNs dead* .lac# the day*

(other. .lac# the day, sheNs dead, sheNs dead, sheNs dead* $ap. -a* let e see her. 'ut alas* sheNs cold, -er blood is settled, and her joints are stiffO Life and these lips haDe long been separated. %eath lies on her li#e an unti ely frost 9pon the sweetest flower of all the field. )urse. ' la entable day* (other. ' woful ti e* $ap. %eath, that hath taNen her hence to a#e e wail, Ties up y tongue and will not let e spea#. Enter !riar ?LaurenceA and the $ounty ?ParisA, with (usicians. !riar. $o e, is the bride ready to go to churchU $ap. &eady to go, but neDer to return. ' son, the night before thy wedding day -ath %eath lain with thy wife. "ee, there she lies, !lower as she was, deflowered by hi . %eath is y son4in4law, %eath is y heirO (y daughter he hath wedded. I will die .nd leaDe hi all. Life, liDing, all is %eathNs. Par. -aDe I thought long to see this orningNs face, .nd doth it giDe e such a sight as thisU (other. .ccursNd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day* (ost iserable hour that eNer ti e saw In lasting labour of his pilgri age* 6ut one, poor one, one poor and loDing child, 6ut one thing to rejoice and solace in, .nd cruel %eath hath catchNd it fro y sight* )urse. ' woeU ' woful, woful, woful day* (ost la entable day, ost woful day That eDer eDer I did yet behold* ' day* ' day* ' day* ' hateful day* )eDer was seen so blac# a day as this. ' woful day* ' woful day* Par. 6eguilNd, diDorced, wronged, spited, slain* (ost detestable %eath, by thee beguilNd, 6y cruel cruel thee Ruite oDerthrown* ' loDe* ' life* not life, but loDe in death* $ap. %espisNd, distressed, hated, artyrNd, #illNd* 9nco fortable ti e, why ca Nst thou now To urther, urther our sole nityU ' child* ' child* y soul, and not y child* %ead art thou, dead* alac#, y child is dead, .nd with y child y joys are buried* !riar. Peace, ho, for sha e* $onfusionNs cure liDes not In these confusions. -eaDen and yourself -ad part in this fair aid* now heaDen hath all, .nd all the better is it for the aid. 0our part in her you could not #eep fro death, 6ut heaDen #eeps his part in eternal life. The ost you sought was her pro otion, !or Ntwas your heaDen she should be adDancNdO .nd weep ye now, seeing she is adDancNd .boDe the clouds, as high as heaDen itselfU ', in this loDe, you loDe your child so ill That you run ad, seeing that she is well. "heNs not well arried that liDes arried long,

6ut sheNs best arried that dies arried young. %ry up your tears and stic# your rose ary 'n this fair corse, and, as the custo is, In all her best array bear her to churchO !or though fond nature bids us all la ent, 0et natureNs tears are reasonNs erri ent. $ap. .ll things that we ordained festiDal Turn fro their office to blac# funeral4 'ur instru ents to elancholy bells, 'ur wedding cheer to a sad burial feastO 'ur sole n hy ns to sullen dirges changeO 'ur bridal flowers serDe for a buried corseO .nd all things change the to the contrary. !riar. "ir, go you inO and, ada , go with hi O .nd go, "ir Paris. EDery one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her graDe. The heaDens do lowNr upon you for so e illO (oDe the no ore by crossing their high will. Exeunt. (anent (usicians ?and )urseA. 1. (us. !aith, we ay put up our pipes and be gone. )urse. -onest good fellows, ah, put up, put up* !or well you #now this is a pitiful case. ?Exit.A 1. (us. .y, by y troth, the case ay be a ended. Enter Peter. Pet. (usicians, ', usicians, N-eartNs ease,N N-eartNs easeN* ', an you will haDe e liDe, play N-eartNs ease.N 1. (us. Why N-eartNs easeNU Pet. ', usicians, because y heart itself plays N(y heart is full of woe.N ', play e so e erry du p to co fort e. 1. (us. )ot a du p we* NTis no ti e to play now. Pet. 0ou will not thenU 1. (us. )o. Pet. I will then giDe it you soundly. 1. (us. What will you giDe usU Pet. )o oney, on y faith, but the glee#. I will giDe you the instrel. 1. (us. Then will I giDe you the serDing4creature. Pet. Then will I lay the serDing4creatureNs dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. INll re you, INll fa you. %o you note eU 1. (us. .n you re us and fa us, you note us. <. (us. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Pet. Then haDe at you with y wit* I will dry4beat you with an iron wit, and put up y iron dagger. .nswer e li#e en. NWhen griping grief the heart doth wound, .nd doleful du ps the ind oppress, Then usic with her silDer soundN4 Why NsilDer soundNU Why N usic with her silDer soundNU What say you, "i on $atlingU 1. (us. (arry, sir, because silDer hath a sweet sound.

Pet. Pretty* What say you, -ugh &ebec#U <. (us. I say NsilDer soundN because usicians sound for silDer. Pet. Pretty too* What say you, 8a es "oundpostU 5. (us. !aith, I #now not what to say. Pet. ', I cry you ercy* you are the singer. I will say for you. It is N usic with her silDer soundN because usicians haDe no gold for sounding. NThen usic with her silDer sound With speedy help doth lend redress.N ?Exit. 1. (us. What a pestilent #naDe is this sa eU <. (us. -ang hi , 8ac#* $o e, weNll in here, tarry for the ourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt.

, "-./E"PE.&E I" $'P0&IG-T 122341225 60 W'&L% LI6&.&0, I)$., .)% I" P&'7I%E% 60 P&'8E$T G9TE)6E&G ETEMT '! $.&)EGIE (ELL') 9)I7E&"IT0 WIT- PE&(I""I'). ELE$T&')I$ .)% (.$-I)E &E.%.6LE $'PIE" (.0 6E %I"T&I69TE% "' L')G ." "9$- $'PIE" :1; .&E !'& 0'9& '& 'T-E&" PE&"').L 9"E ')L0, .)% :<; .&E )'T %I"T&I69TE% '& 9"E% $'((E&$I.LL0. P&'-I6ITE% $'((E&$I.L %I"T&I69TI') I)$L9%E" 60 .)0 "E&7I$E T-.T $-.&GE" !'& %'W)L'.% TI(E '& !'& (E(6E&"-IP.==

.$T 7. "cene I. (antua. . street. Enter &o eo. &o . If I ay trust the flattering truth of sleep (y drea s presage so e joyful news at hand. (y boso Ns lord sits lightly in his throne, .nd all this day an unaccusto Nd spirit Lifts e aboDe the ground with cheerful thoughts. I drea t y lady ca e and found e dead :"trange drea that giDes a dead an leaDe to thin#*; .nd breathNd such life with #isses in y lips That I reDiDNd and was an e peror. .h e* how sweet is loDe itself possessNd, When but loDeNs shadows are so rich in joy* Enter &o eoNs (an 6althasar, booted. )ews fro 7erona* -ow now, 6althasarU %ost thou not bring e letters fro the friarU -ow doth y ladyU Is y father wellU -ow fares y 8ulietU That I as# again, !or nothing can be ill if she be well. (an. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.

-er body sleeps in $apelNs onu ent, .nd her i ortal part with angels liDes. I saw her laid low in her #indredNs Dault .nd presently too# post to tell it you. ', pardon e for bringing these ill news, "ince you did leaDe it for y office, sir. &o . Is it eNen soU Then I defy you, stars* Thou #nowest y lodging. Get e in# and paper .nd hire posthorses. I will hence to4night. (an. I do beseech you, sir, haDe patience. 0our loo#s are pale and wild and do i port "o e isadDenture. &o . Tush, thou art deceiDNd. LeaDe e and do the thing I bid thee do. -ast thou no letters to e fro the friarU (an. )o, y good lord. &o . )o atter. Get thee gone .nd hire those horses. INll be with thee straight. Exit ?6althasarA. Well, 8uliet, I will lie with thee to4night. LetNs see for eans. ' ischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate en* I do re e ber an apothecary, .nd hereabouts Na dwells, which late I noted In tattNred weeds, with oDerwhel ing brows, $ulling of si ples. (eagre were his loo#s, "harp isery had worn hi to the bonesO .nd in his needy shop a tortoise hung, .n allig ator stuffNd, and other s#ins 'f ill4shaped fishesO and about his shelDes . beggarly account of e pty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and usty seeds, &e nants of pac#thread, and old ca#es of roses Were thinly scattered, to a#e up a show. )oting this penury, to yself I said, N.n if a an did need a poison now Whose sale is present death in (antua, -ere liDes a caitiff wretch would sell it hi .N ', this sa e thought did but forerun y need, .nd this sa e needy an ust sell it e. .s I re e ber, this should be the house. 6eing holiday, the beggarNs shop is shut. What, ho* apothecary* Enter .pothecary. .poth. Who calls so loudU &o . $o e hither, an. I see that thou art poor. -old, there is forty ducats. Let e haDe . dra of poison, such soon4speeding gear .s will disperse itself through all the Deins That the life4weary ta#er all fall dead, .nd that the trun# ay be dischargNd of breath .s Diolently as hasty powder firNd %oth hurry fro the fatal cannonNs wo b. .poth. "uch ortal drugs I haDeO but (antuaNs law Is death to any he that utters the .

&o . .rt thou so bare and full of wretchedness .nd fearest to dieU !a ine is in thy chee#s, )eed and oppression starDeth in thine eyes, $onte pt and beggary hangs upon thy bac#E The world is not thy friend, nor the worldNs lawO The world affords no law to a#e thee richO Then be not poor, but brea# it and ta#e this. .poth. (y poDerty but not y will consents. &o . I pay thy poDerty and not thy will. .poth. Put this in any liRuid thing you will .nd drin# it off, and if you had the strength 'f twenty en, it would dispatch you straight. &o . There is thy gold4 worse poison to enNs souls, %oing ore urther in this loathso e world, Than these poor co pounds that thou ayst not sell. I sell thee poisonO thou hast sold e none. !arewell. 6uy food and get thyself in flesh. $o e, cordial and not poison, go with e To 8ulietNs graDeO for there ust I use thee. Exeunt.

"cene II. 7erona. !riar LaurenceNs cell. Enter !riar 8ohn to !riar Laurence. 8ohn. -oly !ranciscan friar, brother, ho* Enter !riar Laurence. Laur. This sa e should be the Doice of !riar 8ohn. Welco e fro (antua. What says &o eoU 'r, if his ind be writ, giDe e his letter. 8ohn. Going to find a barefoot brother out, 'ne of our order, to associate e -ere in this city Disiting the sic#, .nd finding hi , the searchers of the town, "uspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, "ealNd up the doors, and would not let us forth, "o that y speed to (antua there was stayNd. Laur. Who bare y letter, then, to &o eoU 8ohn. I could not send it4 here it is again4 )or get a essenger to bring it thee, "o fearful were they of infection. Laur. 9nhappy fortune* 6y y brotherhood, The letter was not nice, but full of charge, 'f dear i portO and the neglecting it (ay do uch danger. !riar 8ohn, go hence, Get e an iron crow and bring it straight 9nto y cell. 8ohn. 6rother, INll go and bring it thee. Exit. Laur. )ow, ust I to the onu ent alone. Within this three hours will fair 8uliet wa#e. "he will beshrew e uch that &o eo

-ath had no notice of these accidentsO 6ut I will write again to (antua, .nd #eep her at y cell till &o eo co e4 Poor liDing corse, closNd in a dead anNs to b* Exit.

"cene III. 7erona. . churchyardO in it the

onu ent of the $apulets.

Enter Paris and his Page with flowers and ?a torchA. Par. GiDe e thy torch, boy. -ence, and stand aloof. 0et put it out, for I would not be seen. 9nder yond yew tree lay thee all along, -olding thine ear close to the hollow ground. "o shall no foot upon the churchyard tread :6eing loose, unfir , with digging up of graDes; 6ut thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to e, .s signal that thou hearNst so ething approach. GiDe e those flowers. %o as I bid thee, go. Page. ?asideA I a al ost afraid to stand alone -ere in the churchyardO yet I will adDenture. ?&etires.A Par. "weet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew :' woe* thy canopy is dust and stones; Which with sweet water nightly I will dewO 'r, wanting that, with tears distillNd by oans. The obseRuies that I for thee will #eep )ightly shall be to strew thy graDe and weep. Whistle 6oy. The boy giDes warning so ething doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to4night To cross y obseRuies and true loDeNs riteU What, with a torchU (uffle e, night, awhile. ?&etires.A Enter &o eo, and 6althasar with a torch, a and a crow of iron. attoc#,

&o . GiDe e that attoc# and the wrenching iron. -old, ta#e this letter. Early in the orning "ee thou deliDer it to y lord and father. GiDe e the light. 9pon thy life I charge thee, WhateNer thou hearest or seest, stand all aloof .nd do not interrupt e in y course. Why I descend into this bed of death Is partly to behold y ladyNs face, 6ut chiefly to ta#e thence fro her dead finger . precious ring4 a ring that I ust use In dear e ploy ent. Therefore hence, be gone. 6ut if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I farther shall intend to do, 6y heaDen, I will tear thee joint by joint .nd strew this hungry churchyard with thy li bs. The ti e and y intents are saDage4wild, (ore fierce and ore inexorable far Than e pty tigers or the roaring sea. 6al. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

&o . "o shalt thou show e friendship. Ta#e thou that. LiDe, and be prosperousO and farewell, good fellow. 6al. ?asideA !or all this sa e, INll hide e hereabout. -is loo#s I fear, and his intents I doubt. ?&etires.A &o . Thou detestable aw, thou wo b of death, GorgNd with the dearest orsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, .nd in despite INll cra thee with ore food. &o eo opens the to b. Par. This is that banishNd haughty (ontague That urdNred y loDeNs cousin4 with which grief It is supposed the fair creature died4 .nd here is co e to do so e Dillanous sha e To the dead bodies. I will apprehend hi . "top thy unhallowed toil, Dile (ontague* $an Dengeance be pursuNd further than deathU $onde ned Dillain, I do apprehend thee. 'bey, and go with eO for thou ust die. &o . I ust indeedO and therefore ca e I hither. Good gentle youth, te pt not a despNrate an. !ly hence and leaDe e. Thin# upon these goneO Let the affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon y head 6y urging e to fury. ', be gone* 6y heaDen, I loDe thee better than yself, !or I co e hither ar Nd against yself. "tay not, be gone. LiDe, and hereafter say . ad anNs ercy bid thee run away. Par. I do defy thy conjuration .nd apprehend thee for a felon here. &o . Wilt thou proDo#e eU Then haDe at thee, boy* They fight. Page. ' Lord, they fight* I will go call the watch. ?Exit. Paris falls.A Par. ', I a slain* If thou be erciful, 'pen the to b, lay e with 8uliet. ?%ies.A &o . In faith, I will. Let e peruse this face. (ercutioNs #ins an, noble $ounty Paris* What said y an when y betossed soul %id not attend hi as we rodeU I thin# -e told e Paris should haDe arried 8uliet. "aid he not soU or did I drea it soU 'r a I ad, hearing hi tal# of 8uliet To thin# it was soU ', giDe e thy hand, 'ne writ with e in sour isfortuneNs boo#* INll bury thee in a triu phant graDe. . graDeU ', no, a lanthorn, slaughtNred youth, !or here lies 8uliet, and her beauty a#es This Dault a feasting presence full of light. %eath, lie thou there, by a dead an interrNd. ?Lays hi in the to b.A -ow oft when en are at the point of death -aDe they been erry* which their #eepers call . lightning before death. ', how ay I $all this a lightningU ' y loDe* y wife* %eath, that hath suc#Nd the honey of thy breath, -ath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conRuerNd. 6eautyNs ensign yet

Is cri son in thy lips and in thy chee#s, .nd deathNs pale flag is not adDanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheetU ', what ore faDour can I do to thee Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine ene yU !orgiDe e, cousin. .h, dear 8uliet, Why art thou yet so fairU "hall I belieDe That unsubstantial %eath is a orous, .nd that the lean abhorred onster #eeps Thee here in dar# to be his para ourU !or fear of that I still will stay with thee .nd neDer fro this palace of di night %epart again. -ere, here will I re ain With wor s that are thy cha ber aids. ', here Will I set up y eDerlasting rest .nd sha#e the yo#e of inauspicious stars !ro this world4wearied flesh. Eyes, loo# your last* .r s, ta#e your last e brace* and, lips, ' you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous #iss . dateless bargain to engrossing death* $o e, bitter conductO co e, unsaDoury guide* Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing roc#s thy seasic# weary bar#* -ereNs to y loDe* ?%rin#s.A ' true apothecary* Thy drugs are Ruic#. Thus with a #iss I die. !alls. Enter !riar ?LaurenceA, with lanthorn, crow, and spade. !riar. "aint !rancis be y speed* how oft to4night -aDe y old feet stu bled at graDes* WhoNs thereU 6al. -ereNs one, a friend, and one that #nows you well. !riar. 6liss be upon you* Tell e, good y friend, What torch is yond that Dainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless s#ullsU .s I discern, It burneth in the $apelsN onu ent. 6al. It doth so, holy sirO and thereNs y aster, 'ne that you loDe. !riar. Who is itU 6al. &o eo. !riar. -ow long hath he been thereU 6al. !ull half an hour. !riar. Go with e to the Dault. 6al. I dare not, sir. (y aster #nows not but I a gone hence, .nd fearfully did enace e with death If I did stay to loo# on his intents. !riar. "tay thenO INll go alone. !ear co es upon e. ', uch I fear so e ill unthrifty thing. 6al. .s I did sleep under this yew tree here, I drea t y aster and another fought, .nd that y aster slew hi . !riar. &o eo* .lac#, alac#, what blood is this which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchreU What ean these asterless and gory swords To lie discolourNd by this place of peaceU ?Enters the to b.A &o eo* ', pale* Who elseU What, Paris tooU

.nd steepNd in bloodU .h, what an un#ind hour Is guilty of this la entable chance* The lady stirs. 8uliet rises. 8ul. ' co fortable friar* where is y lordU I do re e ber well where I should be, .nd there I a . Where is y &o eoU !riar. I hear so e noise. Lady, co e fro that nest 'f death, contagion, and unnatural sleep. . greater power than we can contradict -ath thwarted our intents. $o e, co e away. Thy husband in thy boso there lies deadO .nd Paris too. $o e, INll dispose of thee . ong a sisterhood of holy nuns. "tay not to Ruestion, for the watch is co ing. $o e, go, good 8uliet. I dare no longer stay. 8ul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. Exit ?!riarA. WhatNs hereU . cup, closNd in y true loDeNs handU Poison, I see, hath been his ti eless end. ' churl* drun# all, and left no friendly drop To help e afterU I will #iss thy lips. -aply so e poison yet doth hang on the To a#e e die with a restoratiDe. ?/isses hi .A Thy lips are war * $hief Watch. ?withinA Lead, boy. Which wayU 0ea, noiseU Then INll be brief. ' happy dagger* ?"natches &o eoNs dagger.A This is thy sheathO there rest, and let e die. "he stabs herself and falls ?on &o eoNs bodyA. Enter ?ParisNsA 6oy and Watch. 6oy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn. $hief Watch. Nthe ground is bloody. "earch about the churchyard. Go, so e of youO whoeNer you find attach. ?Exeunt so e of the Watch.A Pitiful sight* here lies the $ounty slainO .nd 8uliet bleeding, war , and newly dead, Who here hath lain this two days buried. Go, tell the PrinceO run to the $apuletsO &aise up the (ontaguesO so e others search. ?Exeunt others of the Watch.A We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, 6ut the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circu stance descry. Enter ?so e of the Watch,A with &o eoNs (an ?6althasarA. <. Watch. -ereNs &o eoNs an. We found hi in the churchyard. $hief Watch. -old hi in safety till the Prince co e hither. Enter !riar ?LaurenceA and another Watch an. 5. Watch. -ere is a friar that tre bles, sighs, and weeps. We too# this attoc# and this spade fro hi .s he was co ing fro this churchyard side. $hief Watch. . great suspicion* "tay the friar too.

Enter the Prince ?and .ttendantsA. Prince. What isadDenture is so early up, That calls our person fro our orning restU Enter $apulet and his Wife ?with othersA. $ap. What should it be, that they so shrie# abroadU Wife. The people in the street cry N&o eo,N "o e N8uliet,N and so e NParisNO and all run, With open outcry, toward our onu ent. Prince. What fear is this which startles in our earsU $hief Watch. "oDereign, here lies the $ounty Paris slainO .nd &o eo deadO and 8uliet, dead before, War and new #illNd. Prince. "earch, see#, and #now how this foul urder co es. $hief Watch. -ere is a friar, and slaughterNd &o eoNs an, With instru ents upon the fit to open These dead enNs to bs. $ap. ' heaDens* ' wife, loo# how our daughter bleeds* This dagger hath istaNen, for, lo, his house Is e pty on the bac# of (ontague, .nd it issheathed in y daughterNs boso * Wife. ' e* this sight of death is as a bell That warns y old age to a sepulchre. Enter (ontague ?and othersA. Prince. $o e, (ontagueO for thou art early up To see thy son and heir ore early down. (on. .las, y liege, y wife is dead to4night* Grief of y sonNs exile hath stoppNd her breath. What further woe conspires against ine ageU Prince. Loo#, and thou shalt see. (on. ' thou untaught* what anners is in this, To press before thy father to a graDeU Prince. "eal up the outh of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these a biguities .nd #now their spring, their head, their true descentO .nd then will I be general of your woes .nd lead you eDen to death. (eanti e forbear, .nd let ischance be slaDe to patience. 6ring forth the parties of suspicion. !riar. I a the greatest, able to do least, 0et ost suspected, as the ti e and place %oth a#e against e, of this direful urtherO .nd here I stand, both to i peach and purge (yself conde ned and yself excusNd. Prince. Then say at once what thou dost #now in this. !riar. I will be brief, for y short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. &o eo, there dead, was husband to that 8ulietO .nd she, there dead, that &o eoNs faithful wife. I arried the O and their stolNn arriage day Was TybaltNs doo sday, whose unti ely death 6anishNd the new4 ade bridegroo fro this cityO !or who , and not for Tybalt, 8uliet pinNd.

0ou, to re oDe that siege of grief fro her, 6etrothNd and would haDe arried her perforce To $ounty Paris. Then co es she to e .nd with wild loo#s bid e deDise so e ean To rid her fro this second arriage, 'r in y cell there would she #ill herself. Then gaDe I her :so tutored by y art; . sleeping potionO which so too# effect .s I intended, for it wrought on her The for of death. (eanti e I writ to &o eo That he should hither co e as this dire night To help to ta#e her fro her borrowed graDe, 6eing the ti e the potionNs force should cease. 6ut he which bore y letter, !riar 8ohn, Was stayNd by accident, and yesternight &eturnNd y letter bac#. Then all alone .t the prefixed hour of her wa#ing $a e I to ta#e her fro her #indredNs DaultO (eaning to #eep her closely at y cell Till I conDeniently could send to &o eo. 6ut when I ca e, so e inute ere the ti e 'f her awa#ing, here unti ely lay The noble Paris and true &o eo dead. "he wa#esO and I entreated her co e forth .nd bear this wor# of heaDen with patienceO 6ut then a noise did scare e fro the to b, .nd she, too desperate, would not go with e, 6ut, as it see s, did Diolence on herself. .ll this I #now, and to the arriage -er nurse is priDyO and if aught in this (iscarried by y fault, let y old life 6e sacrificNd, so e hour before his ti e, 9nto the rigour of seDerest law. Prince. We still haDe #nown thee for a holy an. WhereNs &o eoNs anU What can he say in thisU 6al. I brought y aster news of 8ulietNs deathO .nd then in post he ca e fro (antua To this sa e place, to this sa e onu ent. This letter he early bid e giDe his father, .nd threatNned e with death, going in the Dault, If I departed not and left hi there. Prince. GiDe e the letter. I will loo# on it. Where is the $ountyNs page that raisNd the watchU "irrah, what ade your aster in this placeU 6oy. -e ca e with flowers to strew his ladyNs graDeO .nd bid e stand aloof, and so I did. .non co es one with light to ope the to bO .nd by4and4by y aster drew on hi O .nd then I ran away to call the watch. Prince. This letter doth a#e good the friarNs words, Their course of loDe, the tidings of her deathO .nd here he writes that he did buy a poison 'f a poor pothecary, and therewithal $a e to this Dault to die, and lie with 8uliet. Where be these ene iesU $apulet, (ontague, "ee what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaDen finds eans to #ill your joys with loDe* .nd I, for win#ing at you, discords too,

-aDe lost a brace of #ins en. .ll are punishNd. $ap. ' brother (ontague, giDe e thy hand. This is y daughterNs jointure, for no ore $an I de and. (on. 6ut I can giDe thee oreO !or I will raise her statue in pure gold, That whiles 7erona by that na e is #nown, There shall no figure at such rate be set .s that of true and faithful 8uliet. $ap. .s rich shall &o eoNs by his ladyNs lie4 Poor sacrifices of our en ity* Prince. . gloo ing peace this orning with it brings. The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence, to haDe ore tal# of these sad thingsO "o e shall be pardonNd, and so e punishedO !or neDer was a story of ore woe Than this of 8uliet and her &o eo. Exeunt o nes. T-E E)%

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