Part 171

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

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.

Enter Friar John.

FRIAR JOHN. Holy Franciscan Friar! Brother, ho!

Enter Friar Lawrence.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua. What says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

FRIAR JOHN. Going to find a barefoot brother out, One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth, So that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Who bare my letter then to Romeo?

FRIAR JOHN. I could not send it,—here it is again,— Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Unhappy fortune! By my brotherhood, The letter was not nice, but full of charge, Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence, Get me an iron crow and bring it straight Unto my cell.

FRIAR JOHN. Brother, I’ll go and bring it thee.

[_Exit._]

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Now must I to the monument alone. Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake. She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come. Poor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb.

[_Exit._]

SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.

Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.

PARIS. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof. Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew tree lay thee all along, Holding thy ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear’st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

PAGE. [_Aside._] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.

[_Retires._]

PARIS. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew. O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones, Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans. The obsequies that I for thee will keep, Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.

[_The Page whistles._]

The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way tonight, To cross my obsequies and true love’s rite? What, with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile.

[_Retires._]

Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, mattock, &c.

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

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

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

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

[_Retires_]

ROMEO. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[_Breaking open the door of the monument._]

And in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food.

PARIS. This is that banish’d haughty Montague That murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died,— And here is come to do some villainous shame To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.

[_Advances._]

Stop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague. Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee. Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.

ROMEO. I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head By urging me to fury. O be gone. By heaven I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm’d against myself. Stay not, be gone, live, and hereafter say, A madman’s mercy bid thee run away.

PARIS. I do defy thy conjuration, And apprehend thee for a felon here.

ROMEO. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!

[_They fight._]

PAGE. O lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

[_Exit._]

PARIS. O, I am slain! [_Falls._] If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

[_Dies._]

ROMEO. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet. Said he not so? Or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book. I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave. A grave? O no, a lantern, slaught’red youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.

[_Laying Paris in the monument._]

How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! Which their keepers call A lightning before death. O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love, my wife, Death that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquer’d. Beauty’s ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death’s pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous; And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I still will stay with thee, And never from this palace of dim night Depart again. Here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chambermaids. O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest; And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death. Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark. Here’s to my love! [_Drinks._] O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

[_Dies._]

Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a lantern, crow, and spade.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Saint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight Have my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there? Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?

BALTHASAR. Here’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Bliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern, It burneth in the Capels’ monument.

BALTHASAR. It doth so, holy sir, and there’s my master, One that you love.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Who is it?

BALTHASAR. Romeo.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. How long hath he been there?

BALTHASAR. Full half an hour.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Go with me to the vault.

BALTHASAR. I dare not, sir; My master knows not but I am gone hence, And fearfully did menace me with death If I did stay to look on his intents.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Stay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me. O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

BALTHASAR. As I did sleep under this yew tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. Romeo! [_Advances._] Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour’d by this place of peace?

[_Enters the monument._]

Romeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too? And steep’d in blood? Ah what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance? The lady stirs.

[_Juliet wakes and stirs._]

JULIET. O comfortable Friar, where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo?

[_Noise within._]

FRIAR LAWRENCE. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep. A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I’ll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns. Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. Come, go, good Juliet. I dare no longer stay.

JULIET. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.

[_Exit Friar Lawrence._]

What’s here? A cup clos’d in my true love’s hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. O churl. Drink all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips. Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative.

[_Kisses him._]

Thy lips are warm!

FIRST WATCH. [_Within._] Lead, boy. Which way?

JULIET. Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger.

[_Snatching Romeo’s dagger._]

This is thy sheath. [_stabs herself_] There rest, and let me die.

[_Falls on Romeo’s body and dies._]

Enter Watch with the Page of Paris.

PAGE. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.

FIRST WATCH. The ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard. Go, some of you, whoe’er you find attach.

[_Exeunt some of the Watch._]

Pitiful sight! Here lies the County slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain this two days buried. Go tell the Prince; run to the Capulets. Raise up the Montagues, some others search.

[_Exeunt others of the Watch._]

We see the ground whereon these woes do lie, But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry.

Re-enter some of the Watch with Balthasar.

SECOND WATCH. Here’s Romeo’s man. We found him in the churchyard.

FIRST WATCH. Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither.

Re-enter others of the Watch with Friar Lawrence.

THIRD WATCH. Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps. We took this mattock and this spade from him As he was coming from this churchyard side.

FIRST WATCH. A great suspicion. Stay the Friar too.

Enter the Prince and Attendants.

PRINCE. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning’s rest?

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and others.

CAPULET. What should it be that they so shriek abroad?

LADY CAPULET. O the people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris, and all run With open outcry toward our monument.

PRINCE. What fear is this which startles in our ears?

FIRST WATCH. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain, And Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill’d.

PRINCE. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.

FIRST WATCH. Here is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man, With instruments upon them fit to open These dead men’s tombs.

CAPULET. O heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague, And it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom.

LADY CAPULET. O me! This sight of death is as a bell That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

Enter Montague and others.

PRINCE. Come, Montague, for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down.

MONTAGUE. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight. Grief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath. What further woe conspires against mine age?

PRINCE. Look, and thou shalt see.

MONTAGUE. O thou untaught! What manners is in this, To press before thy father to a grave?

PRINCE. Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent, And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death. Meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me, of this direful murder. And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excus’d.

PRINCE. Then say at once what thou dost know in this.

FRIAR LAWRENCE. I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet, And she, there dead, that Romeo’s faithful wife. I married them; and their stol’n marriage day Was Tybalt’s doomsday, whose untimely death Banish’d the new-made bridegroom from this city; For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin’d. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth’d, and would have married her perforce To County Paris. Then comes she to me, And with wild looks, bid me devise some means To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutored by my art, A sleeping potion, which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo That he should hither come as this dire night To help to take her from her borrow’d grave, Being the time the potion’s force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay’d by accident; and yesternight Return’d my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking Came I to take her from her kindred’s vault, Meaning to keep her closely at my cell Till I conveniently could send to Romeo. But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth And bear this work of heaven with patience. But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her Nurse is privy. And if ought in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrific’d, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law.

PRINCE. We still have known thee for a holy man. Where’s Romeo’s man? What can he say to this?

BALTHASAR. I brought my master news of Juliet’s death, And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threaten’d me with death, going in the vault, If I departed not, and left him there.

PRINCE. Give me the letter, I will look on it. Where is the County’s Page that rais’d the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

PAGE. He came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave, And bid me stand aloof, and so I did. Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb, And by and by my master drew on him, And then I ran away to call the watch.

PRINCE. This letter doth make good the Friar’s words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death. And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor ’pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet, Montague, See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! And I, for winking at your discords too, Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punish’d.

CAPULET. O brother Montague, give me thy hand. This is my daughter’s jointure, for no more Can I demand.

MONTAGUE. But I can give thee more, For I will raise her statue in pure gold, That whiles Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet.

CAPULET. As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie, Poor sacrifices of our enmity.

PRINCE. A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun for sorrow will not show his head. Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things. Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished, For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

[_Exeunt._]

THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

Contents

INDUCTION Scene I. Before an alehouse on a heath. Scene II. A bedchamber in the Lord’s house.

ACT I Scene I. Padua. A public place. Scene II. Padua. Before Hortensio’s house.

ACT II Scene I. Padua. A room in Baptista’s house.

ACT III Scene I. Padua. A room in Baptista’s house. Scene II. The same. Before Baptista’s house.

ACT IV Scene I. A hall in Petruchio’s country house. Scene II. Padua. Before Baptista’s house. Scene III. A room in Petruchio’s house. Scene IV. Before Baptista’s house. Scene V. A public road.

ACT V Scene I. Padua. Before Lucentio’s house. Scene II. A room in Lucentio’s house.

Dramatis Personæ

Persons in the Induction A LORD CHRISTOPHER SLY, a tinker HOSTESS PAGE PLAYERS HUNTSMEN SERVANTS

BAPTISTA MINOLA, a rich gentleman of Padua VINCENTIO, an old gentleman of Pisa LUCENTIO, son to Vincentio; in love with Bianca PETRUCHIO, a gentleman of Verona; suitor to Katherina

Suitors to Bianca GREMIO HORTENSIO

Servants to Lucentio TRANIO BIONDELLO

Servants to Petruchio GRUMIO CURTIS

PEDANT, set up to personate Vincentio

Daughters to Baptista KATHERINA, the shrew BIANCA

WIDOW

Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on Baptista and Petruchio

SCENE: Sometimes in Padua, and sometimes in Petruchio’s house in the country.

INDUCTION

SCENE I. Before an alehouse on a heath.

Enter Hostess and Sly

SLY. I’ll pheeze you, in faith.

HOSTESS. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

SLY. Y’are a baggage; the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles: we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore, _paucas pallabris_; let the world slide. Sessa!

HOSTESS. You will not pay for the glasses you have burst?

SLY. No, not a denier. Go by, Saint Jeronimy, go to thy cold bed and warm thee.

HOSTESS. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough.

[_Exit_]

SLY. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I’ll answer him by law. I’ll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly.

[_Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep._]

Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with Huntsmen and Servants.

LORD. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds; Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss’d, And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth’d brach. Saw’st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. Why, Bellman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss, And twice today pick’d out the dullest scent; Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

LORD. Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well, and look unto them all; Tomorrow I intend to hunt again.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. I will, my lord.

LORD. [_Sees Sly_.] What’s here? One dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

SECOND HUNTSMAN. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm’d with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.

LORD. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey’d to bed, Wrapp’d in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Would not the beggar then forget himself?

FIRST HUNTSMAN. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose.

SECOND HUNTSMAN. It would seem strange unto him when he wak’d.

LORD. Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. Then take him up, and manage well the jest. Carry him gently to my fairest chamber, And hang it round with all my wanton pictures; Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters, And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet. Procure me music ready when he wakes, To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, And with a low submissive reverence Say ‘What is it your honour will command?’ Let one attend him with a silver basin Full of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers; Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, And say ‘Will’t please your lordship cool your hands?’ Someone be ready with a costly suit, And ask him what apparel he will wear; Another tell him of his hounds and horse, And that his lady mourns at his disease. Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; And, when he says he is—say that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty.

FIRST HUNTSMAN. My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, As he shall think by our true diligence, He is no less than what we say he is.

LORD. Take him up gently, and to bed with him, And each one to his office when he wakes.

[Sly _is borne out. A trumpet sounds._]

Sirrah, go see what trumpet ’tis that sounds.

[_Exit_ Servant.]

Belike some noble gentleman that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

Re-enter Servant.

How now! who is it?

SERVANT. An it please your honour, players That offer service to your lordship.

LORD. Bid them come near.

Enter Players.

Now, fellows, you are welcome.

PLAYERS. We thank your honour.

LORD. Do you intend to stay with me tonight?

PLAYER. So please your lordship to accept our duty.

LORD. With all my heart. This fellow I remember Since once he play’d a farmer’s eldest son; ’Twas where you woo’d the gentlewoman so well. I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted and naturally perform’d.

PLAYER. I think ’twas Soto that your honour means.

LORD. ’Tis very true; thou didst it excellent. Well, you are come to me in happy time, The rather for I have some sport in hand Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play tonight; But I am doubtful of your modesties, Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,— For yet his honour never heard a play,— You break into some merry passion And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile, he grows impatient.

PLAYER. Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antick in the world.

LORD. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome everyone: Let them want nothing that my house affords.

[_Exit one with the Players._]

Sirrah, go you to Barthol’mew my page, And see him dress’d in all suits like a lady; That done, conduct him to the drunkard’s chamber, And call him ‘madam,’ do him obeisance. Tell him from me—as he will win my love,— He bear himself with honourable action, Such as he hath observ’d in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished; Such duty to the drunkard let him do, With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, And say ‘What is’t your honour will command, Wherein your lady and your humble wife May show her duty and make known her love?’ And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy’d To see her noble lord restor’d to health, Who for this seven years hath esteemed him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar. And if the boy have not a woman’s gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift, Which, in a napkin being close convey’d, Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this dispatch’d with all the haste thou canst; Anon I’ll give thee more instructions.

[_Exit Servant._]