Part 167

CAPULET. What, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much: ’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, Come Pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.

CAPULET’S COUSIN. ’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty.

CAPULET. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago.

ROMEO. What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

SERVANT. I know not, sir.

ROMEO. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

TYBALT. This by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave Come hither, cover’d with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

CAPULET. Why how now, kinsman! Wherefore storm you so?

TYBALT. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night.

CAPULET. Young Romeo, is it?

TYBALT. ’Tis he, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone, A bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth. I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement. 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, An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

TYBALT. It fits when such a villain is a guest: I’ll not endure him.

CAPULET. He shall be endur’d. What, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to; Am I the master here, or you? Go to. You’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul, You’ll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!

TYBALT. Why, uncle, ’tis a shame.

CAPULET. Go to, go to! You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what. You must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time. Well said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame! I’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.

TYBALT. 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.

[_Exit._]

ROMEO. [_To Juliet._] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

JULIET. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

ROMEO. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

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

ROMEO. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

JULIET. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

ROMEO. Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d. [_Kissing her._]

JULIET. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

ROMEO. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! Give me my sin again.

JULIET. You kiss by the book.

NURSE. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

ROMEO. What is her mother?

NURSE. Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. I nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal. I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks.

ROMEO. Is she a Capulet? O dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.

BENVOLIO. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.

ROMEO. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

CAPULET. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone, We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late, I’ll to my rest.

[_Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse._]

JULIET. Come hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?

NURSE. The son and heir of old Tiberio.

JULIET. What’s he that now is going out of door?

NURSE. Marry, that I think be young Petruchio.

JULIET. What’s he that follows here, that would not dance?

NURSE. I know not.

JULIET. Go ask his name. If he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

NURSE. His name is Romeo, and a Montague, The only son of your great enemy.

JULIET. My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.

NURSE. What’s this? What’s this?

JULIET. A rhyme I learn’d even now Of one I danc’d withal.

[_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._]

NURSE. Anon, anon! Come let’s away, the strangers all are gone.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT II

Enter Chorus.

CHORUS. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan’d for and would die, With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair. Now Romeo is belov’d, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the charm of looks; But to his foe suppos’d he must complain, And she steal love’s 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 To meet her new beloved anywhere. But passion lends them power, time means, to meet, Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

[_Exit._]

SCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.

Enter Romeo.

ROMEO. Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

[_He climbs the wall and leaps down within it._]

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

BENVOLIO. Romeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!

MERCUTIO. He is wise, And on my life hath stol’n him home to bed.

BENVOLIO. He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio.

MERCUTIO. Nay, I’ll conjure too. Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove; Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nickname for her purblind son and heir, Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim When King Cophetua lov’d 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 Rosaline’s 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, That in thy likeness thou appear to us.

BENVOLIO. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

MERCUTIO. This cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle, Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it, and conjur’d it down; That were some spite. My invocation Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name, I conjure only but to raise up him.

BENVOLIO. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees To be consorted with the humorous night. Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

MERCUTIO. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. O Romeo, that she were, O that she were An open-arse and thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed. This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep. Come, shall we go?

BENVOLIO. Go then; for ’tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. Capulet’s Garden.

Enter Romeo.

ROMEO. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

Juliet appears above at a window.

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! 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. Be not her maid since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it. 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 that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek.

JULIET. Ay me.

ROMEO. She speaks. O speak again bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being o’er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.

JULIET. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

ROMEO. [_Aside._] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

JULIET. ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O be some other name. What’s in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

ROMEO. I take thee at thy word. Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

JULIET. What man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night So stumblest on my counsel?

ROMEO. By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee. Had I it written, I would tear the word.

JULIET. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words Of thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

ROMEO. Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.

JULIET. How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

ROMEO. With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt: Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.

JULIET. If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

ROMEO. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.

JULIET. I would not for the world they saw thee here.

ROMEO. I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes, 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.

JULIET. By whose direction found’st thou out this place?

ROMEO. By love, that first did prompt me to enquire; He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea, I should adventure for such merchandise.

JULIET. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. 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 swear’st, Thou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries, They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully. Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won, I’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay, So thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light: But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware, My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

ROMEO. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—

JULIET. O swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

ROMEO. What shall I swear by?

JULIET. Do not swear at all. Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee.

ROMEO. If my heart’s dear love,—

JULIET. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight; It is too rash, too unadvis’d, 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 summer’s 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.

ROMEO. O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

JULIET. What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

ROMEO. Th’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.

JULIET. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; And yet I would it were to give again.

ROMEO. Would’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?

JULIET. But to be frank and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have; My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu. [_Nurse calls within._] Anon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.

[_Exit._]

ROMEO. O blessed, blessed night. I am afeard, Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering sweet to be substantial.

Enter Juliet above.

JULIET. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow, By one that I’ll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite, And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

NURSE. [_Within._] Madam.

JULIET. I come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee,—

NURSE. [_Within._] Madam.

JULIET. By and by I come— To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief. Tomorrow will I send.

ROMEO. So thrive my soul,—

JULIET. A thousand times good night.

[_Exit._]

ROMEO. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.

[_Retiring slowly._]

Re-enter Juliet, above.

JULIET. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice To lure this tassel-gentle back again. 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 With repetition of my Romeo’s name.

ROMEO. It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears.

JULIET. Romeo.

ROMEO. My nyas?

JULIET. What o’clock tomorrow Shall I send to thee?

ROMEO. By the hour of nine.

JULIET. I will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEO. Let me stand here till thou remember it.

JULIET. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company.

ROMEO. And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

JULIET. ’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone, And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird, That lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.

ROMEO. I would I were thy bird.

JULIET. Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

[_Exit._]

ROMEO. 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 Sire’s cell, His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.

[_Exit._]

SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.

Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s fiery wheels Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry, I must upfill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb; What is her burying grave, that is her womb: And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find. Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some, and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities. For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give; Nor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied, And vice sometime’s by action dignified.

Enter Romeo.

Within the infant rind of this weak 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; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

ROMEO. Good morrow, father.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper’d head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed. Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye, And where care lodges sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art uprous’d with some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.

ROMEO. That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. God pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?

ROMEO. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. That’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?

ROMEO. I’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me That’s by me wounded. Both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies. I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

ROMEO. Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet. As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combin’d, save what thou must combine By holy marriage. When, and where, and how We met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow, I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us today.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash’d 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 yet ring in mine ancient ears. Lo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet. If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.

ROMEO. Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

ROMEO. And bad’st me bury love.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Not in a grave To lay one in, another out to have.

ROMEO. I pray thee chide me not, her I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow. The other did not so.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell. But come young waverer, come go with me, In one respect I’ll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.

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

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

MERCUTIO. Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?

BENVOLIO. Not to his father’s; I spoke with his man.

MERCUTIO. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he will sure run mad.

BENVOLIO. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s house.

MERCUTIO. A challenge, on my life.

BENVOLIO. Romeo will answer it.

MERCUTIO. Any man that can write may answer a letter.

BENVOLIO. Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.

MERCUTIO. Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

BENVOLIO. Why, what is Tybalt?

MERCUTIO. More than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion. He rests 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 hay.

BENVOLIO. The what?

MERCUTIO. The pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners of accent. 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 pardon-me’s, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O their bones, their bones!

Enter Romeo.

BENVOLIO. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!

MERCUTIO. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O 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 berhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

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

MERCUTIO. The slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?

ROMEO. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

MERCUTIO. That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.

ROMEO. Meaning, to curtsy.

MERCUTIO. Thou hast most kindly hit it.

ROMEO. A most courteous exposition.

MERCUTIO. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

ROMEO. Pink for flower.

MERCUTIO. Right.

ROMEO. Why, then is my pump well flowered.