Shakespeare's First Folio · William Shakespeare
SONG.
Sam. If you do sir, I am for you, I serue as good a man as you Abra. No better? Samp. Well sir. Enter Benuolio. Gr. Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen Samp. Yes, better Abra. You Lye Samp. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow. They Fight. Ben. Part Fooles, put vp your Swords, you know not what you do. Enter Tibalt. Tyb. What art thou drawne, among these heartlesse Hindes? Turne thee Benuolio, looke vpon thy death Ben. I do but keepe the peace, put vp thy Sword, Or manage it to part these men with me Tyb. What draw, and talke of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mountagues, and thee: Haue at thee Coward. Fight. Enter three or foure Citizens with Clubs. Offi. Clubs, Bils, and Partisons, strike, beat them down Downe with the Capulets, downe with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his Gowne, and his wife. Cap. What noise is this? Giue me my long Sword ho Wife. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for a Sword? Cap. My Sword I say: Old Mountague is come, And flourishes his Blade in spight of me. Enter old Mountague, & his wife. Moun. Thou villaine Capulet. Hold me not, let me go 2.Wife. Thou shalt not stir a foote to seeke a Foe. Enter Prince Eskales, with his Traine.
Pari. Younger then she, are happy mothers made Capu. And too soone mar'd are those so early made: Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she, Shee's the hopefull Lady of my earth: But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent, is but a part, And shee agree, within her scope of choise, Lyes my consent, and faire according voice: This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast, Whereto I haue inuited many a Guest, Such as I loue, and you among the store, One more, most welcome makes my number more: At my poore house, looke to behold this night, Earth-treading starres, that make darke heauen light, Such comfort as do lusty young men feele, When well apparrel'd Aprill on the heele Of limping Winter treads, euen such delight Among fresh Fennell buds shall you this night Inherit at my house: heare all, all see: And like her most, whose merit most shall be: Which one more veiw, of many, mine being one, May stand in number, though in reckning none. Come, goe with me: goe sirrah trudge about, Through faire Verona, find those persons out, Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome, on their pleasure stay. Enter. Ser. Find them out whose names are written. Heere it is written, that the Shoo-maker should meddle with his Yard, and the Tayler with his Last, the Fisher with his Pensill, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, & can neuer find what names the writing person hath here writ (I must to the learned) in good time. Enter Benuolio, and Romeo.
Rom. Whither? to supper? Ser. To our house Rom. Whose house? Ser. My Maisters Rom. Indeed I should haue askt you that before Ser. Now Ile tell you without asking. My maister is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. Enter. Ben. At this same auncient Feast of Capulets Sups the faire Rosaline, whom thou so loues: With all the admired Beauties of Verona, Go thither and with vnattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee thinke thy Swan a Crow Rom. When the deuout religion of mine eye Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire: And these who often drown'd could neuer die, Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers. One fairer then my loue: the all-seeing Sun Nere saw her match, since first the world begun Ben. Tut, you saw her faire, none else being by, Herselfe poys'd with herselfe in either eye: But in that Christall scales, let there be waid, Your Ladies loue against some other Maid That I will show you, shining at this Feast, And she shew scant shell, well, that now shewes best Rom. Ile goe along, no such sight to be showne, But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne. Enter Capulets Wife and Nurse.
Nurse. A man young Lady, Lady, such a man as all the world. Why hee's a man of waxe Old La. Veronas Summer hath not such a flower Nurse. Nay hee's a flower, infaith a very flower Old La. What say you, can you loue the Gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our Feast, Read ore the volume of young Paris face, And find delight, writ there with Beauties pen: Examine euery seuerall liniament, And see how one another lends content: And what obscur'd in this faire volume lies, Find written in the Margent of his eyes. This precious Booke of Loue, this vnbound Louer, To Beautifie him, onely lacks a Couer. The fish liues in the Sea, and 'tis much pride For faire without, the faire within to hide: That Booke in manies eyes doth share the glorie, That in Gold claspes, Lockes in the Golden storie: So shall you share all that he doth possesse, By hauing him, making your selfe no lesse Nurse. No lesse, nay bigger: women grow by men Old La. Speake briefly, can you like of Paris loue? Iuli. Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue. But no more deepe will I endart mine eye, Then your consent giues strength to make flye. Enter a Seruing man. Ser. Madam, the guests are come, supper seru'd vp, you cal'd, my young Lady askt for, the Nurse cur'st in the Pantery, and euery thing in extremitie: I must hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight. Enter.
Cap. Content thee gentle Coz, let him alone, A beares him like a portly Gentleman: And to say truth, Verona brags of him, To be a vertuous and well gouern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the towne, Here in my house do him disparagement: Therfore be patient, take no note of him, It is my will, the which if thou respect, Shew a faire presence, and put off these frownes, An ill beseeming semblance for a Feast Tib. It fits when such a Villaine is a guest, Ile not endure him Cap. He shall be endur'd. What goodman boy, I say he shall, go too, Am I the Maister here or you? go too, Youle not endure him, God shall mend my soule, Youle make a Mutinie among the Guests: You will set cocke a hoope, youle be the man Tib. Why Vncle, 'tis a shame Cap. Go too, go too, You are a sawcy Boy, 'ist so indeed? This tricke may chance to scath you, I know what, You must contrary me, marry 'tis time. Well said my hearts, you are a Princox, goe, Be quiet, or more light, more light for shame, Ile make you quiet. What, chearely my hearts Tib. Patience perforce, with wilfull choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall. Enter.
Rom. Is she a Capulet? O deare account! My life is my foes debt Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone, We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards: Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all. I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night: More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed. Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late, Ile to my rest Iuli. Come hither Nurse, What is yond Gentleman: Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore? Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance? Nur. I know not Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married, My graue is like to be my wedded bed Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague, The onely Sonne of your great Enemie Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate, Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late, Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me, That I must loue a loathed Enemie Nur. What's this? whats this? Iul. A rime, I learne euen now Of one I dan'st withall. One cals within, Iuliet.
Ben. And if he heare thee thou wilt anger him Mer. This cannot anger him, t'would anger him To raise a spirit in his Mistresse circle, Of some strange nature, letting it stand Till she had laid it, and coniured it downe, That were some spight. My inuocation is faire and honest, & in his Mistris name, I coniure onely but to raise vp him Ben. Come, he hath hid himselfe among these Trees To be consorted with the Humerous night: Blind is his Loue, and best befits the darke Mer. If Loue be blind, Loue cannot hit the marke, Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistresse were that kind of Fruite, As Maides cal Medlers when they laugh alone, O Romeo that she were, O that she were An open, or thou a Poprin Peare, Romeo goodnight, Ile to my Truckle bed, This Field-bed is to cold for me to sleepe, Come shall we go? Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vaine to seeke him here That meanes not to be found. Exeunt.
Rom. It is my soule that calls vpon my name. How siluer sweet, sound Louers tongues by night, Like softest Musicke to attending eares Iul. Romeo Rom. My Neece Iul. What a clock to morrow Shall I send to thee? Rom. By the houre of nine Iul. I will not faile, 'tis twenty yeares till then, I haue forgot why I did call thee backe Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it Iul. I shall forget, to haue thee still stand there, Remembring how I Loue thy company Rom. And Ile still stay, to haue thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this Iul. 'Tis almost morning, I would haue thee gone, And yet no further then a wantons Bird, That let's it hop a little from his hand, Like a poore prisoner in his twisted Gyues, And with a silken thred plucks it backe againe, So louing Iealous of his liberty Rom. I would I were thy Bird Iul. Sweet so would I, Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing: Good night, good night Rom. Parting is such sweete sorrow, That I shall say goodnight, till it be morrow Iul. Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace in thy brest Rom. Would I were sleepe and peace so sweet to rest, The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne Clouds with streakes of light, And darkenesse fleckel'd like a drunkard reeles, From forth dayes pathway, made by Titans wheeles. Hence will I to my ghostly Friers close Cell, His helpe to craue, and my deare hap to tell. Enter.
Iul. Ifaith: I am sorrie that thou art so well. Sweet sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me what saies my Loue? Nur. Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, And I warrant a vertuous: where is your Mother? Iul. Where is my Mother? Why she is within, where should she be? How odly thou repli'st: Your Loue saies like an honest Gentleman: Where is your Mother? Nur. O Gods Lady deare, Are you so hot? marrie come vp I trow, Is this the Poultis for my aking bones? Henceforward do your messages your selfe Iul. Heere's such a coile, come what saies Romeo? Nur. Haue you got leaue to go to shift to day? Iul. I haue Nur. Then high you hence to Frier Lawrence Cell, There staies a Husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton bloud vp in your cheekes, Thei'le be in Scarlet straight at any newes: Hie you to Church, I must an other way, To fetch a Ladder by the which your Loue Must climde a birds nest Soone when it is darke: I am the drudge, and toile in your delight: But you shall beare the burthen soone at night. Go Ile to dinner, hie you to the Cell Iul. Hie to high Fortune, honest Nurse, farewell.
Rom. Courage man, the hurt cannot be much Mer. No: 'tis not so deepe as a well, nor so wide as a Church doore, but 'tis inough, 'twill serue: aske for me to morrow, and you shall find me a graue man. I am pepper'd I warrant, for this world: a plague a both your houses. What, a Dog, a Rat, a Mouse, a Cat to scratch a man to death: a Braggart, a Rogue, a Villaine, that fights by the booke of Arithmeticke, why the deu'le came you betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme Rom. I thought all for the best Mer. Helpe me into some house Benuolio, Or I shall faint: a plague a both your houses. They haue made wormesmeat of me, I haue it, and soundly to your Houses. Enter. Rom. This Gentleman the Princes neere Alie, My very Friend hath got his mortall hurt In my behalfe, my reputation stain'd With Tibalts slaunder, Tybalt that an houre Hath beene my Cozin: O Sweet Iuliet, Thy Beauty hath made me Effeminate, And in my temper softned Valours steele. Enter Benuolio. Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, braue Mercutio's is dead, That Gallant spirit hath aspir'd the Cloudes, Which too vntimely here did scorne the earth Rom. This daies blacke Fate, on mo daies depend, This but begins, the wo others must end. Enter Tybalt.
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio, Who now the price of his deare blood doth owe Cap. Not Romeo Prince, he was Mercutios Friend, His fault concludes, but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt Prin. And for that offence, Immediately we doe exile him hence: I haue an interest in your hearts proceeding: My bloud for your rude brawles doth lie a bleeding. But Ile Amerce you with so strong a fine, That you shall all repent the losse of mine. It will be deafe to pleading and excuses, Nor teares, nor prayers shall purchase our abuses. Therefore vse none, let Romeo hence in hast, Else when he is found, that houre is his last. Beare hence his body, and attend our will: Mercy not Murders, pardoning those that kill. Exeunt. Enter Iuliet alone.
Iul. Gallop apace, you fiery footed steedes, Towards Phoebus lodging, such a Wagoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in Cloudie night immediately. Spred thy close Curtaine Loue-performing night, That run-awayes eyes may wincke, and Romeo Leape to these armes, vntalkt of and vnseene, Louers can see to doe their Amorous rights, And by their owne Beauties: or if Loue be blind, It best agrees with night: come ciuill night, Thou sober suted Matron all in blacke, And learne me how to loose a winning match, Plaid for a paire of stainlesse Maidenhoods, Hood my vnman'd blood bayting in my Cheekes, With thy Blacke mantle, till strange Loue grow bold, Thinke true Loue acted simple modestie: Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night, For thou wilt lie vpon the wings of night Whiter then new Snow vpon a Rauens backe: Come gentle night, come louing blackebrow'd night. Giue me my Romeo, and when I shall die, Take him and cut him out in little starres, And he will make the Face of heauen so fine, That all the world will be in Loue with night, And pay no worship to the Garish Sun. O I haue bought the Mansion of a Loue, But not possest it, and though I am sold, Not yet enioy'd, so tedious is this day, As is the night before some Festiuall, To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not weare them, O here comes my Nurse: Enter Nurse with cords.
Rom. O thou wilt speake againe of banishment Fri. Ile giue thee Armour to keepe off that word, Aduersities sweete milke, Philosophie, To comfort thee, though thou art banished Rom. Yet banished? hang vp Philosophie: Vnlesse Philosophie can make a Iuliet, Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes Doome, It helpes not, it preuailes not, talke no more Fri. O then I see, that Mad men haue no eares Rom. How should they, When wisemen haue no eyes? Fri. Let me dispaire with thee of thy estate, Rom. Thou can'st not speake of that y dost not feele, Wert thou as young as Iuliet my Loue: An houre but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightest thou speake, Then mightest thou teare thy hayre, And fall vpon the ground as I doe now, Taking the measure of an vnmade graue. Enter Nurse, and knockes. Frier. Arise one knockes, Good Romeo hide thy selfe Rom. Not I, Vnlesse the breath of Hartsicke groanes Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes. Knocke Fri. Harke how they knocke: (Who's there) Romeo arise, Thou wilt be taken, stay a while, stand vp: Knocke. Run to my study: by and by, Gods will What simplenesse is this: I come, I come. Knocke. Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? what's your will? Enter Nurse.
Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art: Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts denote The vnreasonable Furie of a beast. Vnseemely woman, in a seeming man, And ill beseeming beast in seeming both, Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady, that in thy life lies, By doing damned hate vpon thy selfe? Why rayl'st thou on thy birth? the heauen and earth? Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three do meete In thee at once, which thou at once would'st loose. Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy loue, thy wit, Which like a Vsurer abound'st in all: And vsest none in that true vse indeed, Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit: Thy Noble shape, is but a forme of waxe, Digressing from the Valour of a man, Thy deare Loue sworne but hollow periurie, Killing that Loue which thou hast vow'd to cherish. Thy wit, that Ornament, to shape and Loue, Mishapen in the conduct of them both: Like powder in a skillesse Souldiers flaske, Is set a fire by thine owne ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence.
Iul. Yond light is not daylight, 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 be gone, Rom. Let me be tane, let me be put to death, I am content, so thou wilt haue it so. Ile say yon gray is not the mornings eye, 'Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow. Nor that is not Larke whose noates do beate The vaulty heauen so high aboue our heads, I haue more care to stay, then will to go: Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it so. How ist my soule, lets talke, it is not day Iuli. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away: It is the Larke that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes. Some say the Larke makes sweete Diuision; This doth not so: for she diuideth vs. Some say, the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, O now I would they had chang'd voyces too: Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-vp to the day, O now be gone, more light and it light growes Rom. More light & light, more darke & darke our woes. Enter Madam and Nurse.
Nur. Madam Iul. Nurse Nur. Your Lady Mother is comming to your chamber, The day is broke, be wary, looke about Iul. Then window let day in, and let life out Rom. Farewell, farewell, one kisse and Ile descend Iul. Art thou gone so? Loue, Lord, ay Husband, Friend, I must heare from thee euery day in the houre, For in a minute there are many dayes, O by this count I shall be much in yeares, Ere I againe behold my Romeo Rom. Farewell: I will omit no oportunitie, That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee Iul. O thinkest thou we shall euer meet againe? Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serue For sweet discourses in our time to come Iuliet. O God! I haue an ill Diuining soule, Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe, As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe, Either my eye-sight failes, or thou look'st pale Rom. And trust me Loue, in my eye so do you: Drie sorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue. Enter. Iul. 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 keepe him long, But send him backe. Enter Mother.
Iul. Amen Nur. What? Iul. Well, thou hast comforted me marue'lous much, Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone, Hauing displeas'd my Father, to Lawrence Cell, To make confession, and to be absolu'd Nur. Marrie I will, and this is wisely done Iul. Auncient damnation, O most wicked fiend! It is more sin to wish me thus forsworne, Or to dispraise my Lord with that same tongue Which she hath prais'd him with aboue compare, So many thousand times? Go Counsellor, Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twaine: Ile to the Frier to know his remedie, If all else faile, my selfe haue power to die. Exeunt. Enter Frier and Countie Paris. Fri. On Thursday sir? the time is very short Par. My Father Capulet will haue it so, And I am nothing slow to slack his hast Fri. You say you do not know the Ladies mind? Vneuen is the course, I like it not Pa. Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death, And therfore haue I little talke of Loue, For Venus smiles not in a house of teares. Now sir, her Father counts it dangerous That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway: And in his wisedome, hasts our marriage, To stop the inundation of her teares, Which too much minded by her selfe alone, May be put from her by societie. Now doe you know the reason of this hast? Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Looke sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell. Enter Iuliet.
Par. Happily met, my Lady and my wife Iul. That may be sir, when I may be a wife Par. That may be, must be Loue, on Thursday next Iul. What must be shall be Fri. That's a certaine text Par. Come you to make confession to this Father? Iul. To answere that, I should confesse to you Par. Do not denie to him, that you Loue me Iul. I will confesse to you that I Loue him Par. So will ye, I am sure that you Loue me Iul. If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your backe, then to your face Par. Poore soule, thy face is much abus'd with teares Iul. The teares haue got small victorie by that: For it was bad inough before their spight Pa. Thou wrong'st it more then teares with that report Iul. That is no slaunder sir, which is a truth, And what I spake, I spake it to thy face Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast slaundred it Iul. It may be so, for it is not mine owne. Are you at leisure, Holy Father now, Or shall I come to you at euening Masse? Fri. My leisure serues me pensiue daughter now. My Lord you must intreat the time alone Par. Godsheild: I should disturbe Deuotion, Iuliet, on Thursday early will I rowse yee, Till then adue, and keepe this holy kisse.
Ideas discussed in this chapter
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.