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Rom. O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Street.


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

Ben. No to his father's; I spoke with his man. Mer. Ah, hat same pale hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline,

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

Ben. Romeo will answer it.

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

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

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stubbed with a white wench's black eye! shot through the ear with a love-song: the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;4 And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?

Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house,-of the first and second cause: Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay !7

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!-By Jesu, a very good blade!-a very tall man!-a very good whore!-Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moys, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!

Enter ROMEO.

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done: for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: Was I with you there for the goose? Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when thou wast not there for the goose.

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

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

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

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheverel,3 that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!

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

Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great, natural, that runs lolling up and down, to hide his bauble in a hole.

Ben. Stop there, stop there.

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

Ben. Thou wouldst clse have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceived, I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer.

Rom. Here's goodly geer!

Enter Nurse and PETER.
Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two; a shirt, and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!

Pet. Anon?

Nurse. My fan, Peter.

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

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

Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the pricks of noon. Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself to mar.

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

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

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip;9 Can you not conceive!

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

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

Rom. Meaning-to court'sy.

Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

Rom A most courteous exposition.

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

Mer. Right.

Rom. Why, then is my pump' well flowered. Mer. Well said: Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump; that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing, solely singular.

Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits


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

• Arrow. See the story of Reynard the fox. By notes pricked down. Terms of the fencing-school. Trowsers or pantaloons, a French fashion in Shakspeare's time. 1 Shoe.

A pun on counterfeit money called slips.

older when you have found him, than he was when Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for 'fault of a worse.

Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worse well! very well took, faith; wisely, wisely.

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

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

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

An old hare hoar,6

And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in lent:
But a hare that is hoar,

Is too much for a score,
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to
dinner thither.

Rom. I will follow you.

Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady. [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Nurse. Marry, farewell!-I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?

Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk; and will speak more in a minute, than he will stand to in a month.

Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those • An apple. Soft stretching leather. • Good-even. Hoary, mouldy.

• Point.

A term of disrespect, in contradistinction to gentleman.

that shall.-Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirtgills; I am none of his skains-mates:-And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?

Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.

Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!-Pray you, sir, a word; and, as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young: and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.

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

Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost

not mark me.

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

Rom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift9

This afternoon;

And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell
Be shriv'd and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom. Go to; I say you shall.

Nurse. This afternoon, sir; well, she shall be

Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey


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Two may keep counsel, putting one away?

Rom. I warrant thee; my man's as true as steel. Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady-Lord, lord!-when 'twas a little prating thing,-0,-there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. Langer her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the dog. No; I know it begins with some other letter; and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.

Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times.-Peter!
Pet. Anon?

Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before.



SCENE V.-Capulet's Garden.



Of this day's journey; and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours,-yet she is not come.
Had she aflections, and warm youthful blood,
She'd be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy3 her to my sweet love,
And his to me:
But old folks many, feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.

Enter Nurse and PETER.

O God, she comes!-O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.

Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit PETER.
Jul. Now, good, sweet nurse,-O lord! why
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
look'st thou sad?
If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.

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


Nay, come, I pray thee, speak;-good, good nurse,
Nurse. Jesu! What haste? can you not stay a

Do you not see that I am out of breath?

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

To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay,
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or bad? answer to that;
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad?

Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand and a foot, and a body,-though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb.-Go thy ways, wench; serve God.-What, have you dined at home?

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

have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o' t'other side. O, my back, my back!-
Beshrew your heart, for sending me about,
To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well:
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my

Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And, I warrant, a virtuous:-Where is your

Jul. Where is my mother?-why, she is within;
Where should she be? How oddly thou reply'st;
Your love says like an honest gentleman,-
Where is your molher?


O, God's lady dear!
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow:
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
Jul. Here's such a coil!-come, what says

Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Jul. I have.

Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell
There stays a husband to make you a wife:
Now comes the wanton blood up in your checks,
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church: I must another way,

Jul. The clock struck nine, when I did send To fetch a ladder, by the which your love

the nurse;

In half an hour she promis'd to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so.-
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams,
Driving back shadows over low'ring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill

A mate or companion of one wearing a skain-a short sword. Confession.

The highest extremity of the mast of a ship. • Requite.

Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark:
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
Go, I'll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie to high fortune!-honest nurse, fare-

SCENE VI.-Friar Laurence' Cell.
Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not.

Drive her, as a ball struck with a bandy, i. e. a bat or battledore. • Bustle.

Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare, It is enough I may but call her mine.

Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume: The sweetest honey

Is loath some in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite:
Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Here comes the lady :-0, so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint:
A lover may bestride the gossamers5
That idle in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.

Jul. Good-even to my ghostly confessor. Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

Jul. As much to him, else are his thanks too much.

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;

For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone,
Till holy church incorporate two in one.



SCENE I.-A Public Place.

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants. Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire; The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, God send me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need.

Ben. Am I like such a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes; What eye. but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-simple? O simple!

Enter TYBALT and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, 1 care not.

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.Gentlemen, good-den; a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

The long white filament which flies in the air.

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;

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

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes my man.

Mer. But, I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:

Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him-man. Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford No better term than this-Thou art a villain.

Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting:-Villain am I none;
Therefore, farewell; I see, thou know'st me not.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn, and draw.
Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee;
But love thee better than thou canst devise,
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender
As dearly as mine own,-be satisfied.
Mer. O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!
A la stoccatas carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me?


Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher9 by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.

Tyb. I am for you.


Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight.
Rom. Draw, Benvolio;

Beat down their weapons:-Gentlemen, for shame;
Forbear this outrage;-Tybalt-Mercutio-
The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying
In Verona streets :-hold, Tybalt;-good Mercutio.
[Exeunt TYBALT and his Partisans.

Mer. I am hurt;-
A plague o' both the houses!--I am sped:-
Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Ben. What, art thou hurt? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.Where is my page?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [Exit Page.

Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world:A plague o' both your houses!-'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! . Paint, display. The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier. • Case or scabbard.


a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!-Why, the devil, came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. Rom. I thought all for the best.

Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint.-A plague o' both your houses! They have made worm's meat of me: I have it, and soundly too:--Your houses!

[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman:-0 sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, And in my temper soften'd valor's steel. Re-enter BENVOLIO.

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead;
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth

This but begins the woe, others must end.
Re-enter TYBALT.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
Away to Heaven, respective1 lenity,
And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company;
Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort3
him here,

Shalt with him hence. Rom.

This shall determine that.

Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly:
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true:
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life:
I beg for justice, which thou, prince; must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;

His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.


And, for that offence,

Immediately we do exile him hence:

I have an interest in your hates' proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding,
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses;
Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence his body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

SCENE II-A Room in Capulet's House.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' mansion; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, [They fight; TYBALT fulls. And bring in cloudy night immediately.Ben. Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain : Stand not amaz'd:-the prince will doom thee death,

If thou art taken :-hence!-be gone!-away!
Rom. O! I am Fortune's fool!

Why dost thou stay! [Exit ROMEO.
Enter Citizens, &c.

1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? Ben. There lies that Tybalt. 1 Cit. Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the prince's name, obey.

Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others.

Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!
That run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen!--

Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties: or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night.-Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood bating in my cheeks,$
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown


Think true love acted, simple modesty.

Come, night!-Come, Romeo! come, thou day in night!

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new show on a raven's back.-

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray? Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin!-O my brother's child!

Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd

Of my dear kinsman!-Prince, as thou art true,4
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.-
O cousin, cousin!

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand

did slay;

Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
Your high displeasure:-All this-uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity

Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,


Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish9 sun.-
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: So tedious is this day,
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child, that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
Enter Nurse, with Cords.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.-
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there,
the cords,

That Romeo bade thee fetch?

Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down.

Jul. Ah me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse. Ah well-a-day!—he's dead, he's dead, he's


We are undone, lady, we are undone !—

Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than his Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

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Jul. Can heaven be so envious?

Though heaven cannot:-0 Romeo! Romeo!
Who ever would have thought it?-Romeo!

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Romeo can,

Grave, solemn.

Gaudy, showy.

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I'
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
i am not I, if there be such an I:

Or those eyes shut, that makes thee answer, I.
If he be slain, say-I; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.

Nurse. I saw the wound,I saw it with mine eyes,-
God save the mark !—here, on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swoonded at the sight.

Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?-
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone?

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

Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did.
Jul. O, serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!

Dove-feather'd raven! wolfish ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honorable villain!-
O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!


There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitæ:These griefs, these woes, these sorrows, make me old.

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All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished,
That-banished, that one word,-banished,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,-
Why follow'd not, when she said-Tybalt's dead,
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,

In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay was usually written I, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling.

Which modern2 lamentation might have mov'd?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished,-to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Roineo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead:-Romeo is banished,-
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.-
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse;
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine
shall be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords:-Poor ropes, you are beguil'd,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed:
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
To comfort you:-I wot3 well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.

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Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death: For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say-banishment. Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death :-then banishment, Is death mis-term'd: calling death-banishment, Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
Rom. Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not.-More validity,4
More honorable state, more courtship, lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But,-banished-to kill me; banished?

O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly cónfessor,

A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word-banishment?
Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. ⚫ Common.

• Know.

• Worth, value.

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