Chapter 4

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this Fray? Ben. O Noble Prince, I can discouer all The vnluckie Mannage of this fatall brall: There lies the man slaine by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman braue Mercutio

Cap. Wi. Tybalt, my Cozin? O my Brothers Child, O Prince, O Cozin, Husband, O the blood is spild Of my deare kinsman. Prince as thou art true, For bloud of ours, shed bloud of Mountague. O Cozin, Cozin

Prin. Benuolio, who began this Fray? Ben. Tybalt here slaine, whom Romeo's hand did slay, Romeo that spoke him faire, bid him bethinke How nice the Quarrell was, and vrg'd withall Your high displeasure: all this vttered, With gentle breath, calme looke, knees humbly bow'd Could not take truce with the vnruly spleene Of Tybalts deafe to peace, but that he Tilts With Peircing steele at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turnes deadly point to point, And with a Martiall scorne, with one hand beates Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, Hold Friends, Friends part, and swifter then his tongue, His aged arme, beats downe their fatall points, And twixt them rushes, vnderneath whose arme, An enuious thrust from Tybalt, hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled. But by and by comes backe to Romeo, Who had but newly entertained Reuenge, And too't they goe like lightning, for ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slaine: And as he fell, did Romeo turne and flie: This is the truth, or let Benuolio die

Cap. Wi. He is a kinsman to the Mountague, Affection makes him false, he speakes not true: Some twenty of them fought in this blacke strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for Iustice, which thou Prince must giue: Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not liue

Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio, Who now the price of his deare blood doth owe

Cap. Not Romeo Prince, he was Mercutios Friend, His fault concludes, but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt

Prin. And for that offence, Immediately we doe exile him hence: I haue an interest in your hearts proceeding: My bloud for your rude brawles doth lie a bleeding. But Ile Amerce you with so strong a fine, That you shall all repent the losse of mine. It will be deafe to pleading and excuses, Nor teares, nor prayers shall purchase our abuses. Therefore vse none, let Romeo hence in hast, Else when he is found, that houre is his last. Beare hence his body, and attend our will: Mercy not Murders, pardoning those that kill.

Exeunt.

Enter Iuliet alone.

Iul. Gallop apace, you fiery footed steedes, Towards Phoebus lodging, such a Wagoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west, And bring in Cloudie night immediately. Spred thy close Curtaine Loue-performing night, That run-awayes eyes may wincke, and Romeo Leape to these armes, vntalkt of and vnseene, Louers can see to doe their Amorous rights, And by their owne Beauties: or if Loue be blind, It best agrees with night: come ciuill night, Thou sober suted Matron all in blacke, And learne me how to loose a winning match, Plaid for a paire of stainlesse Maidenhoods, Hood my vnman'd blood bayting in my Cheekes, With thy Blacke mantle, till strange Loue grow bold, Thinke true Loue acted simple modestie: Come night, come Romeo, come thou day in night, For thou wilt lie vpon the wings of night Whiter then new Snow vpon a Rauens backe: Come gentle night, come louing blackebrow'd night. Giue me my Romeo, and when I shall die, Take him and cut him out in little starres, And he will make the Face of heauen so fine, That all the world will be in Loue with night, And pay no worship to the Garish Sun. O I haue bought the Mansion of a Loue, But not possest it, and though I am sold, Not yet enioy'd, so tedious is this day, As is the night before some Festiuall, To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not weare them, O here comes my Nurse: Enter Nurse with cords.

And she brings newes and euery tongue that speaks But Romeos name, speakes heauenly eloquence: Now Nurse, what newes? what hast thou there? The Cords that Romeo bid thee fetch? Nur. I, I, the Cords

Iuli. Ay me, what newes? Why dost thou wring thy hands

Nur. A weladay, hee's dead, hee's dead, We are vndone Lady, we are vndone. Alacke the day, hee's gone, hee's kil'd, he's dead

Iul. Can heauen be so enuious? Nur. Romeo can, Though heauen cannot. O Romeo, Romeo. Who euer would haue thought it Romeo

Iuli. What diuell art thou, That dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismall hell, Hath Romeo slaine himselfe? say thou but I, And that bare vowell I shall poyson more Then the death-darting eye of Cockatrice, I am not I, if there be such an I. Or those eyes shot, that makes thee answere I: If he be slaine say I, or if not, no. Briefe, sounds, determine of my weale or wo

Nur. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, God saue the marke, here on his manly brest, A pitteous Coarse, a bloody piteous Coarse: Pale, pale as ashes, all bedawb'd in blood, All in gore blood I sounded at the sight

Iul. O breake my heart, Poore Banckrout breake at once, To prison eyes, nere looke on libertie. Vile earth to earth resigne, end motion here, And thou and Romeo presse on heauie beere

Nur. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best Friend I had: O curteous Tybalt honest Gentleman, That euer I should liue to see thee dead

Iul. What storme is this that blowes so contrarie? Is Romeo slaughtred? and is Tybalt dead? My dearest Cozen, and my dearer Lord: Then dreadfull Trumpet sound the generall doome, For who is liuing, if those two are gone? Nur. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished, Romeo that kil'd him, he is banished

Iul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalts blood It did, it did, alas the day, it did

Nur. O Serpent heart hid with a flowring face

Iul. Did euer Dragon keepe so faire a Caue? Beautifull Tyrant, fiend Angelicall: Rauenous Doue-feather'd Rauen, Woluish-rauening Lambe, Dispised substance of Diuinest show: Iust opposite to what thou iustly seem'st, A dimne Saint, an Honourable Villaine: O Nature! what had'st thou to doe in hell, When thou did'st bower the spirit of a fiend In mortall paradise of such sweet flesh? Was euer booke containing such vile matter So fairely bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous Pallace

Nur. There's no trust, no faith, no honestie in men, All periur'd, all forsworne, all naught, all dissemblers, Ah where's my man? giue me some Aqua-vitae? These griefes, these woes, these sorrowes make me old: Shame come to Romeo

Iul. Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish, he was not borne to shame: Vpon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throane where Honour may be Crown'd Sole Monarch of the vniuersall earth: O what a beast was I to chide him? Nur. Will you speake well of him, That kil'd your Cozen? Iul. Shall I speake ill of him that is my husband? Ah poore my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I thy three houres wife haue mangled it. But wherefore Villaine did'st thou kill my Cozin? That Villaine Cozin would haue kil'd my husband: Backe foolish teares, backe to your natiue spring, Your tributarie drops belong to woe, Which you mistaking offer vp to ioy: My husband liues that Tibalt would haue slaine, And Tibalt dead that would haue slaine my husband: All this is comfort, wherefore weepe I then? Some words there was worser then Tybalts death That murdered me, I would forget it feine, But oh, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deedes to sinners minds, Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished: That banished, that one word banished, Hath slaine ten thousand Tibalts: Tibalts death Was woe inough if it had ended there: Or if sower woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rankt with other griefes, Why followed not when she said Tibalts dead, Thy Father or thy Mother, nay or both, Which moderne lamentation might haue mou'd. But which a rere-ward following Tybalts death Romeo is banished to speake that word, Is Father, Mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Iuliet, All slaine, all dead: Romeo is banished, 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? Nur. Weeping and wailing ouer Tybalts Coarse, Will you go to them? I will bring you thither

Iu. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shal be spent When theirs are drie for Romeo's banishment. Take vp those Cordes, poore ropes you are beguil'd, Both you and I for Romeo is exild: He made you for a high-way to my bed, But I a Maid, die Maiden widowed. Come Cord, come Nurse, Ile to my wedding bed, And death not Romeo, take my Maiden head

Nur. Hie to your Chamber, Ile find Romeo To comfort you, I wot well where he is: Harke ye your Romeo will be heere at night, Ile to him, he is hid at Lawrence Cell

Iul. O find him, giue this Ring to my true Knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewell.

Exit

Enter Frier and Romeo.

Fri. Romeo come forth, Come forth thou fearfull man, Affliction is enamor'd of thy parts And thou art wedded to calamitie, Rom. Father what newes? What is the Princes Doome? What sorrow craues acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? Fri. Too familiar Is my deare Sonne with such sowre Company I bring thee tydings of the Princes Doome

Rom. What lesse then Doomesday, Is the Princes Doome? Fri. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips, Not bodies death, but bodies banishment

Rom. Ha, banishment? be mercifull, say death: For exile hath more terror in his looke, Much more then death: do not say banishment

Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide

Rom. There is no world without Verona walles, But Purgatorie, Torture, hell it selfe: Hence banished, is banisht from the world, And worlds exile is death. Then banished, Is death, mistearm'd, calling death banished, Thou cut'st my head off with a golden Axe, And smilest vpon the stroke that murders me

Fri. O deadly sin, O rude vnthankefulnesse! Thy falt our Law calles death, but the kind Prince Taking thy part, hath rusht aside the Law, And turn'd that blacke word death, to banishment. This is deare mercy, and thou seest it not

Rom. 'Tis Torture and not mercy, heauen is here Where Iuliet liues, and euery Cat and Dog, And little Mouse, euery vnworthy thing Liue here in Heauen and may looke on her, But Romeo may not. More Validitie, More Honourable state, more Courtship liues In carrion Flies, then Romeo: they may seaze On the white wonder of deare Iuliets hand, And steale immortall blessing from her lips, Who euen in pure and vestall modestie Still blush, as thinking their owne kisses sin. This may Flies doe, when I from this must flie, And saist thou yet, that exile is not death? But Romeo may not, hee is banished. Had'st thou no poyson mixt, no sharpe ground knife, No sudden meane of death, though nere so meane, But banished to kill me? Banished? O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell: Howlings attends it, how hast then the hart Being a Diuine, a Ghostly Confessor, A Sin-Absoluer, and my Friend profest: To mangle me with that word, banished? Fri. Then fond Mad man, heare me speake

Rom. O thou wilt speake againe of banishment

Fri. Ile giue thee Armour to keepe off that word, Aduersities sweete milke, Philosophie, To comfort thee, though thou art banished

Rom. Yet banished? hang vp Philosophie: Vnlesse Philosophie can make a Iuliet, Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes Doome, It helpes not, it preuailes not, talke no more

Fri. O then I see, that Mad men haue no eares

Rom. How should they, When wisemen haue no eyes? Fri. Let me dispaire with thee of thy estate, Rom. Thou can'st not speake of that y dost not feele, Wert thou as young as Iuliet my Loue: An houre but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightest thou speake, Then mightest thou teare thy hayre, And fall vpon the ground as I doe now, Taking the measure of an vnmade graue. Enter Nurse, and knockes.

Frier. Arise one knockes, Good Romeo hide thy selfe

Rom. Not I, Vnlesse the breath of Hartsicke groanes Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.

Knocke

Fri. Harke how they knocke: (Who's there) Romeo arise, Thou wilt be taken, stay a while, stand vp:

Knocke.

Run to my study: by and by, Gods will What simplenesse is this: I come, I come.

Knocke.

Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? what's your will? Enter Nurse.

Nur. Let me come in, And you shall know my errand: I come from Lady Iuliet

Fri. Welcome then

Nur. O holy Frier, O tell me holy Frier, Where's my Ladies Lord? where's Romeo? Fri. There on the ground, With his owne teares made drunke

Nur. O he is euen in my Mistresse case, Iust in her case. O wofull simpathy: Pittious predicament, euen so lies she, Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring, Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man, For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand: Why should you fall into so deepe an O

Rom. Nurse

Nur. Ah sir, ah sir, deaths the end of all

Rom. Speak'st thou of Iuliet? how is it with her? Doth not she thinke me an old Murtherer, Now I haue stain'd the Childhood of our ioy, With blood remoued, but little from her owne? Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayes My conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Loue? Nur. Oh she sayes nothing sir, but weeps and weeps, And now fals on her bed, and then starts vp, And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries, And then downe falls againe

Ro. As if that name shot from the dead leuell of a Gun, Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murdred her kinsman. Oh tell me Frier, tell me, In what vile part of this Anatomie Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sacke The hatefull Mansion

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art: Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts denote The vnreasonable Furie of a beast. Vnseemely woman, in a seeming man, And ill beseeming beast in seeming both, Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady, that in thy life lies, By doing damned hate vpon thy selfe? Why rayl'st thou on thy birth? the heauen and earth? Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three do meete In thee at once, which thou at once would'st loose. Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy loue, thy wit, Which like a Vsurer abound'st in all: And vsest none in that true vse indeed, Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit: Thy Noble shape, is but a forme of waxe, Digressing from the Valour of a man, Thy deare Loue sworne but hollow periurie, Killing that Loue which thou hast vow'd to cherish. Thy wit, that Ornament, to shape and Loue, Mishapen in the conduct of them both: Like powder in a skillesse Souldiers flaske, Is set a fire by thine owne ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence. What, rowse thee man, thy Iuliet is aliue, For whose deare sake thou wast but lately dead. There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt, there art thou happie. The law that threatned death became thy Friend. And turn'd it to exile, there art thou happy. A packe or blessing light vpon thy backe, Happinesse Courts thee in her best array, But like a mishaped and sullen wench, Thou puttest vp thy Fortune and thy Loue: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Goe get thee to thy Loue as was decreed, Ascend her Chamber, hence and comfort her: But looke thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not passe to Mantua, Where thou shalt liue till we can finde a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your Friends, Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee backe, With twenty hundred thousand times more ioy Then thou went'st forth in lamentation. Goe before Nurse, commend me to thy Lady, And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto. Romeo is comming

Nur. O Lord, I could haue staid here all night, To heare good counsell: oh what learning is! My Lord Ile tell my Lady you will come

Rom. Do so, and bid my Sweete prepare to chide

Nur. Heere sir, a Ring she bid me giue you sir: Hie you, make hast, for it growes very late

Rom. How well my comfort is reuiu'd by this

Fri. Go hence, Goodnight, and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the breake of day disguis'd from hence, Soiourne in Mantua, Ile find out your man, And he shall signifie from time to time, Euery good hap to you, that chaunces heere: Giue me thy hand, 'tis late, farewell, goodnight

Rom. But that a ioy past ioy, calls out on me, It were a griefe, so briefe to part with thee: Farewell.

Exeunt.

Enter old Capulet, his Wife and Paris.

Cap. Things haue falne out sir so vnluckily, That we haue had no time to moue our Daughter: Looke you, she Lou'd her kinsman Tybalt dearely, And so did I. Well, we were borne to die. 'Tis very late, she'l not come downe to night: I promise you, but for your company, I would haue bin a bed an houre ago

Par. These times of wo, affoord no times to wooe: Madam goodnight, commend me to your Daughter

Lady. I will, and know her mind early to morrow, To night, she is mewed vp to her heauinesse

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my Childes loue: I thinke she will be rul'd In all respects by me: nay more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed, Acquaint her here, of my Sonne Paris Loue, And bid her, marke you me, on Wendsday next, But soft, what day is this? Par. Monday my Lord

Cap. Monday, ha ha: well Wendsday is too soone, A Thursday let it be: a Thursday tell her, She shall be married to this Noble Earle: Will you be ready? do you like this hast? Weele keepe no great adoe, a Friend or two, For harke you, Tybalt being slaine so late, It may be thought we held him carelesly, Being our kinsman, if we reuell much: Therefore weele haue some halfe a dozen Friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? Paris. My Lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow

Cap. Well, get you gone, a Thursday, be it then: Go you to Iuliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her wife, against this wedding day. Farewell my Lord, light to my Chamber hoa, Afore me, it is so late, that we may call it early by and by, Goodnight.

Exeunt.

Enter Romeo and Iuliet aloft.

Iul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet neere day: It was the Nightingale, and not the Larke, That pier'st the fearefull hollow of thine eare, Nightly she sings on yond Pomgranet tree, Beleeue me Loue, it was the Nightingale

Rom. It was the Larke the Herauld of the Morne: No Nightingale: looke Loue what enuious streakes Do lace the seuering Cloudes in yonder East: Nights Candles are burnt out, and Iocond day Stands tipto on the mistie Mountaines tops, I must be gone and liue, or stay and die

Iul. Yond light is not daylight, I know it I: It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales, To be to thee this night a Torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua. Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not be gone, Rom. Let me be tane, let me be put to death, I am content, so thou wilt haue it so. Ile say yon gray is not the mornings eye, 'Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow. Nor that is not Larke whose noates do beate The vaulty heauen so high aboue our heads, I haue more care to stay, then will to go: Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it so. How ist my soule, lets talke, it is not day

Iuli. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away: It is the Larke that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes. Some say the Larke makes sweete Diuision; This doth not so: for she diuideth vs. Some say, the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, O now I would they had chang'd voyces too: Since arme from arme that voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence, with Hunts-vp to the day, O now be gone, more light and it light growes

Rom. More light & light, more darke & darke our woes. Enter Madam and Nurse.

Nur. Madam

Iul. Nurse

Nur. Your Lady Mother is comming to your chamber, The day is broke, be wary, looke about

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

Rom. Farewell, farewell, one kisse and Ile descend

Iul. Art thou gone so? Loue, Lord, ay Husband, Friend, I must heare from thee euery day in the houre, For in a minute there are many dayes, O by this count I shall be much in yeares, Ere I againe behold my Romeo

Rom. Farewell: I will omit no oportunitie, That may conuey my greetings Loue, to thee

Iul. O thinkest thou we shall euer meet againe? Rom. I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serue For sweet discourses in our time to come

Iuliet. O God! I haue an ill Diuining soule, Me thinkes I see thee now, thou art so lowe, As one dead in the bottome of a Tombe, Either my eye-sight failes, or thou look'st pale

Rom. And trust me Loue, in my eye so do you: Drie sorrow drinkes our blood. Adue, adue. Enter.

Iul. O Fortune, Fortune, all men call thee fickle, If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith? be fickle Fortune: For then I hope thou wilt not keepe him long, But send him backe. Enter Mother.

Lad. Ho Daughter, are you vp? Iul. Who ist that calls? Is it my Lady Mother. Is she not downe so late, or vp so early? What vnaccustom'd cause procures her hither? Lad. Why how now Iuliet? Iul. Madam I am not well

Lad. Euermore weeping for your Cozins death? What wilt thou wash him from his graue with teares? And if thou could'st, thou could'st not make him liue: Therefore haue done, some griefe shewes much of Loue, But much of griefe, shewes still some want of wit

Iul. Yet let me weepe, for such a feeling losse

Lad. So shall you feele the losse, but not the Friend Which you weepe for

Iul. Feeling so the losse, I cannot chuse but euer weepe the Friend

La. Well Girle, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the Villaine liues which slaughter'd him

Iul. What Villaine, Madam? Lad. That same Villaine Romeo

Iul. Villaine and he, be many miles assunder: God pardon, I doe with all my heart: And yet no man like he, doth grieue my heart

Lad. That is because the Traitor liues

Iul. I Madam from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my Cozins death

Lad. We will haue vengeance for it, feare thou not. Then weepe no more, Ile send to one in Mantua, Where that same banisht Run-agate doth liue, Shall giue him such an vnaccustom'd dram, That he shall soone keepe Tybalt company: And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied

Iul. Indeed I neuer shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him. Dead Is my poore heart so for a kinsman vext: Madam, if you could find out but a man To beare a poyson, I would temper it; That Romeo should vpon receit thereof, Soone sleepe in quiet. O how my heart abhors To heare him nam'd, and cannot come to him, To wreake the Loue I bore my Cozin, Vpon his body that hath slaughter'd him

Mo. Find thou the meanes, and Ile find such a man. But now Ile tell thee ioyfull tidings Gyrle

Iul. And ioy comes well, in such a needy time, What are they, beseech your Ladyship? Mo. Well, well, thou hast a carefull Father Child? One who to put thee from thy heauinesse, Hath sorted out a sudden day of ioy, That thou expects not, nor I lookt not for

Iul. Madam in happy time, what day is this? Mo. Marry my Child, early next Thursday morne, The gallant, young, and Noble Gentleman, The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church, Shall happily make thee a ioyfull Bride

Iul. Now by Saint Peters Church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a ioyfull Bride. I wonder at this hast, that I must wed Ere he that should be Husband comes to woe: I pray you tell my Lord and Father Madam, I will not marrie yet, and when I doe, I sweare It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate Rather then Paris. These are newes indeed

Mo. Here comes your Father, tell him so your selfe, And see how he will take it at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse.