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SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house.
Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS
CAPULET
Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,That we have had no time to move our daughter:Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,And so did I:--Well, we were born to die.'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:I promise you, but for your company,I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
PARIS
These times of woe afford no time to woo.Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
LADY CAPULET
I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.
CAPULET
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tenderOf my child's love: I think she will be ruledIn all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--But, soft! what day is this?
PARIS
Monday, my lord,
CAPULET
Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,She shall be married to this noble earl.Will you be ready? do you like this haste?We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two;For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,It may be thought we held him carelessly,Being our kinsman, if we revel much:Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
PARIS
My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
CAPULET
Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!Afore me! it is so very very late,That we may call it early by and by.Good night.
Exeunt
SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.
Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window
JULIET
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:It was the nightingale, and not the lark,That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
ROMEO
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaksDo lace the severing clouds in yonder east:Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund dayStands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
JULIET
Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:It is some meteor that the sun exhales,To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,And light thee on thy way to Mantua:Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
ROMEO
Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;I am content, so thou wilt have it so.I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye,'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beatThe vaulty heaven so high above our heads:I have more care to stay than will to go:Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.
JULIET
It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away!It is the lark that sings so out of tune,Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.Some say the lark makes sweet division;This doth not so, for she divideth us:Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,O, now I would they had changed voices too!Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day,O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
ROMEO
More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!
Enter Nurse, to the chamber
Nurse
Madam!
JULIET
Nurse?
Nurse
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:The day is broke; be wary, look about.
Exit
JULIET
Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
ROMEO
Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.
He goeth down
JULIET
Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!I must hear from thee every day in the hour,For in a minute there are many days:O, by this count I shall be much in yearsEre I again behold my Romeo!
ROMEO
Farewell!I will omit no opportunityThat may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
JULIET
O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
ROMEO
I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serveFor sweet discourses in our time to come.
JULIET
O God, I have an ill-divining soul!Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
ROMEO
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
Exit
JULIET
O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,But send him back.
LADY CAPULET
[Within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
JULIET
Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother?Is she not down so late, or up so early?What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?
Enter LADY CAPULET
LADY CAPULET
Why, how now, Juliet!
JULIET
Madam, I am not well.
LADY CAPULET
Evermore weeping for your cousin's death?What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love;But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
JULIET
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
LADY CAPULET
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friendWhich you weep for.
JULIET
Feeling so the loss,Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
LADY CAPULET
Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.
JULIET
What villain madam?
LADY CAPULET
That same villain, Romeo.
JULIET
[Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.--God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart;And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
LADY CAPULET
That is, because the traitor murderer lives.
JULIET
Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!
LADY CAPULET
We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not:Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram,That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.
JULIET
Indeed, I never shall be satisfiedWith Romeo, till I behold him--dead--Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd.Madam, if you could find out but a manTo bear a poison, I would temper it;That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhorsTo hear him named, and cannot come to him.To wreak the love I bore my cousinUpon his body that slaughter'd him!
LADY CAPULET
Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
JULIET
And joy comes well in such a needy time:What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
LADY CAPULET
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for.
JULIET
Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
LADY CAPULET
Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,The gallant, young and noble gentleman,The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church,Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
JULIET
Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too,He shall not make me there a joyful bride.I wonder at this haste; that I must wedEre he, that should be husband, comes to woo.I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear,It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!
LADY CAPULET
Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,And see how he will take it at your hands.
Enter CAPULET and Nurse
CAPULET
When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;But for the sunset of my brother's sonIt rains downright.How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?Evermore showering? In one little bodyThou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind;For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs;Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them,Without a sudden calm, will oversetThy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife!Have you deliver'd to her our decree?
LADY CAPULET
Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.I would the fool were married to her grave!
CAPULET
Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife.How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks?Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest,Unworthy as she is, that we have wroughtSo worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
JULIET
Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have:Proud can I never be of what I hate;But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.
CAPULET
How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this?'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;'And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you,Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds,But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church,Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!You tallow-face!
LADY CAPULET
Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
JULIET
Good father, I beseech you on my knees,Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
CAPULET
Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday,Or never after look me in the face:Speak not, reply not, do not answer me;My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blestThat God had lent us but this only child;But now I see this one is one too much,And that we have a curse in having her:Out on her, hilding!
Nurse
God in heaven bless her!You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
CAPULET
And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse
I speak no treason.
CAPULET
O, God ye god-den.
Nurse
May not one speak?
CAPULET
Peace, you mumbling fool!Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl;For here we need it not.
LADY CAPULET
You are too hot.
CAPULET
God's bread! it makes me mad:Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,Alone, in company, still my care hath beenTo have her match'd: and having now providedA gentleman of noble parentage,Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts,Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man;And then to have a wretched puling fool,A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love,I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.'But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you:Graze where you will you shall not house with me:Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die inthe streets,For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn.
Exit
JULIET
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,That sees into the bottom of my grief?O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!Delay this marriage for a month, a week;Or, if you do not, make the bridal bedIn that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
LADY CAPULET
Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
Exit
JULIET
O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented?My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;How shall that faith return again to earth,Unless that husband send it me from heavenBy leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagemsUpon so soft a subject as myself!What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse
Faith, here it is.Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing,That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,I think it best you married with the county.O, he's a lovely gentleman!Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eyeAs Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,I think you are happy in this second match,For it excels your first: or if it did not,Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,As living here and you no use of him.
JULIET
Speakest thou from thy heart?
Nurse
And from my soul too;Or else beshrew them both.
JULIET
Amen!
Nurse
What?
JULIET
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.Go in: and tell my lady I am gone,Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell,To make confession and to be absolved.
Nurse
Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.
Exit
JULIET
Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongueWhich she hath praised him with above compareSo many thousand times? Go, counsellor;Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.I'll to the friar, to know his remedy:If all else fail, myself have power to die.
Exit