The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare

And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.
Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from
ourselves;

Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
Rom. I fear, too early; for my mind misgives,
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date

With this night's revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death:
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct iny sail!-On, lusty gentlemen.
Ben. Strike, drum.

[Exeunt.

1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the court cupboard, look to the plate:-good thou, save me a piece of marchpane: and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone, and Nell.-Antony and Potpan! 2 Serv. Ay, boy; ready.

1 Serv. You are looked for, and called for, asked for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 2 Serv. We cannot be here and there too.

liver take all.

Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer [They retire behind. Enter Capulet, &c. with the Guests and the Maskers.

Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies, that have their toes

Unplagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you.
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all
Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,
she,

I'll swear, hath corns; Am I come near you now ?

You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day,

That I have worn a visor; and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,
Such as would please ;-'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis

gone:

You are welcome, gentlemen!-Come, musicians, play.

A hall! a hall! give room, and foot it, girls.
[Music plays, and they dance.
More lights, ye knaves; and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.
Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;
For you and I are past our dancing days;
How long is't now, since last yourself and 1
Where in a mask?

2 Cap.

By'r lady, thirty years.

1 Cap. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

2 Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir: His son is thirty.

1 Cap.

Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows,
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make happy iny rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tyb. This, by his voice, should be a Monta

gue:

Fetch me my rapier, boy :-What! dares the slave

Come hither, cover'd with an antick face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity:
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

1 Cap. Why, how now, kinsman? wherefore storm you so ?

Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
1 Cap. Young Romeo is't?
Tyb.

"Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
He bears him like a portly gentleman:
And to say truth, Verona brags of him,
To be a virtuous and well govern'd youth:
would not for the wealth of all this town,
Here in my house, do him disparagement:
Therefore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence, and put off these frowns,
An ill beseeming semblance for a feast.
Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest;
I'll not endure him.
1 Cap.
He shall be endur'd;
What goodman boy 7- I say, he shall ;-Go to:-
Am I the master here, or you? go to.
You'll not endure him!-God shall mend my
soul-

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!
Tyb. Why uncle, 'tis a shame.
1 Cap.

Go to, go to.
You are a saucy boy :-Is't so, indeed ?
This trick may chance to scath you:-I know

what.

You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time-
Well said, my hearts:-Your are a princox;

go;

Be quiet, or-More light,more light,for shame!I'll make you quiet; What!-Cheerly,my hearts. Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting

Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.
Rom. If I profane with my unworthy hand
[To Juliet.

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this-
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Jul. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand
too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too ?

Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

Rom. O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

Rom. What lady's that which doth enrich the They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

hand

Of yonder knight?

Serv. I know not, sir.

Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect

I take.

You kiss by the book.
Jul.
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word
with you.

Rom. What is her mother?
Nurse.

Marry, bachelor!
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous:
I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd withal;
I tell you,-he, that can lay hold of her,
Shall have the chinks.

Rom.

Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.
Ben. Away, begone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be

gone;

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo !
Mer.

He is wise;

And, on my life, hath stolen him home to tedi. Ben. He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but-Ah me! pronounce but-love and dove Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, Une nickname for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,, When king Cophetua lov'd the beggar-maidHe heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead, and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg,and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us. Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt auger him. Mer. This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him I'll to my rest. To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse. Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Jul. Come hither, nurse: What is yon gentle-Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down; man? That were some spite my invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name, I conjure only but to raise up him. Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among those

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.-
Is it e'en so? Why, then I thank you all;
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night :-
More torches here -Come on, then let's to bed.
Ah, sirrah, [To 2 Cap.] by my fay, it waxes
late;

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio
Jul. What's he, that now is going out of door?
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petru

chio.

Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Jul. Go, ask his name: if he be married,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague;
The only son of your great enemy.

Jul. My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
Jul.

A rhyme I learn'd even now

Of one I danc'd withal.

[One calls within, Juliet.
Nurse.
Anon, anon:-
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

Enter Chorus.

[Exeunt.

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

Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he must complain,
And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful
hooks;

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breath such vows as lovers use to swear:
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion lends them power, time means

ACT II.

[Exit.

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Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.

[Juliet appears above, at a Winds But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off-
It is my lady; O, it is my love:

O, that she knew she were !

She speaks, yet she says nothing; What of that!
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head 1
The brightness of her cheek would shame tho

stars,

As daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright

SCENE I. An open Place, adjoining Capulet's That birds would sing, and think it were

As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.

Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou
Romeo?

Deny thy father, and refuse thy name:
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I spear at this?
[Aside.
Jul. 'Tis but thy name, that is my enemy ;-
Thou art thyself though, not a Montague.
What's Montague ? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name that which we call a rose,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes,
Without that title:-Romeo, doff thy name:
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Rom.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

I take thee at thy word:

Jul. What man art thou, that, thus bescreen'd in night,

So stumblest on my counsel ?

Rom.
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee;

Had I it written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My ears have not yet drunk a hundred
words

Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound;
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Rom. Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.
Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me and
wherefore?

The orchard walls are high, and hard to climb;
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

Rom. With love's light wings did I o'er-perch
these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out;
And what love can do, that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Rom. Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but

sweet,

And I am proof against their enmity.

Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here.

Rom. I have night's cloak to hide me from

their sight;

And. but thou love me, let them find me here:
My life were better ended by their hate,
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this
place?

Rom. By love, who first did prompt me to
inquire:

He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise.

Jul. Thou know'st, the mask of night is on my
face:

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek,
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-
night.

Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; But farewell compliment!
Dost thou love me? I know, thon wilt say-Ay;
And I will take thy word: yet, if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs. O, gentle Romeo,

If thou dost love, prononnce it faithfully:-
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but, else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montagne, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my behaviour
light:

But trust ine, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My true love's passion: therefore pardon me;
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,-
Jul. O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant
moon,

That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What shall I swear by ?

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

Rom.

If my heart's dear love-
Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract to-night:
It is too rash, too unadvis'd, too sudden;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be,
Ere one can say-It lightens. Sweet, good night!
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we

meet.

Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their Two such opposed foes encamp them still
books;
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter Romeo.

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring slowly. Re-enter Juliet, above.

Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist!-0, for a falconer's

Rom. My sweet!

Jul.

At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?
Rom.
At the hour of nine.
Jul. I will not fail; 'tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.

Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb'ring how I love thy company.
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.

Jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee

thy breast

'Would, I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will 1 to my ghostly father's cell; His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. SCENE III. Friar Laurence's Cell. Enter Friar Laurence, with a Basket. Fri. The gray-ey'd morn smiles on the frown ing night,

Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light:

And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's
wheels:

Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up this osier cage of ours,
With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb:
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find;
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair

use,

Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each
part;

Beine tasted, slays all senses with the heart.

Rom. Good morrow, father!

Fri.

Benedicite!

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me 7-
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth
reign:

Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art uprous'd by some distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right-
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was
mine.

Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's wo
Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou
been then?

Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where on a sudden, one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physick lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy
drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love
is set

On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine:
And all combin'd, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage: When, and where, and how,
We met, we woo'd, and make exchange of voW,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thon consent to marry us this day.
Fri. Holy Saint Francis! what a change i
here!

Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline;
And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence
then-

Women may fall, when there's no strength in

Fr. Wisely, and slow; they stumble, that run fast. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits fail.

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

Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild

Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be ?-goose in one of thy wits, than, I am sure, I have Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's, I spoke with his man. Mer. Ah, that 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! stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's buttshaft: 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!

Ben. The what?

Mer. The pox of such antick, 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 fashionmongers, 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.

Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring;O, flesh, 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; Thisbe, a gray 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 counterteit did I give you?

Mer. The slip, sir, the slip: 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.

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 7

Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, 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 groan. ing 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 me to stop in my tale against the hair.

Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large.

Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd, 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!
Peter. 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 prick of noon. Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you? Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself to mar.

Nurse. By my troth, it is well said;--For him self to mar, quoth'a ?-Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo. Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him, than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for 'fault of a worse. Nurse. You say well.

Mer. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely.

Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confi. dence 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 len ten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent,

An old hare hoar,
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 t dinner thither

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