2.

Thou villain Capulet!-- Hold me not, let me go.

Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear?--What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins,-- On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground And hear the sentence of your moved prince.-- Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets; And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away:-- You, Capulet, shall go along with me;-- And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our farther pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.-- Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

3.

Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?-- Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?

Here were the servants of your adversary And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part.

O, where is Romeo?--saw you him to-day?-- Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where,--underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side,-- So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made; but he was ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own,-- That most are busied when they're most alone,-- Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me..

Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs: But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself; Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

I neither know it nor can learn of him.

Have you importun'd him by any means?

Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself,--I will not say how true,-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know.

See, where he comes: so please you step aside; I'll know his grievance or be much denied.

I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift.--Come, madam, let's away,

4.

Good morrow, cousin.

Is the day so young?

But new struck nine.

Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast?

It was.--What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

5.

Soft! I will go along: An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.

Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here: This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Tell me in sadness who is that you love?

What, shall I groan and tell thee?

Groan! why, no; But sadly tell me who

Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,-- Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!-- In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.

A right good markman!--And she's fair I love.

A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow,--she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she's rich in beauty; only poor That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.

Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love; and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.

O, teach me how I should forget to think.

By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.

'Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.

I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.

They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow'd, The curfew bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:-- Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica; Spare not for cost.

Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, you'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching.

No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.

Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now.

A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!--Now, fellow, What's there?

Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.

Make haste, make haste. --Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

I have a head, sir, that will find out logs And never trouble Peter for the matter.

Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head.--Good faith, 'tis day. The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would:--I hear him near. [Music within.] Nurse!--wife!--what, ho!--what, nurse, I say! Go, waken Juliet; go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris:--hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say.

Mistress!--what, mistress!--Juliet!--fast, I warrant her, she:-- Why, lamb!--why, lady!--fie, you slug-abed!-- Why, love, I say!--madam! sweetheart!--why, bride!-- What, not a word?--you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest That you shall rest but little.--God forgive me! Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I needs must wake her.--Madam, madam, madam!-- Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith.--Will it not be? What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you.--lady! lady! lady!-- Alas, alas!--Help, help! My lady's dead!-- O, well-a-day that ever I was born!-- Some aqua-vitae, ho!--my lord! my lady!

If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand; My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar? Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!-- Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.

I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

Tush, thou art deceiv'd: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?

No, my good lord.

No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means;--O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones; And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said, An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house: Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.-- What, ho! apothecary!

Who calls so loud?

Come hither, man.--I see that thou art poor; Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker mall fall dead; And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath As violently as hasty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them.

Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back, The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it and take this.

My poverty, but not my will consents.

I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.

There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell: I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food and get thyself in flesh.-- Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.

9.

Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light; upon thy life I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death Is partly to behold my lady's face, But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring,--a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone:-- But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint, And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild; More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

So shalt thou show me friendship.--Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow.

For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!