Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm.


Or else his heads assurance is but frail.


So deal with him as I prove true to you.


My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,


Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate


With many more confederates, are in arms.


My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms;


Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth.


My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham--


Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death?


Take that, until thou bring me better news.


Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters,


Buckinghams army is dispersed and scatterd;


There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.


Reward to him that brings the traitor in?


Such proclamation hath been made, my liege.


Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset,


Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.


Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace,


The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest:


Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks


Who answerd him, they came from Buckingham.


Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany.


March on, march on, since we are up in arms;


Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.


My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken;


That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond


Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,


Is colder tidings, yet they must be told.


Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here,


Some one take order Buckingham be brought


To Salisbury; the rest march on with me.


Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me:


That in the sty of this most bloody boar


My son George Stanley is frankd up in hold:


If I revolt, off goes young Georges head;


The fear of that withholds my present aid.


But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now?


At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales.


Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley;


Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt,


And towards London they do bend their course,


If by the way they be not fought withal.


Return unto thy lord; commend me to him:


Tell him the queen hath heartily consented


He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.


These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell.


Enter the Sheriff, and BUCKINGHAM, with halberds, led to execution


Will not King Richard let me speak with him?


Hastings, and Edwards children, Rivers, Grey,


Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,


Do through the clouds behold this present hour,


This is All-Souls day, fellows, is it not?


Why, then All-Souls day is my bodys doomsday.


This is the day that, in King Edwards time,


I wisht might fall on me, when I was found


False to his children or his wifes allies


By the false faith of him I trusted most;


This, this All-Souls day to my fearful soul


And given in earnest what I beggd in jest.


Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men


To turn their own points on their masters bosoms:


Now Margarets curse is fallen upon my head;


When he, quoth she, shall split thy heart with sorrow,


Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame;


Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.


Enter RICHMOND, OXFORD, BLUNT, HERBERT, and others, with drum and colours


Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends,


And here receive we from our father Stanley


Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.


The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar,


That spoild your summer fields and fruitful vines,


Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough


In your embowelld bosoms, this foul swine


Lies now even in the centre of this isle,


Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn


From Tamworth thither is but one days march.


In Gods name, cheerly on, courageous friends,


Every mans conscience is a thousand swords,


I doubt not but his friends will fly to us.


He hath no friends but who are friends for fear.


Which in his greatest need will shrink from him.


All for our vantage. Then, in Gods name, march:


True hope is swift, and flies with swallows wings:


Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.


Enter KING RICHARD III in arms, with NORFOLK, SURREY, and others


Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field.


My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.


Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not?


We must both give and take, my gracious lord.


Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight;


But where to-morrow?  Well, alls one for that.


Who hath descried the number of the foe?


Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.


Why, our battalion trebles that account:


Besides, the kings name is a tower of strength,


Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen,


Enter, on the other side of the field, RICHMOND,  Sir William Brandon, OXFORD, and others. Some of the Soldiers pitch RICHMONDs tent


And by the bright track of his fiery car,


Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow.


Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard.


Ill draw the form and model of our battle,


Limit each leader to his several charge,


And part in just proportion our small strength.


My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon,


And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me.


The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment:


Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him


Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou gost,


Where is Lord Stanley quarterd, dost thou know?


Which well I am assured I have not done,


South from the mighty power of the king.


Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him,


And give him from me this most needful scroll.


Upon my life, my lord, Ill under-take it;


And so, God give you quiet rest to-night!


Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen,


In to our tent; the air is raw and cold.


Enter, to his tent, KING RICHARD III, NORFOLK, RATCLIFF, CATESBY, and others


If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness.


Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.


Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk.


To Stanleys regiment; bid him bring his power


Before sunrising, lest his son George fall


Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch.


Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow.


Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy.


Sawst thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland?


Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop


Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.


So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine:


Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have.


Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent


Exeunt RATCLIFF and the other Attendants


Enter DERBY to RICHMOND in his tent, Lords and others attending


All comfort that the dark night can afford


I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother


Who prays continually for Richmonds good:


So much for that. The silent hours steal on,


And flaky darkness breaks within the east.


In brief,--for so the season bids us be,--


Prepare thy battle early in the morning,


Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war.


I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,--


With best advantage will deceive the time,


And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms:


But on thy side I may not be too forward


Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,


Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time


And ample interchange of sweet discourse,


Which so long sunderd friends should dwell upon:


God give us leisure for these rites of love!


Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well!


Good lords, conduct him to his regiment:


Ill strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,


Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow,


When I should mount with wings of victory:


Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.


Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,


That they may crush down with a heavy fall


The usurping helmets of our adversaries!


Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:


Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still!


Enter the Ghost of Prince Edward, son to King Henry VI


Think, how thou stabdst me in my prime of youth


At Tewksbury: despair, therefore, and die!


Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls


King Henrys issue, Richmond, comforts thee.


By thee was punched full of deadly holes


Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die!


Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die!


Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,


Doth comfort thee in thy sleep: live, and flourish!


I, that was washd to death with fulsome wine,


Poor Clarence, by thy guile betrayed to death!


And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!--


Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster


The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee


Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish!


Enter the Ghosts of RIVERS, GRAY, and VAUGHAN


Rivers. that died at Pomfret! despair, and die!


Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!


Think upon Vaughan, and, with guilty fear,


Awake, and think our wrongs in Richards bosom


Will conquer him! awake, and win the day!


Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die!


Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair Englands sake!


Enter the Ghosts of the two young Princes


Dream on thy cousins smotherd in the Tower:


Let us be led within thy bosom, Richard,


And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!


Thy nephews souls bid thee despair and die!


Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;


Good angels guard thee from the boars annoy!


Edwards unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.


Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy wife,


That never slept a quiet hour with thee,


And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!


Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep


The last was I that helped thee to the crown;


Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death:


Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!


I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid:


But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismayd:


God and good angel fight on Richmonds side;


And Richard falls in height of all his pride.


KING RICHARD III starts out of his dream


Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.


Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream.


O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!


The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.


Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.


What do I fear?  myself?  theres none else by:


Is there a murderer here?  No. Yes, I am:


Then fly. What, from myself?   Great reason why:


Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?


Alack. I love myself. Wherefore?  for any good


Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.


My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,


And every tongue brings in a several tale,


And every tale condemns me for a villain.


Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree;


All several sins, all used in each degree,


Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!


I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;


Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself


Methought the souls of all that I had murderd


Came to my tent; and every one did threat


To-morrows vengeance on the head of Richard.


Ratcliff, my lord; tis I. The early village-cock


Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.


O Ratcliff, I have dreamd a fearful dream!


What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?


Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.


Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard


Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers


Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.


It is not yet near day. Come, go with me;


Under our tents Ill play the eaves-dropper,


Enter the Lords to RICHMOND, sitting in his tent


Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen,


That you have taen a tardy sluggard here.


The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams


Have I since your departure had, my lords.


Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murderd,


Why, then tis time to arm and give direction.


More than I have said, loving countrymen,


Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,


God and our good cause fight upon our side;


The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,


Like high-reard bulwarks, stand before our faces;


Richard except, those whom we fight against


Had rather have us win than him they follow:


For what is he they follow?  truly, gentlemen,


One raised in blood, and one in blood establishd;


One that made means to come by what he hath,


And slaughterd those that were the means to help him;


Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil


Of Englands chair, where he is falsely set;


God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;


You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;


If you do fight against your countrys foes,


Your countrys fat shall pay your pains the hire;


If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,


Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;


If you do free your children from the sword,


Your childrens children quit it in your age.


Then, in the name of God and all these rights,


Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.


Shall be this cold corpse on the earths cold face;


The least of you shall share his part thereof.


Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully;


God and Saint George! Richmond and victory!


Re-enter KING RICHARD, RATCLIFF, Attendants and Forces


What said Northumberland as touching Richmond?


He said the truth: and what said Surrey then?


He smiled and said The better for our purpose.


He was in the right; and so indeed it is.


Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar.


Then he disdains to shine; for by the book


He should have braved the east an hour ago


A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliff!


The sky doth frown and lour upon our army.


I would these dewy tears were from the ground.


Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me


More than to Richmond?  for the selfsame heaven


Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field.


Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse.


Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power:


I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,


My foreward shall be drawn out all in length,


Our archers shall be placed in the midst


John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey,


Shall have the leading of this foot and horse.


In the main battle, whose puissance on either side


Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse.


This, and Saint George to boot! What thinkst thou, Norfolk?


For Dickon thy master is bought and sold.


Go, gentleman, every man unto his charge


Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls:


Conscience is but a word that cowards use,


Devised at first to keep the strong in awe:


Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.


March on, join bravely, let us tot pell-mell


If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.


What shall I say more than I have inferrd?


A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and runaways,


A scum of Bretons, and base lackey peasants,


Whom their oer-cloyed country vomits forth


To desperate ventures and assured destruction.


You sleeping safe, they bring to you unrest;


You having lands, and blest with beauteous wives,


They would restrain the one, distain the other.


And who doth lead them but a paltry fellow,


Long kept in Bretagne at our mothers cost?


Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow?


Lets whip these stragglers oer the seas again;


Lash hence these overweening rags of France,


These famishd beggars, weary of their lives;


Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,


For want of means, poor rats, had hangd themselves:


And not these bastard Bretons; whom our fathers


Have in their own land beaten, bobbd, and thumpd,


And in record, left them the heirs of shame.


Shall these enjoy our lands?  lie with our wives?


Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yoemen!


Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!


Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;


Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!


What says Lord Stanley? will he bring his power?


After the battle let George Stanley die.


A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:


Advance our standards, set upon our foes


Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,


Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!


Alarum: excursions. Enter NORFOLK and forces fighting; to him CATESBY


Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue!


The king enacts more wonders than a man,


His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights,


Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death.


Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost!


A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!


Withdraw, my lord; Ill help you to a horse.


I think there be six Richmonds in the field;


Five have I slain to-day instead of him.


Alarum. Enter KING RICHARD III and RICHMOND; they  fight. KING RICHARD III is slain. Retreat and  flourish. Re-enter RICHMOND, DERBY bearing the crown, with divers other Lords


God and your arms be praised, victorious friends,


The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.


Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee.


From the dead temples of this bloody wretch


Have I pluckd off, to grace thy brows withal:


But, tell me, is young George Stanley living?


He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town;


Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us.


What men of name are slain on either side?


John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers,


Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon.


Inter their bodies as becomes their births:


And then, as we have taen the sacrament,


We will unite the white rose and the red:


Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,


That long have frownd upon their enmity!


What traitor hears me, and says not amen?


England hath long been mad, and scarrd herself;


The brother blindly shed the brothers blood,


The father rashly slaughterd his own son,


The son, compelld, been butcher to the sire:


The true succeeders of each royal house,


By Gods fair ordinance conjoin together!


And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so.


Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace,


With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days!


Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,


That would reduce these bloody days again,


And make poor England weep in streams of blood!


Let them not live to taste this lands increase


That would with treason wound this fair lands peace!


Now civil wounds are stoppd, peace lives again:


That she may long live here, God say amen!


From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,


Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.


From forth the fatal loins of these two foes


A pair of star-crossd lovers take their life;


Do with their death bury their parents strife.


The fearful passage of their death-markd love,


And the continuance of their parents rage,


Which, but their childrens end, nought could remove,


Is now the two hours traffic of our stage;


The which if you with patient ears attend,


What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.


Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers


Gregory, o my word, well not carry coals.


Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o the collar.


But thou art not quickly moved to strike.


A dog of the house of Montague moves me.


To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:


therefore, if thou art moved, thou runnst away.


A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will


take the wall of any man or maid of Montagues.


That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes


True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,


are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push


Montagues men from the wall, and thrust his maids


The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.


Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I


have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the


Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads;


They must take it in sense that feel it.


Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and


Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou


hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes


My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.


Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.


I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as


Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;


which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.


[Aside to GREGORY]  Is the law of our side, if I say


No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I


If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.


Say better: here comes one of my masters kinsmen.


Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.


Put up your swords; you know not what you do.


What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?


Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.


I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,


What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,


As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:


Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs


Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!


Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!


Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET


What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!


A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?


And flourishes his blade in spite of me.


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


Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.


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 mistemperd weapons to the ground,


And hear the sentence of your moved prince.


Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,


Have thrice disturbd the quiet of our streets,


Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,


To wield old partisans, in hands as old,


Cankerd with peace, to part your cankerd hate:


Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.


For this time, all the rest depart away:


To know our further pleasure in this case,


To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.


Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.


Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO


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 prepared,


Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,


He swung about his head and cut the winds,


Who nothing hurt withal hissd 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.


Right glad I am he was not at this fray.


Peerd forth the golden window of the east,


A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;


That westward rooteth from the citys side,


Towards him I made, but he was ware of me


That most are busied when theyre most alone,


And gladly shunnd who gladly fled from me.


With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew.


Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;


Should in the furthest east begin to draw


Away from the light steals home my heavy son,


And private in his chamber pens himself,


Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out


Black and portentous must this humour prove,


Unless good counsel may the cause remove.


Is to himself--I will not say how true--


Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,


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;


Ill know his grievance, or be much denied.


To hear true shrift. Come, madam, lets away.


Was that my father that went hence so fast?


It was. What sadness lengthens Romeos hours?


Not having that, which, having, makes them short.


Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!


Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,


Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!


Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?


Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.


Heres much to do with hate, but more with love.


Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!


Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,


Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!


This love feel I, that feel no love in this.


Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,


Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest


With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown


Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.


Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;


Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers eyes;


Being vexd a sea nourishd with lovers tears:


What is it else? a madness most discreet,


This is not Romeo, hes some other where.


Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.


Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:


Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!


I aimd so near, when I supposed you loved.


A right good mark-man! And shes fair I love.


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


Well, in that hit you miss: shell not be hit


And, in strong proof of chastity well armd,


From loves weak childish bow she lives unharmd.


She will not stay the siege of loving terms,


Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,


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,


She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,


She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow


Do I live dead that live to tell it now.


O, teach me how I should forget to think.


To call hers exquisite, in question more:


These happy masks that kiss fair ladies brows


Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;


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 passd that passing fair?


Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.


Ill pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.


In penalty alike; and tis not hard, I think,


But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?


My child is yet a stranger in the world;


She hath not seen the change of fourteen years,


Let two more summers wither in their pride,


Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.


Younger than she are happy mothers made.


And too soon marrd are those so early made.


The earth hath swallowd all my hopes but she,


But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,


An she agree, within her scope of choice


Lies my consent and fair according voice.


This night I hold an old accustomd feast,


Such as I love; and you, among the store,


One more, most welcome, makes my number more.


At my poor house look to behold this night


Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:


Of limping winter treads, even such delight


Among fresh female buds shall you this night


And like her most whose merit most shall be:


Which on more view, of many mine being one


May stand in number, though in reckoning none,


Through fair Verona; find those persons out


Whose names are written there, and to them say,


My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.


Find them out whose names are written here! It is


written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his


yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with


his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am


sent to find those persons whose names are here


writ, and can never find what names the writing


person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.


Tut, man, one fire burns out anothers burning,


One pain is lessend by anothers anguish;


Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;


One desperate grief cures with anothers languish:


Take thou some new infection to thy eye,


And the rank poison of the old will die.


Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.


Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;


Shut up in prison, kept without my food,


Whippd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow.


God gi god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?


Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I


Ay, if I know the letters and the language.


Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;


County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady


widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely


nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine


uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece


Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin


Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena. A fair


Indeed, I should have askd you that before.


Now Ill tell you without asking: my master is the


great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house


of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.


Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,


With all the admired beauties of Verona:


Compare her face with some that I shall show,


And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.


Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;


And these, who often drownd could never die,


Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!


One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun


Neer saw her match since first the world begun.


Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,


Herself poised with herself in either eye:


But in that crystal scales let there be weighd


That I will show you shining at this feast,


And she shall scant show well that now shows best.


Ill go along, no such sight to be shown,


Nurse, wheres my daughter? call her forth to me.


Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,


I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird!


God forbid! Wheres this girl? What, Juliet!


This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile,


We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again;


I have rememberd me, thous hear our counsel.


Thou knowst my daughters of a pretty age.


And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four--


Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.


Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!--


Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;


She was too good for me: but, as I said,


On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;


That shall she, marry; I remember it well.


Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;


And she was weand,--I never shall forget it,--


Of all the days of the year, upon that day:


Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;


Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said,


When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple


Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,


To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!


Shake quoth the dove-house: twas no need, I trow,


For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,


She could have run and waddled all about;


For even the day before, she broke her brow:


And then my husband--God be with his soul!


Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?


Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;


Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holidame,


The pretty wretch left crying and said Ay.


To see, now, how a jest shall come about!


I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,


I never should forget it: Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he;


And, pretty fool, it stinted and said Ay.


Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace.


Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh,


To think it should leave crying and say Ay.


And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow


A bump as big as a young cockerels stone;


Yea, quoth my husband,fallst upon thy face?


Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;


Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted and said Ay.


And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.


Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!


Thou wast the prettiest babe that eer I nursed:


An I might live to see thee married once,


I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,


How stands your disposition to be married?


I would say thou hadst suckd wisdom from thy teat.


Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,


That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:


The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.


As all the world--why, hes a man of wax.


Nay, hes a flower; in faith, a very flower.


What say you? can you love the gentleman?


This night you shall behold him at our feast;


Read oer the volume of young Paris face,


And find delight writ there with beautys pen;


And what obscured in this fair volume lies


Find written in the margent of his eyes.


This precious book of love, this unbound lover,


The fish lives in the sea, and tis much pride


For fair without the fair within to hide:


That book in manys eyes doth share the glory,


That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;


So shall you share all that he doth possess,


No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men.


Speak briefly, can you like of Paris love?


Ill look to like, if looking liking move:


Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.


Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you


called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in


the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must


hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.


Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.


Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others


What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?


Well have no Cupid hoodwinkd with a scarf,


Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke


But let them measure us by what they will;


Well measure them a measure, and be gone.


Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling;


Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.


Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes


With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead


So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.


And soar with them above a common bound.


To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,


And, to sink in it, should you burden love;


Too great oppression for a tender thing.


Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,


Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.


If love be rough with you, be rough with love;


Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.


What curious eye doth quote deformities?


Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.


Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in,


A torch for me: let wantons light of heart


Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,


For I am proverbd with a grandsire phrase;


The game was neer so fair, and I am done.


Tut, duns the mouse, the constables own word:


If thou art dun, well draw thee from the mire


Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stickst


Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!


We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.


Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits


Five times in that ere once in our five wits.


In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.


O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.


She is the fairies midwife, and she comes


Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders legs,


The collars of the moonshines watery beams,


Her whip of crickets bone, the lash of film,


Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,


Time out o mind the fairies coachmakers.


And in this state she gallops night by night


Through lovers brains, and then they dream of love;


Oer courtiers knees, that dream on courtsies straight,


Oer lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees,


Oer ladies  lips, who straight on kisses dream,


Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,


Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:


Sometime she gallops oer a courtiers nose,


And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;


And sometime comes she with a tithe-pigs tail


Tickling a parsons nose as a lies asleep,


Sometime she driveth oer a soldiers neck,


And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,


Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,


Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon


Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,


And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two


That plats the manes of horses in the night,


And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,


Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:


This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,


That presses them and learns them first to bear,


Which are the children of an idle brain,


Which is as thin of substance as the air


And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes


And, being angerd, puffs away from thence,


Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.


This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves;


Supper is done, and we shall come too late.


Some consequence yet hanging in the stars


With this nights revels and expire the term


But He, that hath the steerage of my course,


Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins


Wheres Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He


When good manners shall lie all in one or two mens


hands and they unwashed too, tis a foul thing.


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.


You are looked for and called for, asked for and


We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be


brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.


Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers


Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes


Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you.


Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,


She, Ill swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?


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.


More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,


And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.


Ah, sirrah, this unlookd-for sport comes well.


Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;


For you and I are past our dancing days:


How long ist now since last yourself and I


What, man! tis not so much, tis not so much:


Some five and twenty years; and then we maskd.


Tis more, tis more, his son is elder, sir;


[To a Servingman]  What lady is that, which doth


O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!


It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night


Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!


So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,


The measure done, Ill watch her place of stand,


And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.


Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!


For I neer saw true beauty till this night.


This, by his voice, should be a Montague.


Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave


To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.


Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?


Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;


To be a virtuous and well-governd youth:


I would not for the wealth of all the town


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,


And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.


It fits, when such a villain is a guest:


What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;


Youll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!


You will set cock-a-hoop! youll be the man!


This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:


Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:


Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!


Ill make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!


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.


[To JULIET]  If I profane with my unworthiest hand


This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:


My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand


To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.


Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,


For saints have hands that pilgrims hands do touch,


Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?


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


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


They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.


Saints do not move, though grant for prayers sake.


Then move not, while my prayers effect I take.


Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.


Then have my lips the sin that they have took.


Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!


Madam, your mother craves a word with you.


And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous


I nursed her daughter, that you talkd withal;


O dear account! my life is my foes debt.


We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.


Is it een so? why, then, I thank you all


I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.


More torches here! Come on then, lets to bed.


Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?


Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.


Whats he that follows there, that would not dance?


Too early seen unknown, and known too late!


Come, lets away; the strangers all are gone.


Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,


And young affection gapes to be his heir;


That fair for which love groand for and would die,


With tender Juliet matchd, is now not fair.


But to his foe supposed he must complain,


And she steal loves sweet bait from fearful hooks:


Being held a foe, he may not have access


To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;


And she as much in love, her means much less


But passion lends them power, time means, to meet


Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.


SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulets orchard.


Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.


He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it


And, on my lie, hath stoln him home to bed.


He ran this way, and leapd this orchard wall:


Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;


Cry but Ay me! pronounce but love and dove;


One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,


When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!


He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;


The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.


I conjure thee by Rosalines 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,


And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.


To raise a spirit in his mistress circle


Of some strange nature, letting it there stand


Till she had laid it and conjured it down;


Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s name


Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,


To be consorted with the humorous night:


Blind is his love and best befits the dark.


If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.


And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit


As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.


An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!


Romeo, good night: Ill to my truckle-bed;


This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:


To seek him here that means not to be found.


He jests at scars that never felt a wound.


But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?


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:


And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.


She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?


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?


The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,


As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven


Would through the airy region stream so bright


That birds would sing and think it were not night.


See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!


O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art


As glorious to this night, being oer my head


Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him


When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds


O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?


Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,


[Aside]  Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?


Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.


Whats Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,


Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!


Whats in a name? that which we call a rose


So Romeo would, were he not Romeo calld,


Retain that dear perfection which he owes


Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,


And for that name which is no part of thee


Call me but love, and Ill be new baptized;


What man art thou that thus bescreend in night


My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,


Had I it written, I would tear the word.


My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words


Of that tongues utterance, yet I know the sound:


Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.


How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?


The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,


And the place death, considering who thou art,


With loves light wings did I oer-perch these walls;


And what love can do that dares love attempt;


If they do see thee, they will murder thee.


Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye


Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,


I would not for the world they saw thee here.


I have nights 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.


By whose direction foundst thou out this place?


By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;


As that vast shore washd with the farthest sea,


Thou knowst 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 thou wilt say Ay,


And I will take thy word: yet if thou swearst,


Thou mayst prove false; at lovers perjuries


If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:


Or if thou thinkst I am too quickly won,


Ill frown and be perverse an say thee nay,


So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.


And therefore thou mayst think my havior light:


But trust me, gentleman, Ill prove more true


Than those that have more cunning to be strange.


I should have been more strange, I must confess,


But that thou overheardst, ere I was ware,


My true loves passion: therefore pardon me,


And not impute this yielding to light love,


Which the dark night hath so discovered.


That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--


O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,


That monthly changes in her circled orb,


Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.


Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,


Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,


I have no joy of this contract to-night:


It is too rash, too unadvised, 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 summers ripening breath,


May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.


Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest


Come to thy heart as that within my breast!


What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?


The exchange of thy loves faithful vow for mine.


I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:


Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?


But to be frank, and give it thee again.


And yet I wish but for the thing I have:


My love as deep; the more I give to thee,


I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!


Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.


Being in night, all this is but a dream,


Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.


Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,


By one that Ill procure to come to thee,


Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;


And follow thee my lord throughout the world.


I come, anon.--But if thou meanst not well,


To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:


A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.


Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from


But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.


Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconers voice,


Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;


Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,


And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,


How silver-sweet sound lovers tongues by night,


I will not fail: tis twenty years till then.


Let me stand here till thou remember it.


I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,


And Ill still stay, to have thee still forget,


Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:


Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,


And with a silk thread plucks it back again,


Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.


That I shall say good night till it be morrow.


Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!


Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!


Hence will I to my ghostly fathers cell,


His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.


The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,


Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,


And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels


From forth days path and Titans fiery wheels:


Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,


The day to cheer and nights dank dew to dry,


With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.


The earth thats natures mother is her tomb;


What is her burying grave that is her womb,


And from her womb children of divers kind


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 straind from that fair use


Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:


Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;


Within the infant rind of this small flower


Poison hath residence and medicine power:


For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;


Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.


Two such opposed kings encamp them still


In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;


Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.


Care keeps his watch in every old mans eye,


And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;


But where unbruised youth with unstuffd brain


Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:


Thou art up-roused by some distemperature;


Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.


That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.


God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?


I have forgot that name, and that names woe.


Thats my good son: but where hast thou been, then?


Ill tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.


Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;


Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.


Then plainly know my hearts dear love is set


As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;


And all combined, save what thou must combine


By holy marriage: when and where and how


We met, we wood and made exchange of vow,


Ill tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,


Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!


Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,


So soon forsaken? young mens love then lies


Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.


Hath washd 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 washd off yet:


If eer thou wast thyself and these woes thine,


Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline:


And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then,


Women may fall, when theres no strength in men.


I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now


Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;


Thy love did read by rote and could not spell.


But come, young waverer, come, go with me,


To turn your households rancour to pure love.


O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.


Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.


Not to his fathers; I spoke with his man.


Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.


Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.


Hath sent a letter to his fathers house.


Any man that can write may answer a letter.


Nay, he will answer the letters master, how he


Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a


white wenchs black eye; shot through the ear with a


love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the


blind bow-boys butt-shaft: and is he a man to


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


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


perdona-mis, who stand so much on the new form,


that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their


Without his roe, like a dried herring: 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 grey


eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior


Romeo, bon jour! theres a French salutation


to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit


Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?


The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?


Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in


such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.


Thats as much as to say, such a case as yours


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 sole singular.


O single-soled jest, solely singular for the


Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.


Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or Ill cry a match.


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:


Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast


I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.


Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most


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


O heres a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an


I stretch it out for that word broad; which added


to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.


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.


Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.


Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.


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.


Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fans the


Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the


One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to


By my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar,


quoth a? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I


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.


Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i faith;


if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with


No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie,


that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.


Romeo, will you come to your fathers? well


Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy


merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?


A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,


and will speak more in a minute than he will stand


An a speak any thing against me, Ill take him


down, an a were lustier than he is, and twenty such


Jacks; and if I cannot, Ill find those that shall.


Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am


none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by


too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?


I saw no man use you a 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


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 fools 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.


Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I


Good heart, and, i faith, I will tell her as much:


What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.


I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as


Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;


And there she shall at Friar Laurence cell


Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains.


This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.


And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall:


Within this hour my man shall be with thee


And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;


Farewell; be trusty, and Ill quit thy pains:


Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.


Is your man secret? Did you neer hear say,


I warrant thee, my mans as true as steel.


Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord,


Lord! when twas a little prating thing:--O, there


is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain


lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief


see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her


sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer


man; but, Ill warrant you, when I say so, she looks


as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not


rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?


Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.


Ah. mocker! thats the dogs name; R is for


the--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


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


The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;


Perchance she cannot meet him: thats not so.


O, she is lame! loves heralds should be thoughts,


Which ten times faster glide than the suns beams,


Driving back shadows over louring hills:


Therefore do nimble-piniond doves draw love,


And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.


Of this days journey, and from nine till twelve


Is three long hours, yet she is not come.


Had she affections and warm youthful blood,


She would be as swift in motion as a ball;


My words would bandy her to my sweet love,


But old folks, many feign as they were dead;


Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.


Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why lookst thou sad?


Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;


If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news


By playing it to me with so sour a face.


Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!


I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:


Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.


Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?


How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath


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 Ill stay the circumstance:


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 mans, yet his leg excels


all mens; 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, Ill warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy


ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?


What says he of our marriage? what of that?


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!


I faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.


Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?


Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a


courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I


warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?


Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!


Your love says, like an honest gentleman,


Is this the poultice for my aching bones?


Heres such a coil! come, what says Romeo?


Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?


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 cheeks,


Theyll be in scarlet straight at any news.


To fetch a ladder, by the which your love


Must climb a birds nest soon when it is dark:


I am the drudge and toil in your delight,


But you shall bear the burden soon at night.


Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.


So smile the heavens upon this holy act,


That after hours with sorrow chide us not!


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;


These violent delights have violent ends


And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,


Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey


And in the taste confounds the appetite:


Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;


Will neer wear out the everlasting flint:


Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.


As much to him, else is his thanks too much.


Be heapd like mine and that thy skill be more


To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath


This neighbour air, and let rich musics tongue


Receive in either by this dear encounter.


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


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.


Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants


I pray thee, good Mercutio, lets retire:


And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;


For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.


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.


Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as


any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as


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 fun 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


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.


Follow me close, for I will speak to them.


Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.


And but one word with one of us? couple it with


You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you


Could you not take some occasion without giving?


Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an


thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but


discords: heres my fiddlestick; heres that shall


We talk here in the public haunt of men:


Either withdraw unto some private place,


Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.


Mens eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;


I will not budge for no mans pleasure, I.


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


But Ill be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:


Marry, go before to field, hell be your follower;


Your worship in that sense may call him man.


No better term than this,--thou art a villain.


Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee


Therefore farewell; I see thou knowst me not.


That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.


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


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, drybeat the rest of the


eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher


by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your


Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.


Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!


Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath


TYBALT under ROMEOs arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers


Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, tis enough.


Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.


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! a braggart, a


rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of


arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I


Or I shall faint. A plague o both your houses!


They have made worms meat of me: I have it,


My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt


With Tybalts slander,--Tybalt, that an hour


That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,


Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.


This days black fate on more days doth depend;


This but begins the woe, others must end.


Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.


Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,


That late thou gavest me; for Mercutios soul


Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.


Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,


Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death,


If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!


Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?


I charge thee in the princes name, obey.


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


Where are the vile beginners of this fray?


There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,


O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt


O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,


For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.


Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeos hand did slay;


Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink


How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal


With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bowd,


Could not take truce with the unruly spleen


Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts


With piercing steel at bold Mercutios 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


Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than


His agile arm beats down their fatal points,


And twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm


An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life


Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;


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.


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;


Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?


Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutios friend;


His fault concludes but what the law should end,


I have an interest in your hates proceeding,


My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;


But Ill amerce you with so strong a fine


That you shall all repent the loss of mine:


Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses:


Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,


Else, when hes found, that hour is his last.


Bear hence this body and attend our will:


Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.


Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,


Leap to these arms, untalkd 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,


And learn me how to lose a winning match,


Playd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:


Hood my unmannd blood, bating in my cheeks,


With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,


Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;


For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night


Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browd night,


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


But not possessd it, and, though I am sold,


To an impatient child that hath new robes


And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,


And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks


But Romeos name speaks heavenly eloquence.


Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords


Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?


Ah, well-a-day! hes dead, hes dead, hes dead!


Alack the day! hes gone, hes killd, hes dead!


What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?


This torture should be roard in dismal hell.


Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I,


Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:


Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer I.


Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.


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 bedaubd in blood,


All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.


O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once!


Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;


And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!


O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!


That ever I should live to see thee dead!


What storm is this that blows so contrary?


Is Romeo slaughterd, and is Tybalt dead?


My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord?


Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!


For who is living, if those two are gone?


O God! did Romeos hand shed Tybalts blood?


O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!


Dove-featherd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!


Just opposite to what thou justly seemst,


O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell,


When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend


Was ever book containing such vile matter


So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell


No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,


All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.


Ah, wheres my man? give me some aqua vitae:


These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.


For such a wish! he was not born to shame:


For tis a throne where honour may be crownd


Will you speak well of him that killd your cousin?


Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?


Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,


When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?


But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?


That villain cousin would have killd my husband:


Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;


My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;


And Tybalts dead, that would have slain my husband:


All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?


Some word there was, worser than Tybalts death,


That murderd me: I would forget it fain;


Like damned guilty deeds to sinners minds:


Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalts death


And needly will be rankd with other griefs,


Why followd not, when she said Tybalts dead,


Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,


Which modern lamentations might have moved?


But with a rear-ward following Tybalts death,


Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,


There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,


In that words death; no words can that woe sound.


Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?


Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.


Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,


When theirs are dry, for Romeos banishment.


Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled,


Come, cords, come, nurse; Ill to my wedding-bed;


And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!


Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:


O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,


And bid him come to take his last farewell.


Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man:


Father, what news? what is the princes doom?


What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,


I bring thee tidings of the princes doom.


What less than dooms-day is the princes doom?


A gentler judgment vanishd from his lips,


Much more than death: do not say banishment.


Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.


Hence-banished is banishd from the world,


And worlds exile is death: then banished,


Is death mis-termd: calling death banishment,


Thou cuttst my head off with a golden axe,


And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.


Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,


Taking thy part, hath rushd aside the law,


And turnd that black word death to banishment:


This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.


Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,


Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog


Live here in heaven and may look on her;


More honourable state, more courtship lives


In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize


On the white wonder of dear Juliets hand


And steal immortal blessing from her lips,


Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;


Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:


And sayst thou yet that exile is not death?


Hadst thou no poison mixd, no sharp-ground knife,


No sudden mean of death, though neer so mean,


O friar, the damned use that word in hell;


Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,


Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.


Ill give thee armour to keep off that word:


To comfort thee, though thou art banished.


Displant a town, reverse a princes doom,


It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.


How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?


Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel:


Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,


Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,


Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.


Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans,


Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.


Hark, how they knock! Whos there? Romeo, arise;


Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;


What simpleness is this! I come, I come!


Who knocks so hard? whence come you? whats your will?


[Within]  Let me come in, and you shall know


There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.


Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.


Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man:


For Juliets sake, for her sake, rise and stand;


Ah sir! ah sir! Well, deaths the end of all.


Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her?


Now I have staind the childhood of our joy


With blood removed but little from her own?


Where is she? and how doth she? and what says


O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;


And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,


And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,


Did murder her; as that names cursed hand


Murderd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me,


Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack


Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:


Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote


I thought thy disposition better temperd.


Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?


And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,


Why railst thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?


Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet


In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.


Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;


Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:


Killing that love which thou hast vowd to cherish;


Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,


Like powder in a skitless soldiers flask,


And thou dismemberd with thine own defence.


What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,


For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;


There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,


But thou slewst Tybalt; there are thou happy too:


The law that threatend death becomes thy friend


And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:


A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;


Happiness courts thee in her best array;


But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,


Thou poutst upon thy fortune and thy love:


Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.


Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,


Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:


But look thou stay not till the watch be set,


Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time


To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,


Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back


With twenty hundred thousand times more joy


Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;


And bid her hasten all the house to bed,


O Lord, I could have stayd here all the night


To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!


My lord, Ill tell my lady you will come.


Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.


Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir:


Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.


Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:


Or by the break of day disguised from hence:


Sojourn in Mantua; Ill find out your man,


Every good hap to you that chances here:


Give me thy hand; tis late: farewell; good night.


But that a joy past joy calls out on me,


It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.


Things have falln 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, shell not come down to-night:


These times of woe afford no time to woo.


Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.


I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;


To-night she is mewd up to her heaviness.


Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender


Of my childs love: I think she will be ruled


In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.


And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--


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?


Well keep no great ado,--a friend or two;


For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,


It may be thought we held him carelessly,


Therefore well have some half a dozen friends,


And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?


My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.


Well get you gone: o Thursday be it, then.


Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.


Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!


Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the window


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.


It was the lark, the herald of the morn,


No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks


Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:


Nights candles are burnt out, and jocund day


Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.


I must be gone and live, or stay and die.


Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:


To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,


Therefore stay yet; thou needst not to be gone.


Ill say yon grey is not the mornings eye,


Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthias brow;


Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat


The 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 ist, my soul? lets talk; it is not day.


It is the lark that sings so out of tune,


Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.


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 hunts-up to the day,


O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.


More light and light; more dark and dark our woes!


Your lady mother is coming to your chamber:


Then, window, let day in, and let life out.


Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and Ill descend.


Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!


I must hear from thee every day in the hour,


O, by this count I shall be much in years


That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.


O thinkst thou we shall ever meet again?


I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve


For sweet discourses in our time to come.


Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,


Either my eyesight fails, or thou lookst pale.


And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:


Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!


O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:


If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.


That is renownd for faith? Be fickle, fortune;


For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,


[Within]         Ho, daughter! are you up?


Who ist that calls? is it my lady mother?


Is she not down so late, or up so early?


What unaccustomd cause procures her hither?


Evermore weeping for your cousins 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.


Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.


So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend


Well, girl, thou weepst not so much for his death,


As that the villain lives which slaughterd him.


[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.


That is, because the traitor murderer lives.


Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands:


Would none but I might venge my cousins death!


We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not:


Then weep no more. Ill send to one in Mantua,


Where that same banishd runagate doth live,


Shall give him such an unaccustomd dram,


And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.


That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,


Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors


To hear him named, and cannot come to him.


Find thou the means, and Ill find such a man.


But now Ill tell thee joyful tidings, girl.


And joy comes well in such a needy time:


Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;


One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,


That thou expectst not nor I lookd not for.


Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,


The County Paris, at Saint Peters Church,


Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.


Now, by Saint Peters Church and Peter too,


He shall not make me there a joyful bride.


Ere 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!


Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,


And see how he will take it at your hands.


When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;


How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears?


Thou counterfeitst 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,


Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.


I would the fool were married to her grave!


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 wrought


So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?


Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have:


But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.


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 Peters Church,


Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.


Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!


Hear me with patience but to speak a word.


Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!


I tell thee what: get thee to church o Thursday,


My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest


That God had lent us but this only child;


You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.


And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,


Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.


Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play,


Alone, in company, still my care hath been


To have her matchd: and having now provided


Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly traind,


Stuffd, as they say, with honourable parts,


Proportiond as ones thought would wish a man;


And then to have a wretched puling fool,


A whining mammet, in her fortunes tender,


But, as you will not wed, Ill pardon you:


Graze where you will you shall not house with me:


Look tot, think ont, I do not use to jest.


Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:


An you be mine, Ill give you to my friend;


And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in


For, by my soul, Ill neer acknowledge thee,


Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:


Trust tot, bethink you; Ill not be forsworn.


Delay this marriage for a month, a week;


Talk not to me, for Ill not speak a word:


Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.


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 heaven


By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.


Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems


What sayst thou? hast thou not a word of joy?


Romeo is banishd; and all the world to nothing,


That he dares neer 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.


Romeos a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam,


Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye


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,


Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.


Having displeased my father, to Laurence cell,


Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,


Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue


Which she hath praised him with above compare


Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.


If all else fail, myself have power to die.


On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.


And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.


Immoderately she weeps for Tybalts death,


And therefore have I little talkd of love;


For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.


Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous


That she doth give her sorrow so much sway,


Which, too much minded by herself alone,


Now do you know the reason of this haste.


[Aside]  I would I knew not why it should be slowd.


Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.


That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.


Come you to make confession to this father?


To answer that, I should confess to you.


So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.


Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.


Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears.


The tears have got small victory by that;


For it was bad enough before their spite.


Thou wrongst it, more than tears, with that report.


That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;


And what I spake, I spake it to my face.


Thy face is mine, and thou hast slanderd it.


My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.


My lord, we must entreat the time alone.


Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye:


Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.


O shut the door! and when thou hast done so,


Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!


It strains me past the compass of my wits:


I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,


On Thursday next be married to this county.


Tell me not, friar, that thou hearst of this,


Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:


If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,


And with this knife Ill help it presently.


God joind my heart and Romeos, thou our hands;


And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seald,


Or my true heart with treacherous revolt


Turn to another, this shall slay them both:


Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time,


Give me some present counsel, or, behold,


Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife


Which the commission of thy years and art


If what thou speakst speak not of remedy.


Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope,


As that is desperate which we would prevent.


Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,


A thing like death to chide away this shame,


That copest with death himself to scape from it:


And, if thou darest, Ill give thee remedy.


O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,


From off the battlements of yonder tower;


Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk


Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;


Oer-coverd quite with dead mens rattling bones,


With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;


And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;


Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble;


To live an unstaind wife to my sweet love.


Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent


To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;


Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:


And this distilled liquor drink thou off;


When presently through all thy veins shall run


Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:


No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;


The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade


Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;


Each part, deprived of supple government,


Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:


And in this borrowd likeness of shrunk death


Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,


And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.


Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes


To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead:


Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault


Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.


In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,


Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,


Will watch thy waking, and that very night


And this shall free thee from this present shame;


If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,


Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!


Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous


In this resolve: Ill send a friar with speed


Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.


Enter CAPULET, LADY  CAPULET, Nurse, and two Servingmen


Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.


You shall have none ill, sir; for Ill try if they


Marry, sir, tis an ill cook that cannot lick his


own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his


We shall be much unfurnished for this time.


What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?


Well, he may chance to do some good on her:


See where she comes from shrift with merry look.


How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding?


Where I have learnd me to repent the sin


By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,


And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you!


Send for the county; go tell him of this:


Ill have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.


I met the youthful lord at Laurence cell;


Why, I am glad ont; this is well: stand up:


This is ast should be. Let me see the county;


Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.


Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar,


Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,


As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?


No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.


Go, nurse, go with her: well to church to-morrow.


And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife:


Ill play the housewife for this once. What, ho!


They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself


Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light,


Since this same wayward girl is so reclaimd.


Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse,


I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night,


To move the heavens to smile upon my state,


Which, well thou knowst, is cross, and full of sin.


What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?


No, madam; we have culld such necessaries


As are behoveful for our state to-morrow:


So please you, let me now be left alone,


And let the nurse this night sit up with you;


For, I am sure, you have your hands full all,


Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.


Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.


I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,


That almost freezes up the heat of life:


What if this mixture do not work at all?


Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?


No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.


Lest in this marriage he should be dishonourd,


I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not,


For he hath still been tried a holy man.


Come to redeem me? theres a fearful point!


Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault,


To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,


And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?


The horrible conceit of death and night,


Together with the terror of the place,--


Where, for these many hundred years, the bones


Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,


Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,


At some hours in the night spirits resort;--


So early waking, what with loathsome smells,


And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,


That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:--


O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,


And madly play with my forefathers joints?


And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?


And, in this rage, with some great kinsmans bone,


As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?


O, look! methinks I see my cousins ghost


Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body


Upon a rapiers point: stay, Tybalt, stay!


She falls upon her bed, within the curtains


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 crowd,


The curfew-bell hath rung, tis three oclock:


Get you to bed; faith, Youll be sick to-morrow


No, not a whit: what! I have watchd ere now


All night for lesser cause, and neer been sick.


Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;


But I will watch you from such watching now.


Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets


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


Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.


I have a head, sir, that will find out logs,


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.


Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!


Ill go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste,


Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:


Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she:


Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!


Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride!


What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now;


Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,


That you shall rest but little. God forgive me,


Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep!


I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam!


Ay, let the county take you in your bed;


Hell fright you up, i faith. Will it not be?


What, dressd! and in your clothes! and down again!


I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady!


Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!


For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.


Shes dead, deceased, shes dead; alack the day!


Alack the day, shes dead, shes dead, shes dead!


Ha! let me see her: out, alas! shes cold:


Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;


Life and these lips have long been separated:


Death lies on her like an untimely frost


Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.


Death, that hath taen her hence to make me wail,


Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.


Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians


Come, is the bride ready to go to church?


Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies,


Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;


And leave him all; life, living, all is Deaths.


Have I thought long to see this mornings face,


And doth it give me such a sight as this?


Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!


But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,


And cruel death hath catchd it from my sight!


Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!


O love! O life! not life, but love in death!


Despised, distressed, hated, martyrd, killd!


O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!


Peace, ho, for shame! confusions cure lives not


In these confusions. Heaven and yourself


Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,


Your part in her you could not keep from death,


But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.


For twas your heaven she should be advanced:


Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?


O, in this love, you love your child so ill,


That you run mad, seeing that she is well:


Shes not well married that lives married long;


But shes best married that dies married young.


Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary


On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,


In all her best array bear her to church:


For though fond nature bids us an lament,


Yet natures tears are reasons merriment.


Turn from their office to black funeral;


Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,


Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,


Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,


And all things change them to the contrary.


Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;


To follow this fair corse unto her grave:


The heavens do lour upon you for some ill;


Move them no more by crossing their high will.


Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE


Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.


For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.


Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.


Musicians, O, musicians, Hearts ease, Hearts


ease: O, an you will have me live, play Hearts ease.


O, musicians, because my heart itself plays My


heart is full of woe: O, play me some merry dump,


Then I will give you the serving-creature.


Then will I lay the serving-creatures dagger on


your pate. I will carry no crotchets: Ill re you,


Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.


Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you


with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer


When griping grief the heart doth wound,


why silver sound? why music with her silver


Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.


I say silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.


Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?


O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say


for you. It is music with her silver sound,


because musicians have no gold for sounding:


Hang him, Jack! Come, well in here; tarry for the


If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,


My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:


My bosoms lord sits lightly in his throne;


Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.