Act 5 — The most excellent Tragedie of Romeo and Iuliet.

Gregorie, of my word Ile carrie no coales. 2 No, for if you doo, you should be a Collier. 1 If I be in choler, Ile draw. 2 Euer while you liue, drawe your necke out of the the collar.5 1 I strike quickly being moou'd. 2 I, but you are not quickly moou'd to strike. 1 A Dog of the house of the Mountagues moues me. 2 To mooue is to stirre, and to bee valiant is to stand to it: therefore (of my word) if thou be mooud thou't 10 runne away. 1 There's not a man of them I meete, but Ile take the wall of. 2 That shewes thee a weakling, for the weakest goes to the wall. 15 1 Thats true, therefore Ile thrust the men from the wall, and thrust the maids to to the walls: nay, thou shalt see I am a tall peece of flesh. 2 Tis well thou art not fish, for if thou wert thou wouldst be but poore Iohn. 20 1 Ile play the tyrant, Ile first begin with the maids, & off with their heads. 2 The heads of the maids? 1 I the heades of their Maides, or the Maidenheades, take it in what sence thou wilt. 25 2 Nay let them take it in sence that feele it, but heere comes two of the Mountagues.

1 Nay feare not me I warrant thee. 2 I feare them no more than thee, but draw. 1 Nay let vs haue the law on our side, let them begin 30 first. Ile tell thee what Ile doo, as I goe by ile bite my thumbe, which is disgrace enough if they suffer it. 2 Content, goe thou by and bite thy thumbe, and ile come after and frowne. 1 Moun: Doo you bite your thumbe at vs? 35 1 I bite my thumbe. 2 Moun: I but i'st at vs? 1 I bite my thumbe, is the law on our side? 2 No. 1 I bite my thumbe. 40 1 Moun: I but i'st at vs? Enter Beneuolio. 2 Say I, here comes my Masters kinsman.

Prince: Rebellious subiects enemies to peace, On paine of torture, from those bloody handes Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground. 45 Three Ciuell brawles bred of an airie word, By the old Capulet and Mountague, Haue thrice disturbd the quiet of our streets. If euer you disturbe our streets againe, Your liues shall pay the ransome of your fault: 50 For this time euery man depart in peace. Come Capulet come you along with me, And Mountague, come you this after noone, To know our farther pleasure in this case, To old free Towne our common iudgement place, 55 Once more on paine of death each man depart. Exeunt. M: wife. Who set this auncient quarrel first abroach? Speake Nephew, were you by when it began? Benuo: Here were the seruants of your aduersaries, And yours close fighting ere I did approch. 60 Wife: Ah where is Romeo, saw you him to day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. Ben: Madame, an houre before the worshipt sunne Peept through the golden window of the East, A troubled thought drew me from companie: Where vnderneath the groue Sicamoure, That Westward rooteth from the Citties side, So early walking might I see your sonne. I drew towards him, but he was ware of me, And drew into the thicket of the wood: 70 I noting his affections by mine owne, That most are busied when th' are most alone, Pursued my honor, not pursuing his. Moun: Black and portentious must this honor proue, Vnlesse good counsaile doo the cause remooue. 75 Ben: Why tell me Vncle do you know the cause?

Moun: I neyther know it nor can learne of him. Ben: See where he is, but stand you both aside, Ile know his grieuance, or be much denied. Mount: I would thou wert so happie by thy stay 80 To heare true shrift. Come Madame lets away. Benuo: Good morrow Cosen. Romeo: Is the day so young? Ben: But new stroke nine. Romeo: Ay me, sad hopes seeme long. 85 Was that my Father that went hence so fast? Ben: It was, what sorrow lengthens Romeos houres? Rom: Not hauing that, which hauing makes them short. Ben: In loue. Ro: Out. 90 Ben: Of loue. Ro: Out of her fauor where I am in loue. Ben: Alas that loue so gentle in her view, Should be so tyrranous and rough in proofe. Ro: Alas that loue whose view is muffled still, 95 Should without lawes giue path-waies to our will: Where shall we dine? Gods me, what fray was here? Yet tell me not for I haue heard it all, Heres much to doe with hate, but more with loue. Why then, O brawling loue, O louing hate, 100 O anie thing, of nothing first create! O heauie lightnes serious vanitie! Mishapen Caos of best seeming thinges, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sicke health, Still waking sleepe, that is not what it is: 105 This loue feele I, which feele no loue in this. Doest thou not laugh? Ben: No Cose I rather weepe. Rom: Good hart at what? Ben: At thy good hearts oppression. 110 Ro: Why such is loues transgression, Griefes of mine owne lie heauie at my hart, Which thou wouldst propagate to haue them prest With more of thine, this griefe that thou hast showne, Doth ad more griefe to too much of mine owne: 115 Loue is a smoke raisde with the fume of sighes Being purgde, a fire sparkling in louers eyes: Being vext, a sea raging with a louers teares. What is it else? A madnes most discreet, A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet. Farewell Cose. 120 Ben: Nay Ile goe along. And if you hinder me you doo me wrong. Ro: Tut I haue lost my selfe I am not here, This is not Romeo, hee's some other where. Ben: Tell me in sadnes whome she is you loue? 125 Ro: What shall I grone and tell thee? Ben: Why no, but sadly tell me who. Ro: Bid a sickman in sadnes make his will. Ah word ill vrgde to one that is so ill. In sadnes Cosen I doo loue a woman. 130 Ben: I aimde so right, when as you said you lou'd. Ro: A right good mark-man, and shee's faire I loue. Ben: A right faire marke faire Cose is soonest hit. Ro: But in that hit you misse, shee'le not be hit With Cupids arrow, she hath Dianaes wit, 135 And in strong proofe of chastitie well arm'd: Gainst Cupids childish bow she liues vnharm'd, Shee'le not abide the siedge of louing tearmes, Nor ope her lap to Saint seducing gold, Ah she is rich in beautie, only poore, 140 That when she dies with beautie dies her store. Exeu.

Of honorable reckoning are they both, And pittie tis they liue at ods so long: But leauing that, what say you to my sute? Capu: What should I say more than I said before, My daughter is a stranger in the world, 5 Shee hath not yet attainde to fourteene yeares: Let two more sommers wither in their pride, Before she can be thought fit for a Bride. Paris: Younger than she are happie mothers made. Cap: But too soone marde are these so early maried: 10 But wooe her gentle Paris, get her heart, My word to her consent is but a part. This night I hold an old accustom'd Feast, Whereto I haue inuited many a guest, Such as I loue: yet you among the store, 15 One more most welcome makes the number more. At my poore house you shall behold this night, Earth treadding stars, that make darke heauen light: Such comfort as doo lusty youngmen feele, When well apparaild Aprill on the heele 20 Of lumping winter treads, euen such delights Amongst fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house, heare all, all see, And like her most, whose merite most shalbe. Such amongst view of many myne beeing one, 25 May stand in number though in reckoning none.

Where are you sirra, goe trudge about Through faire Verona streets, and seeke them out: Whose names are written here and to them say, My house and welcome at their pleasure stay. Exeunt. 30 Ser: Seeke them out whose names are written here, and yet I knowe not who are written here: I must to the learned to learne of them, that's as much to say, as the Taylor must meddle with his Laste, the Shoomaker with his needle, the Painter with his nets, and the Fisher 35 with his Pensill, I must to the learned.

Ben: Tut man one fire burnes out anothers burning, One paine is lessned with anothers anguish: Turne backward, and be holp with backward turning. One desperate griefe cures with anothers languish. 40 Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the ranke poyson of the old will die. Romeo: Your Planton leafe is excellent for that. Ben: For what? Romeo: For your broken shin. 45 Ben: Why Romeo art thou mad? Rom: Not mad, but bound more than a mad man is. Shut vp in prison, kept without my foode, Whipt and tormented, and Godden good fellow. Ser: Godgigoden, I pray sir can you read? 50 Rom: I mine owne fortune in my miserie. Ser: Perhaps you haue learned it without booke: but I pray can you read any thing you see? Rom: I if I know the letters and the language. Seru: Yee say honestly, rest you merrie. 55 Rom: Stay fellow I can read.

Seigneur Martino and his wife and daughters, Countie Anselme and his beauteous sisters, the Ladie widdow of Vtruuio, Seigneur Placentio, and his louelie Neeces, Mercutio and his brother Valentine, mine vncle Capulet60 his wife and daughters, my faire Neece Rosaline and Liuia, Seigneur Valentio and his Cosen Tibalt, Lucio and the liuelie Hellena. A faire assembly, whether should they come? Ser: Vp. 65 Ro: Whether to supper? Ser: To our house. Ro: Whose house? Ser: My Masters. Ro: Indeed I should haue askt thee that before. 70 Ser: Now il'e tel you without asking. My Master is the great rich Capulet, and if you be not of the house of Mountagues, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merrie. Ben: At this same auncient feast of Capulets, 75 Sups the faire Rosaline whom thou so loues: With all the admired beauties of Verona, Goe thither and with vnattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall shew, And I will make thee thinke thy swan a crow. 80 Ro: When the deuout religion of mine eye Maintaines such falshood, then turne teares to fire, And these who often drownde could neuer die, Transparent Heretiques be burnt for liers. One fairer than my loue, the all seeing sonne 85 Nere saw her match, since first the world begun. Ben: Tut you saw her faire none els being by, Her selfe poysd with her selfe in either eye: But in that Cristall scales let there be waide, Your Ladyes loue, against some other maide 90 That I will shew you shining at this feast, And she shall scant shew well that now seemes best. Rom: Ile goe along no such sight to be showne, But to reioyce in splendor of mine owne.

Wife: Nurce wher's my daughter call her forth to mee. Nurce: Now by my maiden head at twelue yeare old I bad her come, what Lamb, what Ladie bird, God forbid. Wher's this girle? what Iuliet. Enter Iuliet. 5 Iuliet: How now who cals? Nurce: Your Mother. Iul: Madame I am here, what is your will? W: This is the matter. Nurse giue leaue a while, we must talke in secret. Nurce come back again I haue remembred 10 me, thou'se heare our counsaile. Thou knowest my daughters of a prettie age. Nurce: Faith I can tell her age vnto a houre. Wife: Shee's not fourteene. Nurce: I'll lay fourteene of my teeth, and yet to my 15 teene be it spoken, I haue but foure, shee's not fourteene. How long is it now to Lammas-tide? Wife: A fortnight and odde dayes. Nurce: Euen or odde, of all dayes in the yeare come Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene. Susan and she20 God rest all Christian soules were of an age. Well Susan is with God, she was too good for me: But as I said on Lammas Eue at night shall she be fourteene, that shall shee marie I remember it well. Tis since the Earth-quake nowe eleauen yeares, and she was weand I neuer shall forget it, of 25 all the daies of the yeare vpon that day: for I had then laid wormewood to my dug, sitting in the sun vnder the Doue-house wall. My Lord and you were then at Mantua, nay I do beare a braine: But as I said, when it did tast the wormwood on the nipple of my dug, & felt it bitter, pretty foole 30 to see it teachie and fall out with Dugge. Shake quoth the Doue-house twas no need I trow to bid me trudge, and since that time it is a leauen yeare: for then could Iuliet stande high lone, nay by the Roode, shee could haue wadled vp and downe, for euen the day before shee brake her brow, and then 35 my husband God be with his soule, hee was a merrie man: Dost thou fall forward Iuliet? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit: wilt thou not Iuliet? and by my hollidam, the pretty foole left crying and said I. To see how a ieast shall come about, I warrant you if I should liue a hundred40 yeare, I neuer should forget it, wilt thou not Iuliet? and by my troth she stinted and cried I. Iuliet: And stint thou too, I prethee Nurce say I. Nurce: Well goe thy waies, God marke thee for his grace, thou wert the prettiest Babe that euer I nurst, might 45 I but liue to see thee married once, I haue my wish. Wife: And that same marriage Nurce, is the Theame I meant to talke of: Tell me Iuliet, howe stand you affected to be married? Iul: It is an honor that I dreame not off. 50 Nurce: An honor! were not I thy onely Nurce, I would say thou hadst suckt wisedome from thy Teat. Wife: Well girle, the Noble Countie Paris seekes thee for his Wife. Nurce: A man young Ladie, Ladie such a man as all 55 the world, why he is a man of waxe. Wife: Veronaes Summer hath not such a flower. Nurce: Nay he is a flower, in faith a very flower. Wife: Well Iuliet, how like you of Paris loue. Iuliet: Ile looke to like, if looking liking moue, 60 But no more deepe will I engage mine eye, Then your consent giues strength to make it flie.

Clowne: Maddam you are cald for, supper is readie, the Nurce curst in the Pantrie, all thinges in extreamitie, make hast for I must be gone to waite. 65

Ro: What shall this speech bee spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without Apologie. Benuoleo: The date is out of such prolixitie, Weele haue no Cupid hudwinckt with a Scarfe, Bearing a Tartars painted bow of lath, 5 Scaring the Ladies like a crow-keeper: Nor no withoutbooke Prologue faintly spoke After the Prompter, for our entrance. But let them measure vs by what they will, Weele measure them a measure and be gone. 10 Rom: A torch for me I am not for this aumbling, Being but heauie I will beare the light. Mer: Beleeue me Romeo I must haue you daunce. Rom: Not I beleeue me you haue dancing shooes With nimble soles, I haue a soule of lead 15 So stakes me to the ground I cannot stirre. Mer: Giue me a case to put my visage in, A visor for a visor, what care I What curious eye doth coate deformitie. Rom: Giue me a Torch, let wantons light of hart 20 Tickle the senceles rushes with their heeles: For I am prouerbd with a Grandsire phrase, Ile be a candleholder and looke on, The game was nere so faire and I am done. Mer: Tut dun's the mouse, the Cunstables old word, 25 If thou beest Dun, weele draw thee from the mire Of this surreuerence loue wherein thou stickst. Leaue this talke, we burne day light here. Rom: Nay thats not so. Mer: I meane sir in delay, We burne our lights by night, like Lampes by day, 30 Take our good meaning for our iudgement sits Three times a day, ere once in her right wits. Rom: So we meane well by going to this maske: But tis no wit to goe. Mer: Why Romeo may one aske? 35 Rom: I dreamt a dreame to night. Mer: And so did I. Rom: Why what was yours? Mer: That dreamers often lie. Rom: In bed a sleepe while they doe dreame things true. Mer: Ah then I see Queene Mab hath bin with you. 40 Ben: Queene Mab whats she? She is the Fairies Midwife and doth come In shape no bigger than an Aggat stone On the forefinger of a Burgomaster, Drawne with a teeme of little Atomi, 45 A thwart mens noses when they lie a sleepe. Her waggon spokes are made of spinners webs, The couer, of the winges of Grashoppers, The traces are the Moone-shine watrie beames, The collers crickets bones, the lash of filmes, 50 Her waggoner is a small gray coated flie, Not halfe so big as is a little worme, Pickt from the lasie finger of a maide, And in this sort she gallops vp and downe Through Louers braines, and then they dream of loue: 55 O're Courtiers knees: who strait on cursies dreame O're Ladies lips, who dreame on kisses strait: Which oft the angrie Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breathes with sweet meats tainted are: Sometimes she gallops ore a Lawers lap, 60 And then dreames he of smelling out a sute, And sometime comes she with a tithe pigs taile, Tickling a Parsons nose that lies a sleepe, And then dreames he of another benefice: Sometime she gallops ore a souldiers nose, 65 And then dreames he of cutting forraine throats, Of breaches ambuscados, countermines, Of healthes fiue fadome deepe, and then anon Drums in his eare: at which he startes and wakes, And sweares a Praier or two and sleepes againe. 70 This is that Mab that makes maids lie on their backes, And proues them women of good cariage. This is the verie Mab that plats the manes of Horses in the night, And plats the Elfelocks in foule sluttish haire, Which once vntangled much misfortune breedes. 75 Rom: Peace, peace, thou talkst of nothing. Mer: True I talke of dreames, Which are the Children of an idle braine, Begot of nothing but vaine fantasie, Which is as thinne a substance as the aire, 80 And more inconstant than the winde, Which wooes euen now the frosē bowels of the north, And being angred puffes away in haste, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. Ben: Come, come, this winde doth blow vs from ourselues. 85 Supper is done and we shall come too late. Ro: I feare too earlie, for my minde misgiues Some consequence is hanging in the stars, Which bitterly begins his fearefull date With this nights reuels, and expiers the terme 90 Of a dispised life, closde in this breast, By some vntimelie forfet of vile death: But he that hath the steerage of my course Directs my saile, on lustie Gentlemen.

Capu: Welcome Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen, Ladies that haue their toes vnplagud with Corns Will haue about with you, ah ha my Mistresses, Which of you all will now refuse to dance? Shee that makes daintie, shee Ile sweare hath Corns. 5 Am I come neere you now, welcome Gentlemen, welcome, More lights you knaues, & turn these tables vp, And quench the fire the roome is growne too hote. Ah sirra, this vnlookt for sport comes well, Nay sit, nay sit, good Cosen Capulet: 10 For you and I are past our standing dayes, How long is it since you and I were in a Maske? Cos: By Ladie sir tis thirtie yeares at least. Cap: Tis not so much, tis not so much. Tis since the mariage of Lucentio, 15 Come Pentecost as quicklie as it will, Some fiue and twentie yeares, and then we maskt. Cos: Tis more, tis more, his sonne is elder far. Cap: Will you tell me that it cannot be so, His sonne was but a Ward three yeares agoe, Good youths I faith. Oh youth's a iolly thing. Rom: What Ladie is that that doth inrich the hand Of yonder Knight? O shee doth teach the torches to burne bright! It seemes she hangs vpon the cheeke of night, Like a rich iewell in an Aethiops eare, 25 Beautie too rich for vse, for earth too deare: So shines a snow-white Swan trouping with Crowes, As this faire Ladie ouer her fellowes showes. The measure done, ile watch her place of stand, And touching hers, make happie my rude hand. 30 Did my heart loue till now? Forsweare it sight, I neuer saw true beautie till this night. Tib: This by his voice should be a Mountague, Fetch me my rapier boy. What dares the slaue Come hither couer'd with an Anticke face, 35 To scorne and ieere at our solemnitie? Now by the stocke and honor of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it for no sin. Ca: Why how now cosen, wherfore storme you so. Ti: Vncle this is a Mountague our foe, 40 A villaine that is hether come in spight, To mocke at our solemnitie this night. Ca: Young Romeo, is it not? Ti: It is that villaine Romeo. Ca: Let him alone, he beares him like a portly gentleman, 45 And to speake truth, Verona brags of him, As of a vertuous and well gouern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all this towne, Here in my house doo him disparagement: Therefore be quiet take no note of him, 50 Beare a faire presence, and put off these frownes, An ill beseeming semblance for a feast. Ti: It fits when such a villaine is a guest, Ile not indure him. Ca: He shalbe indured, goe to I say, he shall. 55 Am I the Master of the house or you? You'le not indure him? God shall mend my soule You'le make a mutenie amongst my guests. You'le set Cocke a hoope, you'le be the man. Ti: Vncle tis a shame. 60 Ca: Goe too, you are a saucie knaue. This tricke will scath you one day I know what. Well said my hartes. Be quiet: More light Ye knaue, or I will make you quiet. Tibalt: Patience perforce with wilfull choller meeting, 65 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greetings: I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet, conuert to bitter gall. Rom: If I prophane with my vnworthie hand, This holie shrine, the gentle sinne is this: 70 My lips two blushing Pilgrims ready stand, To smooth the rough touch with a gentle kisse. Iuli: Good Pilgrime you doe wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly deuotion shewes in this: For Saints haue hands which holy Palmers touch, 75 And Palme to Palme is holy Palmers kisse. Rom: Haue not Saints lips, and holy Palmers too? Iuli: Yes Pilgrime lips that they must vse in praier. Ro: Why then faire saint, let lips do what hands doo, They pray, yeeld thou, least faith turne to dispaire. 80 Iu: Saints doe not mooue though: grant nor praier forsake. Ro: Then mooue not till my praiers effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours my sin is purgde. Iu: Then haue my lips the sin that they haue tooke. Ro: Sinne from my lips, O trespasse sweetly vrgde! 85 Giue me my sinne againe. Iu: You kisse by the booke. Nurse: Madame your mother calles. Rom: What is her mother? Nurse: Marrie Batcheler her mother is the Ladie of the 90 house, and a good Lady, and a wise, and a vertuous. I nurst her daughter that you talkt withall, I tell you, he that can lay hold of her shall haue the chinkes. Rom: Is she a Mountague? Oh deare account, My life is my foes thrall. 95 Ca: Nay gentlemen prepare not to be gone, We haue a trifling foolish banquet towards.

I pray you let me intreat you. Is it so? Well then I thanke you honest Gentlemen, I promise you but for your company, 100 I would haue bin a bed an houre agoe: Light to my chamber hoe. Exeunt. Iul: Nurse, what is yonder Gentleman? Nur: The sonne and heire of old Tiberio. Iul: Whats he that now is going out of dore? 105 Nur: That as I thinke is yong Petruchio. Iul: Whats he that followes there that would not dance? Nur: I know not. Iul: Goe learne his name, if he be maried, My graue is like to be my wedding bed. 110 Nur: His name is Romeo and a Mountague, the onely sonne of your great enemie. Iul: My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate, Too early seene vnknowne, and knowne too late: Prodigious birth of loue is this to me, 115 That I should loue a loathed enemie. Nurse: Whats this? whats that? Iul: Nothing Nurse but a rime I learnt euen now of oue I dancst with. Nurse: Come your mother staies for you, Ile goe a long with you. Exeunt.

Ro: Shall I goe forward and my heart is here? Turne backe dull earth and finde thy Center out.

Ben: Romeo, my cosen Romeo. Mer: Doest thou heare he is wise, Vpon my life he hath stolne him home to bed. 5 Ben: He came this way, and leapt this Orchard wall. Call good Mercutio. Mer: Call, nay Ile coniure too. Romeo, madman, humors, passion, liuer, appeare thou in likenes of a sigh: speek but one rime & I am satisfied, cry 10 but ay me. Pronounce but Loue and Doue, speake to my gossip Venus one faire word, one nickname for her purblinde sonne and heire young Abraham: Cupid hee that shot so trim when young King Cophetua loued the begger wench. Hee heares me not. I coniure thee by 15 Rosalindes bright eye, high forehead, and scarlet lip, her prettie foote, straight leg, and quiuering thigh, and the demaines that there adiacent lie, that in thy likenesse thou appeare to vs. Ben: If he doe heare thee thou wilt anger him. 20 Mer: Tut this cannot anger him, marrie if one shuld raise a spirit in his Mistris circle of some strange fashion, making it there to stand till she had laid it, and coniurde it downe, that were some spite. My inuocation is faire and honest, and in his Mistris name I coniure onely but 25 to raise vp him. Ben: Well he hath hid himselfe amongst those trees, To be consorted with the humerous night, Blinde in his loue, and best befits the darke. Mer: If loue be blind, loue will not hit the marke, 30 Now will he sit vnder a Medler tree, And wish his Mistris were that kinde of fruite, As maides call Medlers when they laugh alone. Ah Romeo that she were, ah that she were An open Et cætera, thou a poprin Peare. 35 Romeo God night, il'e to my trundle bed: This field bed is too cold for mee. Come lets away, for tis but vaine, To seeke him here that meanes not to be found. Ro: He iests at scars that neuer felt a wound: 40 But soft, what light forth yonder window breakes? It is the East, and Iuliet is the Sunne, Arise faire Sunne, and kill the enuious Moone That is alreadie sicke, and pale with griefe: That thou her maid, art far more faire than she. 45 Be not her maide since she is enuious, Her vestall liuerie is but pale and greene, And none but fooles doe weare it, cast it off. She speakes, but she sayes nothing. What of that? Her eye discourseth, I will answere it. 50 I am too bold, tis not to me she speakes, Two of the fairest starres in all the skies, Hauing some busines, doe entreat her eyes To twinckle in their spheares till they returne. What if her eyes were there, they in her head, 55 The brightnes of her cheekes would shame those stars: As day-light doth a Lampe, her eyes in heauen, Would through the airie region streame so bright, That birdes would sing, and thinke it were not night. Oh now she leanes her cheekes vpon her hand, 60 I would I were the gloue to that same hand, That I might kisse that cheeke. Iul: Ay me. Rom: She speakes, Oh speake againe bright Angell: For thou art as glorious to this night beeing ouer my head, 65 As is a winged messenger of heauen Vnto the white vpturned woondring eyes, Of mortals that fall backe to gaze on him, When he bestrides the lasie pacing cloudes, And sailes vpon the bosome of the aire. 70 Iul: Ah Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Denie thy Father, and refuse thy name, Or if thou wilt not be but sworne my loue, And il'e no longer be a Capulet. Rom: Shall I heare more, or shall I speake to this? 75 Iul: Tis but thy name that is mine enemie. Whats Mountague? It is nor hand nor foote, Nor arme, nor face, nor any other part. Whats in a name? That which we call a Rose, By any other name would smell as sweet: 80 So Romeo would, were he not Romeo cald, Retaine the diuine perfection he owes: Without that title Romeo part thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all I haue. 85 Rom: I take thee at thy word, Call me but loue, and il'e be new Baptisde, Henceforth I neuer will be Romeo. Iu: What man art thou, that thus beskrind in night, Doest stumble on my counsaile? 90 Ro: By a name I know not how to tell thee. My name deare Saint is hatefull to my selfe, Because it is an enemie to thee. Had I it written I would teare the word. Iul: My eares haue not yet drunk a hundred words 95 Of that tongues vtterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Mountague? Ro: Neyther faire Saint, if eyther thee displease. Iu: How camst thou hether, tell me and wherfore? The Orchard walles are high and hard to clime, 100 And the place death considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen finde thee here. Ro: By loues light winges did I oreperch these wals, For stonie limits cannot hold loue out, And what loue can doo, that dares loue attempt, 105 Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. Iul: If they doe finde thee they will murder thee. Ro: Alas there lies more perrill in thine eyes, Then twentie of their swords, looke thou but sweete, And I am proofe against their enmitie. 110 Iul: I would not for the world they shuld find thee here. Ro: I haue nights cloak to hide thee from their sight, And but thou loue me let them finde me here: For life were better ended by their hate, Than death proroged wanting of thy loue. 115 Iul: By whose directions foundst thou out this place. Ro: By loue, who first did prompt me to enquire, I he gaue me counsaile and I lent him eyes. I am no Pilot: yet wert thou as farre As that vast shore, washt with the furthest sea, 120 I would aduenture for such Marchandise. Iul: Thou knowst the maske of night is on my face, Els would a Maiden blush bepaint my cheeks: For that which thou haste heard me speake to night, Faine would I dwell on forme, faine faine denie, 125 What I haue spoke: but farewell complements. Doest thou loue me? Nay I know thou wilt say I, And I will take thy word: but if thou swearst, Thou maiest proue false: At Louers periuries they say Ioue smiles. 130 Ah gentle Romeo, if thou loue pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou thinke I am too easely wonne, Il'e frowne and say thee nay and be peruerse, So thou wilt wooe: but els not for the world, In truth faire Mountague, I am too fond, 135 And therefore thou maiest thinke my hauiour light: But trust me gentleman Ile proue more true, Than they that haue more cunning to be strange. I should haue bin strange I must confesse, But that thou ouer-heardst ere I was ware 140 My true loues Passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yeelding to light loue, Which the darke night hath so discouered. Ro: By yonder blessed Moone I sweare, That tips with siluer all these fruit trees tops. 145 Iul: O sweare not by the Moone the vnconstant Moone, That monthlie changeth in her circled orbe, Least that thy loue proue likewise variable. Ro: Now by Iul: Nay doo not sweare at all, 150 Or if thou sweare, sweare by thy glorious selfe, Which art the God of my Idolatrie, And il'e beleeue thee. Ro: If my true harts loue Iul: Sweare not at al, though I doo ioy in thee, 155 I haue small ioy in this contract to night, It is too rash, too sodaine, too vnaduisde, Too like the lightning that doth cease to bee Ere one can say it lightens. I heare some comming, Deare loue adew, sweet Mountague be true, 160 Stay but a little and il'e come againe. Ro: O blessed blessed night, I feare being night, All this is but a dreame I heare and see, Too flattering true to be substantiall. Iul: Three wordes good Romeo and good night indeed. 165 If that thy bent of loue be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to morrow By one that il'e procure to come to thee: Where and what time thou wilt performe that right, And al my fortunes at thy foote il'e lay, 170 And follow thee my Lord through out the world. Ro: Loue goes toward loue like schoole boyes from their bookes, But loue from loue, to schoole with heauie lookes. Iul: Romeo, Romeo, O for a falkners voice, To lure this Tassell gentle backe againe: 175 Bondage is hoarse and may not crie aloud, Els would I teare the Caue where Eccho lies And make her airie voice as hoarse as mine, With repetition of my Romeos name. Romeo? 180 Ro: It is my soule that calles vpon my name, How siluer sweet sound louers tongues in night. Iul: Romeo? Ro: Madame. Iul: At what a clocke to morrow shall I send? 185 Ro: At the houre of nine. Iul: I will not faile, tis twentie yeares till then. Romeo I haue forgot why I did call thee backe. Rom: Let me stay here till you remember it. Iul: I shall forget to haue thee still staie here, 190 Remembring how I loue thy companie. Rom: And il'e stay still to haue thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. Iu: Tis almost morning I would haue thee gone, But yet no further then a wantons bird, 195 Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a pore prisoner in his twisted giues, And with a silke thred puls it backe againe, Too louing iealous of his libertie. Ro: Would I were thy bird. 200 Iul: Sweet so would I, Yet I should kill thee with much cherrishing thee. Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. Rom: Sleepe dwell vpon thine eyes, peace on thy breast, 205 I would that I were sleep and peace of sweet to rest. Now will I to my Ghostly fathers Cell, His help to craue, and my good hap to tell.

Frier: The gray ey'd morne smiles on the frowning night, Checkring the Easterne clouds with streakes of light, And flecked darkenes like a drunkard reeles, From forth daies path, and Titans fierie wheeles: Now ere the Sunne aduance his burning eye, 5 The world to cheare, and nights darke dew to drie. We must vp fill this oasier Cage of ours, With balefull weeds, and precious iuyced flowers. Oh mickle is the powerfull grace that lies In hearbes, plants, stones, and their true qualities: 10 For nought so vile, that vile on earth doth liue, But to the earth some speciall good doth giue: Nor nought so good, but straind from that faire use, Reuolts to vice and stumbles on abuse: Vertue it selfe turnes vice being misapplied, 15 And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rinde of this small flower, Poyson hath residence, and medecine power: For this being smelt too, with that part cheares ech hart, Being tasted slaies all sences with the hart. 20 Two such opposed foes incampe them still, In man as well as herbes, grace and rude will, And where the worser is predominant, Full soone the canker death eats vp that plant. Rom: Good morrow to my Ghostly Confessor. 25 Fri: Benedicite, what earlie tongue so soone saluteth me? Yong sonne it argues a distempered head, So soone to bid good morrow to my bed. Care keepes his watch in euerie old mans eye, And where care lodgeth, sleep can neuer lie: 30 But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braines Doth couch his limmes, there golden sleepe remaines: Therefore thy earlines doth me assure, Thou art vprows'd by some distemperature. Or if not so, then here I hit it right 35 Our Romeo hath not bin a bed to night. Ro: The last was true, the sweeter rest was mine. Fr: God pardon sin, wert thou with Rosaline? Ro: With Rosaline my Ghostly father no, I haue forgot that name, and that names woe. 40 Fri: Thats my good sonne: but where hast thou bin then? Ro: I tell thee ere thou aske it me againe, I haue bin feasting with mine enemie: Where on the sodaine one hath wounded mee Thats by me wounded, both our remedies With in thy help and holy phisicke lies, I beare no hatred blessed man: for loe My intercession likewise steades my foe. Frier: Be plaine my sonne and homely in thy drift, Ridling confession findes but ridling shrift. 50 Rom: Then plainely know my harts deare loue is set On the faire daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers likewise on mine, And all combind, saue what thou must combine By holy marriage: where, and when, and how, 55 We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vowes, Il'e tell thee as I passe: But this I pray, That thou consent to marrie vs to day. Fri: Holy S. Francis, what a change is here? Is Rosaline whome thou didst loue so deare 60 So soone forsooke, lo yong mens loue then lies Not truelie in their harts, but in their eyes. Iesu Maria, what a deale of brine Hath washt thy sallow cheekes for Rosaline? How much salt water cast away in waste, 65 To season loue, that of loue doth not taste. The sunne not yet thy sighes from heauen cleares, Thy old grones ring yet in my ancient eares, And loe vpon thy cheeke the staine doth sit, Of an old teare that is not washt off yet. 70 If euer thou wert thus, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art thou changde, pronounce this sentence then Women may fal, when ther's no strength in men. Rom: Thou chidst me oft for louing Rosaline. 75 Fr: For doating, not for louing, pupill mine. Rom: And badst me burie loue. Fr: Not in a graue, To lay one in another out to haue. Rom: I pree thee chide not, she whom I loue now 80 Doth grace for grace, and loue for loue allow: The other did not so. Fr: Oh she knew well Thy loue did read by rote, and could not spell. But come young Wauerer, come goe with mee, 85 In one respect Ile thy assistant bee: For this alliaunce may so happie proue, To turne your Housholds rancour to pure loue. Exeunt.

Mer: Why whats become of Romeo? came he not home to night? Ben: Not to his Fathers, I spake with his man. Mer: Ah that same pale hard hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. Mer: Tybalt the Kinsman of olde Capolet 5 Hath sent a Letter to his Fathers House: Some Challenge on my life. Ben: Romeo will answere it. Mer: I, anie man that can write may answere a letter. Ben: Nay, he will answere the letters master if hee bee challenged.10 Mer: Who, Romeo? why he is alreadie dead: stabd with a white wenches blacke eye, shot thorough the eare with a loue song, the verie pinne of his heart cleft with the blinde bow-boyes but-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? 15 Ben: Why what is Tybalt? Mer: More than the prince of cattes I can tell you. Oh he is the couragious captaine of complements. Catso, he fightes as you sing pricke-song, keepes time dystance and proportion, rests me his minum rest one two and the thirde 20 in your bosome, the very butcher of a silken button, a Duellist a Duellist, a gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause, ah the immortall Passado, the Punto reuerso, the Hay. Ben: The what? 25 Me: The Poxe of such limping antique affecting fantasticoes these new tuners of accents. By Iesu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whoore. Why graundsir is not this a miserable case that we should be stil afflicted with these strange flies: these fashionmongers, these pardonmees, 30 that stand so much on the new forme, that they cannot sitte at ease on the old bench. Oh their bones, theyr bones. Ben. Heere comes Romeo. Mer: Without his Roe, like a dryed Hering. O flesh flesh 35 how art thou fishified. Sirra now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowdin: Laura to his Lady was but a kitchin drudg, yet she had a better loue to berime her: Dido a dowdy Cleopatra a Gypsie, Hero and Hellen hildings and harletries: Thisbie a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior 40 Romeo bon iour, there is a French curtesie to your French slop: yee gaue vs the counterfeit fairely yesternight. Rom: What counterfeit I pray you? Me: The slip the slip, can you not conceiue? Rom: I cry you mercy my busines was great, and in such 45 a case as mine, a man may straine curtesie. Mer: Oh thats as much to say as such a case as yours wil constraine a man to bow in the hams. Rom: A most curteous exposition. Me: Why I am the very pinke of curtesie. 50 Rom: Pinke for flower? Mer: Right. Rom: Then is my Pumpe well flour'd: Mer: Well said, follow me nowe that iest till thou hast worne out thy Pumpe, that when the single sole of it is worn 55 the iest may remaine after the wearing solie singuler. Rom: O single soald iest solie singuler for the singlenes. Me: Come between vs good Benuolio, for my wits faile. Rom: Swits and spurres, swits & spurres, or Ile cry a match. Mer: Nay if thy wits runne the wildgoose chase, I haue 60 done: for I am sure thou hast more of the goose in one of thy wits, than I haue in all my fiue: Was I with you there for the goose? Rom: Thou wert neuer with me for any thing, when thou wert not with me for the goose. 65 Me: Ile bite thee by the eare for that iest. Rom: Nay good goose bite not. Mer: Why thy wit is a bitter sweeting, a most sharp sauce Rom: And was it not well seru'd in to a sweet goose? Mer: Oh heere is a witte of Cheuerell that stretcheth 70 from an ynch narrow to an ell broad. Rom: I stretcht it out for the word broad, which added to the goose, proues thee faire and wide a broad goose. Mer: Why is not this better now than groning for loue? why now art thou sociable, now art thou thy selfe, nowe art 75 thou what thou art, as wel by arte as nature. This driueling loue is like a great naturall, that runs vp and downe to hide his bable in a hole. Ben: Stop there. Me: Why thou wouldst haue me stopp my tale against 80 the haire. Ben: Thou wouldst haue made thy tale too long? Mer: Tut man thou art deceiued, I meant to make it short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tale? and meant indeed to occupie the argument no longer. 85 Rom: Heers goodly geare.

Mer: A saile, a saile, a saile. Ben: Two, two, a shirt and a smocke. Nur: Peter, pree thee giue me my fan. Mer: Pree thee doo good Peter, to hide her face: for 90 her fanne is the fairer of the two. Nur: God ye goodmorrow Gentlemen. Mer: God ye good den faire Gentlewoman. Nur: Is it godyegooden I pray you. Mer: Tis no lesse I assure you, for the baudie hand of 95 the diall is euen now vpon the pricke of noone. Nur: Fie, what a man is this? Rom: A Gentleman Nurse, that God hath made for himselfe to marre. Nur: By my troth well said: for himselfe to marre 100 quoth he? I pray you can anie of you tell where one maie finde yong Romeo? Rom: I can: but yong Romeo will bee elder when you haue found him, than he was when you sought him. I am the yongest of that name for fault of a worse. 105 Nur: Well said. Mer: Yea, is the worst well? mas well noted, wisely, wisely. Nu: If you be he sir, I desire some conference with ye. Ben: O, belike she meanes to inuite him to supper. 110 Mer: So ho. A baud, a baud, a baud. Rom: Why what hast found man? Mer: No hare sir, vnlesse it be a hare in a lenten pye, that is somewhat stale and hoare ere it be eaten.

And an olde hare hore, and an olde hare hore 115 is verie good meate in Lent: But a hare thats hoare is too much for a score, if it hore ere it be spent. Youl come to your fathers to supper? Rom: I will. 120 Mer: Farewell ancient Ladie, farewell sweete Ladie.

Nur: Marry farewell. Pray what saucie merchant was this that was so full of his roperipe? Rom: A gentleman Nurse that loues to heare himselfe talke, and will speake more in an houre than hee will stand to in a month. 125 Nur: If he stand to anie thing against mee, Ile take him downe if he were lustier than he is: if I cannot take him downe, Ile finde them that shall: I am none of his flurtgills, I am none of his skaines mates. 130

And thou like a knaue must stand by, and see euery Iacke vse me at his pleasure. Pet: I see no bodie vse you at his pleasure, if I had, I would soone haue drawen: you know my toole is as soone out as anothers if I see time and place. 135 Nur: Now afore God he hath so vext me, that euerie member about me quiuers: scuruie Iacke. But as I said, my Ladie bad me seeke ye out, and what shee bad me tell yee, that Ile keepe to my selfe: but if you should lead her into a fooles paradice as they saye, it were a verie grosse kinde of 140 behauiour as they say, for the Gentlewoman is yong. Now if you should deale doubly with her, it were verie weake dealing, and not to be offered to anie Gentlewoman. Rom: Nurse, commend me to thy Ladie, tell her I protest. 145 Nur: Good heart: yfaith Ile tell her so: oh she will be a ioyfull woman. Rom: Why, what wilt thou tell her? Nur: That you doo protest: which (as I take it) is a Gentlemanlike proffer. 150 Rom: Bid her get leaue to morrow morning To come to shrift to Frier Laurence cell: And stay thou Nurse behinde the Abbey wall, My man shall come to thee, and bring along The cordes, made like a tackled staire, 155 Which to the high top-gallant of my ioy Must be my conduct in the secret night. Hold, take that for thy paines. Nur: No, not a penie truly. Rom: I say you shall not chuse. 160 Nur: Well, to morrow morning she shall not faile. Rom: Farewell, be trustie, and Ile quite thy paine. Exit. Nur: Peter, take my fanne, and goe before. Ex. omnes.

Jul: The clocke stroke nine when I did send my Nursse In halfe an houre she promist to returne. Perhaps she cannot finde him. Thats not so. Oh she is lazie, Loues heralds should be thoughts, And runne more swift, than hastie powder fierd, 5 Doth hurrie from the fearfull Cannons mouth.

Oh now she comes. Tell me gentle Nurse, What sayes my Loue? Nur: Oh I am wearie, let mee rest a while. Lord how my bones ake. Oh wheres my man? Giue me some aqua 10 vitæ. Iul: I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy newes. Nur: Fie, what a iaunt haue I had: and my backe a tother side. Lord, Lord, what a case am I in. Jul: But tell me sweet Nurse, what sayes Romeo? 15 Nur: Romeo, nay, alas you cannot chuse a man. Hees no bodie, he is not the Flower of curtesie, he is not a proper man: and for a hand, and a foote, and a baudie, wel go thy way wench, thou hast it ifaith. Lord, Lord, how my head beates? 20 Iul: What of all this? tell me what sayes he to our mariage? Nur: Marry he sayes like an honest Gentleman, and a kinde, and I warrant a vertuous: wheres your Mother? Iul: Lord, Lord, how odly thou repliest? He saies like a 25 kinde Gentleman, and an honest, and a vertuous; wheres your mother? Nur: Marry come vp, cannot you stay a while? is this the poultesse for mine aking boanes? next arrant youl haue done, euen doot your selfe. 30 Iul: Nay stay sweet Nurse, I doo intreate thee now, What sayes my Loue, my Lord, my Romeo? Nur: Goe, hye you straight to Friar Laurence Cell, And frame a scuse that you must goe to shrift: There stayes a Bridegroome to make you a Bride. 35 Now comes the wanton blood vp in your cheekes, I must prouide a ladder made of cordes, With which your Lord must clime a birdes nest soone. I must take paines to further your delight, But you must beare the burden soone at night. 40 Doth this newes please you now? Iul: How doth her latter words reuiue my hart. Thankes gentle Nurse, dispatch thy busines, And Ile not faile to meete my Romeo. Exeunt.

Rom: Now Father Laurence, in thy holy grant Consists the good of me and Iuliet. Fr: Without more words I will doo all I may, To make you happie if in me it lye. Rom: This morning here she pointed we should meet, 5 And consumate those neuer parting bands, Witnes of our harts loue by ioyning hands. And come she will. Fr: I gesse she will indeed, Youths loue is quicke, swifter than swiftest speed. 10

See where she comes. So light of foote nere hurts the troden flower: Of loue and ioy, see see the soueraigne power. Iul: Romeo. Rom: My Iuliet welcome. As doo waking eyes 15 (Cloasd in Nights mysts) attend the frolicke Day, So Romeo hath expected Iuliet, And thou art come. Jul: I am (if I be Day) Come to my Sunne: shine foorth, and make me faire. 20 Rom: All beauteous fairnes dwelleth in thine eyes. Iul: Romeo from thine all brightnes doth arise. Fr: Come wantons, come, the stealing houres do passe Defer imbracements till some fitrer time, Part for a while, you shall not be alone, 25 Till holy Church haue ioynd ye both in one. Rom: Lead holy Father, all delay seemes long. Iul: Make hast, make hast, this lingring doth vs wrong. Fr: O, soft and faire makes sweetest worke they say. Hast is a common hindrer in crosse way. Exeunt omnes. 30

Ben: I pree thee good Mercutio lets retire, The day is hot, the Capels are abroad. Mer: Thou art like one of those, that when hee comes into the confines of a tauerne, claps me his rapier on the boord, and sayes, God send me no need of thee: and by 5 the operation of the next cup of wine, he drawes it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. Ben: Am I like such a one? Mer: Go too, thou art as hot a Iacke being mooude, and as soone mooude to be moodie, and as soone moodie to 10 be mooud. Ben: And what too? Mer: Nay, and there were two such, wee should haue none shortly. Didst not thou fall out with a man for cracking of nuts, hauing no other reason, but because thou hadst 15 hasill eyes? what eye but such an eye would haue pickt out such a quarrell? With another for coughing, because hee wakd thy dogge that lay a sleepe in the Sunne? With a Taylor for wearing his new dublet before Easter: and with another for tying his new shoes with olde ribands. And yet thou wilt forbid me of quarrelling. Ben: By my head heere comes a Capolet.

Mer: By my heele I care not. Tyb: Gentlemen a word with one of you. Mer: But one word with one of vs? You had best couple 25 it with somewhat, and make it a word and a blow. Tyb: I am apt enough to that if I haue occasion. Mer: Could you not take occasion? Tyb: Mercutio thou consorts with Romeo? Mer: Consort. Zwounes consort? the slaue wil make fidlers 30 of vs. If you doe sirra, look for nothing but discord: For heeres my fiddle-sticke.

Tyb: Well peace be with you, heere comes my man. Mer: But Ile be hanged if he weare your lyuery: Mary go before into the field, and he may be your follower, so in 35 that sence your worship may call him man. Tyb: Romeo the hate I beare to thee can affoord no better words then these, thou art a villaine. Rom: Tybalt the loue I beare to thee, doth excuse the appertaining rage to such a word: villaine am I none, therfore 40 I well perceiue thou knowst me not. Tyb: Bace boy this cannot serue thy turne, and therefore drawe. Ro: I doe protest I neuer iniured thee, but loue thee better than thou canst deuise, till thou shall know the reason of 45 my loue. Mer: O dishonorable vile submission. Allastockado caries it away. You Ratcatcher, come backe, come backe. Tyb: What wouldest with me? Mer: Nothing King of Cates, but borrow one of your 50 nine liues, therefore come drawe your rapier out of your scabard, least mine be about your eares ere you be aware. Rom: Stay Tibalt, hould Mercutio: Benuolio beate downe their weapons.

Mer: Is he gone, hath hee nothing? A poxe on your 55 houses. Rom: What art thou hurt man, the wound is not deepe. Mer: Noe not so deepe as a Well, nor so wide as a barne doore, but it will serue I warrant. What meant you to come betweene vs? I was hurt vnder your arme. 60 Rom: I did all for the best. Mer: Apoxe of your houses, I am fairely drest. Sirra goe fetch me a Surgeon. Boy: I goe my Lord. Mer: I am pepperd for this world, I am sped yfaith, he 65 hath made wormes meate of me, & ye aske for me to morrow you shall finde me a graue-man. A poxe of your houses, I shall be fairely mounted vpon foure mens shoulders: For your house of the Mountegues and the Capolets: and then some peasantly rogue, some Sexton, some base slaue shall 70 write my Epitapth, that Tybalt came and broke the Princes Lawes, and Mercutio was slaine for the first and second cause. Wher's the Surgeon? Boy: Hee's come sir. Mer: Now heele keepe a mumbling in my guts on the 75 other side, come Benuolio, lend me thy hand: a poxe of your houses. Exeunt. Rom: This Gentleman the Princes neere Alie. My very frend hath tane this mortall wound In my behalfe, my reputation staind 80 With Tibalts slaunder, Tybalt that an houre Hath beene my kinsman. Ah Iuliet Thy beautie makes me thus effeminate, And in my temper softens valors steele.

Ben: Ah Romeo Romeo braue Mercutio is dead, 85 That gallant spirit hath a spir'd the cloudes, Which too vntimely scornd the lowly earth. Rom: This daies black fate, on more daies doth depend This but begins what other dayes must end.

Ben: Heere comes the furious Tibalt backe againe. 90 Rom: A liue in tryumph and Mercutio slaine? Away to heauen respectiue lenity: And fier eyed fury be my conduct now. Now Tibalt take the villaine backe againe, Which late thou gau'st me: for Mercutios soule, 95 Is but a little way aboue the cloudes, And staies for thine to beare him company. Or thou, or I, or both shall follow him.

Ben: Romeo away, thou seest that Tibalt's slaine, The Citizens approach, away, begone Thou wilt be taken. Rom: Ah I am fortunes slaue.

Watch: Wher's he that slue Mercutio, Tybalt that villaine? Ben: There is that Tybalt. 105 Vp sirra goe with vs[1594].

Pry: Where be the vile beginners of this fray? Ben: Ah Noble Prince I can discouer all The most vnlucky mannage of this brawle. Heere lyes the man slaine by yong Romeo, 110 That slew thy kinsman braue Mercutio. M: Tibalt, Tybalt, O my brothers child, Vnhappie sight? Ah the blood is spilt Of my deare kinsman, Prince as thou art true: For blood of ours, shed bloud of Mountagew. 115 Pry: Speake Benuolio who began this fray? Ben: Tibalt heere slaine whom Romeos hand did slay. Romeo who spake him fayre bid him bethinke How nice the quarrell was. But Tibalt still persisting in his wrong, 120 The stout Mercutio drewe to calme the storme, Which Romeo seeing cal'd stay Gentlemen, And on me cry'd, who drew to part their strife, And with his agill arme yong Romeo, As fast as tung crydepeace, sought peace to make. 125 While they were enterchanging thrusts and blows, Vnder yong Romeos laboring arme to part, The furious Tybalt cast an enuious thrust, That rid the life of stout Mercutio. With that he fled, but presently return'd, 130 And with his rapier braued Romeo: That had but newly entertain'd reuenge. And ere I could draw forth my rapyer To part their furie, downe did Tybalt fall, And this way Romeo fled. 135 Mo: He is a Mountagew and speakes partiall, Some twentie of them fought in this blacke strife: And all those twenty could but kill one life. I doo intreate sweete Prince thoult iustice giue, Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo may not liue. 140 Prin: And for that offence Immediately we doo exile him hence. I haue an interest in your hates proceeding, My blood for your rude braules doth lye a bleeding. But Ile amerce you with so large a fine, 145 That you shall all repent the losse of mine. I will be deafe to pleading and excuses, Nor teares nor prayers shall purchase for abuses. Pittie shall dwell and gouerne with vs still: Mercie to all but murdrers, pardoning none that kill. 150

Iul: Gallop apace you fierie footed steedes To Phœbus mansion, such a Waggoner As Phaeton, would quickly bring you thether, And send in cloudie night immediately.

But how now Nurse: O Lord, why lookst thou sad? 5 What hast thou there, the cordes? Nur: I, I, the cordes: alacke we are vndone, We are vndone, Ladie we are vndone. Iul: What diuell art thou that torments me thus? Nurs: Alack the day, hees dead, hees dead, hees dead. 10 Jul: This torture should be roard in dismall hell. Can heauens be so enuious? Nur: Romeo can if heauens cannot. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes. God saue the sample, on his manly breast: 15 A bloodie coarse, a piteous bloodie coarse, All pale as ashes, I swounded at the sight. Iul: Ah Romeo, Romeo, what disaster hap Hath seuerd thee from thy true Juliet? Ah why should Heauen so much conspire with Woe, 20 Or Fate enuie our happie Marriage, So soone to sunder vs by timelesse Death? Nur: O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best frend I had, O honest Tybalt, curteous Gentleman. Iul: What storme is this that blowes so contrarie, 25 Is Tybalt dead, and Romeo murdered: My deare loude cousen, and my dearest Lord. Then let the trumpet sound a generall doome These two being dead, then liuing is there none. Nur: Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished, 30 Romeo that murdred him is banished. Iul: Ah heauens, did Romeos hand shed Tybalts blood? Nur: It did, it did, alacke the day it did. Iul: O serpents hate, hid with a flowring face: O painted sepulcher, including filth. 35 Was neuer booke containing so foule matter, So fairly bound. Ah, what meant Romeo? Nur: There is no truth, no faith, no honestie in men: All false, all faithles, periurde, all forsworne. Shame come to Romeo. 40 Iul: A blister on that tung, he was not borne to shame: Vpon his face Shame is ashamde to sit. But wherefore villaine didst thou kill my Cousen? That villaine Cousen would haue kild my husband. All this is comfort. But there yet remaines 45 Worse than his death, which faine I would forget: But ah, it presseth to my memorie, Romeo is banished. Ah that word Banished Is worse than death. Romeo is banished, Is Father, Mother, Tybalt, Iuliet, 50 All killd, all slaine, all dead, all banished. Where are my Father and my Mother Nurse? Nur: Weeping and wayling ouer Tybalts coarse. Will you goe to them? Iul: I, I, when theirs are spent, 55 Mine shall he shed for Romeos banishment. Nur: Ladie, your Romeo will be here to night, Ile to him, he is hid at Laurence Cell. Iul: Doo so, and beare this Ring to my true Knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. Exeunt.60

Fr: Romeo come forth, come forth thou fearfull man, Affliction is enamourd on thy parts, And thou art wedded to Calamitie.

Rom: Father what newes, what is the Princes doome, What Sorrow craues acquaintance at our hands, 5 Which yet we know not. Fr: Too familiar Is my yong sonne with such sowre companie: I bring thee tidings of the Princes doome. Rom: What lesse than doomes day is the Princes doome? 10 Fr: A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips, Not bodies death, but bodies banishment. Rom: Ha, Banished? be mercifull, say death: For Exile hath more terror in his lookes, Than death it selfe, doo not say Banishment. 15 Fr: Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. Rom: There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatorie, torture, hell it selfe. Hence banished, is banisht from the world: 20 And world exilde is death. Calling death banishment, Thou cutst my head off with a golden axe, And smilest vpon the stroke that murders me. Fr: Oh monstrous sinne, O rude vnthankfulnes: Thy fault our law calls death, but the milde Prince 25 (Taking thy part) hath rushd aside the law, And turnd that blacke word death to banishment: This is meere mercie, and thou seest it not. Rom: Tis torture and not mercie, heauen is heere Where Iuliet liues: and euerie cat and dog, 30 And little mouse, euerie vnworthie thing Liue here in heauen, and may looke on her, But Romeo may not. More validitie, More honourable state, more courtship liues In carrion flyes, than Romeo: they may seaze 35 On the white wonder of faire Iuliets skinne, And steale immortall kisses from her lips; But Romeo may not, he is banished. Flies may doo this, but I from this must flye. Oh Father hadst thou no strong poyson mixt, 40 No sharpe ground knife, no present meane of death, Though nere so meane, but banishment To torture me withall: ah, banished. O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell: Howling attends it. How hadst thou the heart, 45 Being a Diuine, a ghostly Confessor, A sinne absoluer, and my frend profest, To mangle me with that word, Banishment? Fr: Thou fond mad man, heare me but speake a word. Rom: O, thou wilt talke againe of Banishment. 50 Fr: Ile giue thee armour to beare off this word, Aduersities sweete milke, philosophie, To comfort thee though thou be banished. Rom: Yet Banished? hang vp philosophie, Vnlesse philosophie can make a Juliet, 55 Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes doome, It helpes not, it prevailes not, talke no more. Fr: O, now I see that madmen haue no eares. Rom: How should they, when that wise men haue no eyes. Fr: Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 60 Rom: Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feele. Wert thou as young as I, Iuliet thy Loue, An houre but married, Tybalt murdred. Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightst thou speake, then mightst thou teare thy hayre. 65 And fall vpon the ground as I doe now, Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.

Fr: Romeo arise, stand vp thou wilt be taken, I heare one knocke, arise and get thee gone. Nu: Hoe Fryer. 70 Fr: Gods will what wilfulnes is this?

Nur: Hoe Fryer open the doore, Fr: By and by I come. Who is there? Nur: One from Lady Iuliet. Fr: Then come neare. 75 Nur: Oh holy Fryer, tell mee oh holy Fryer, Where is my Ladies Lord? Wher's Romeo? Fr: There on the ground, with his owne teares made drunke. Nur: Oh he is euen in my Mistresse case. 80 Iust in her case. Oh wofull simpathy, Pitteous predicament, euen so lyes shee, Weeping and blubbring, blubbring and weeping: Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man. For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand, 85 Why should you fall into so deep an O.

Romeo: Nurse. Nur: Ah sir, ah sir. Wel death's the end of all. Rom: Spakest thou of Iuliet, how is it with her? Doth she not thinke me an olde murderer, 90 Now I haue stainde the childhood of her ioy, With bloud remou'd but little from her owne? Where is she? and how doth she? And what sayes My conceal'd Lady to our canceld loue? Nur: Oh she saith nothing, but weepes and pules, 95 And now fals on her bed, now on the ground, And Tybalt cryes, and then on Romeo calles. Rom: As if that name shot from the deadly leuel of a gun Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murderd her kinsman. Ah tell me holy Fryer 100 In what vile part of this Anatomy Doth my name lye? Tell me that I may sacke The hatefull mansion?

Nur: Ah? Fr: Hold, stay thy hand: art thou a man? thy forme 105 Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote The vnresonable furyes of a beast. Vnseemely woman in a seeming man, Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both. Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, 110 I thought thy disposition better temperd, Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady too, that liues in thee? Rouse vp thy spirits, thy Lady Iuliet liues, For whose sweet sake thou wert but lately dead: 115 There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou sluest Tybalt, there art thou happy too. A packe of blessings lights vpon thy backe, Happines Courts thee in his best array: But like a misbehaude and sullen wench 120 Thou frownst vpon thy Fate that smilles on thee. Take heede, take heede, for such dye miserable. Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed: Ascend her Chamber Window, hence and comfort her, But looke thou stay not till the watch be set: 125 For then thou canst not passe to Mantua. Nurse prouide all things in a readines, Comfort thy Mistresse, haste the house to bed, Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto. Nur: Good Lord what a thing learning is. 130 I could haue stayde heere all this night To heare good counsell. Well Sir, Ile tell my Lady that you will come. Rom: Doe so and bidde my sweet prepare to childe, Farwell good Nurse. 135

Nur: Heere is a Ring Sir, that she bad me giue you, Rom: How well my comfort is reuiud by this.

Fr: Soiorne in Mantua, Ile finde out your man, And he shall signifie from time to time: Euery good hap that doth befall thee heere. 140 Farwell. Rom: But that a ioy, past ioy cryes out on me, It were a griefe so breefe to part with thee.

Cap: Thinges haue fallen out Sir so vnluckⁱly, That we haue had no time to moue my daughter. Looke yee Sir, she lou'd her kinsman dearely, And so did I. Well, we were borne to dye, Wife wher's your daughter, is she in her chamber? 5 I thinke she meanes not to come downe to night. Par: These times of woe affoord no time to wooe, Maddam farwell, commend me to your daughter.

Cap: Sir Paris? Ile make a desperate tender of my child. I thinke she will be rulde in all respectes by mee: 10 But soft what day is this? Par: Munday my Lord. Cap: Oh then Wensday is too soone, On Thursday let it be: you shall be maried. Wee'le make no great a doe, a frend or two, or so: 15 For looke ye Sir, Tybalt being slaine so lately, It will be thought we held him care leslye: If we should reuell much, therefore we will haue Some halfe a dozen frends and make no more adoe. But what say you to Thursday. 20 Par: My Lorde I wishe that Thursday were to morrow. Cap: Wife goe you to your daughter, ere you goe to bed. Acquaint her with the County Paris loue, Fare well my Lord till Thursday next. Wife gette you to your daughter. Light to my Chamber. 25 Afore me it is so very very late, That we may call it earely by and by.

Iul: Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet nere day, It was the Nightingale and not the Larke That pierst the fearfull hollow of thine eare: Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree, Beleeue me loue, it was the Nightingale. 5 Rom: It was the Larke, the Herald of the Morne, And not the Nightingale. See Loue what enuious strakes Doo lace the seuering clowdes in yonder East. Nights candles are burnt out, and iocond Day Stands tiptoes on the mystie mountaine tops. 10 I must be gone and liue, or stay and dye. Jul: Yon light is not day light, I know it I: It is some Meteor that the Sunne exhales, To be this night to thee a Torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua. 15 Then stay awhile, thou shalt not goe soone. Rom: Let me stay here, let me be tane, and dye: If thou wilt haue it so, I am content. Ile say yon gray is not the Mornings Eye, It is the pale reflex of Cynthias brow. 20 Ile say it is the Nightingale that beates The vaultic heauen so high aboue our heads, And not the Larke the Messenger of Morne. Come death and welcome, Iuliet wils it so. What sayes my Loue? lets talke, tis not yet day. 25 Jul: It is, it is, begone, flye hence 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 this diuideth vs. 30 Some say the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes, I would that now they had changd voyces too: Since arme from arme her voyce doth vs affray, Hunting thee hence with Huntsvp to the day. So now be gone, more light and light it growes. 35 Rom: More light and light, more darke and darke our woes. Farewell my Loue, one kisse and Ile descend.

Jul: Art thou gone so, my Lord, my Loue, my Frend? I must heare from thee euerie day in the hower: For in an hower there are manie minutes, 40 Minutes are dayes, so will I number them: Oh, by this count I shall be much in yeares, Ere I see thee againe. Rom: Farewell, I will omit no opportunitie That may conueigh my greetings loue to thee. Iul: Oh, thinkst thou we shall euer meete againe. Rom: No doubt, no doubt, and all this woe shall serue For sweete discourses in the time to come. Jul: Oh God, I have an ill diuining soule. Me thinkes I see thee now thou art below 50 Like one dead in the bottome of a Tombe: Either mine ey-sight failes, or thou lookst pale. Rom: And trust me Loue, in my eye so doo you, Drie sorrow drinkes our blood: adieu, adieu. Exit.

Nur: Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, 55 Your Mother's comming to your Chamber, make all sure.

Moth: Where are you Daughter? Nur: What Ladie, Lambe, what Iuliet? Iul: How now, who calls? Nur: It is your Mother. 60 Moth: Why how now Juliet? Iul: Madam, I am not well. Moth: What euermore weeping for your Cosens death: I thinke thoult wash him from his graue with teares. Iul: I cannot chuse, hauing so great a losse. 65 Moth: I cannot blame thee. But it greeues thee more that Villaine liues. Iul: What Villaine Madame? Moth: That Villaine Romeo. Iul: Villaine and he are manie miles a sunder. 70 Moth: Content thee Girle, if I could finde a man I soone would send to Mantua where he is, That should bestow on him so sure a draught, As he should soone beare Tybalt companie. Iul: Finde you the meanes, and Ile finde such a man: 75 For whilest he liues, my heart shall nere be light Till I behold him, dead is my poore heart. Thus for a Kinsman vext? Moth: Well let that passe. I come to bring thee ioyfull newes? Iul: And ioy comes well in such a needfull time. 80 Moth: Well then, thou hast a carefull Father Girle, And one who pittying thy needfull state, Hath found thee out a happie day of ioy. Iul: What day is that I pray you? Moth: Marry my Childe, 85 The gallant, yong and youthfull Gentleman, The Countie Paris at Saint Peters Church, Early next Thursday morning must prouide, To make you there a glad and ioyfull Bride. Iul: Now by Saint Peters Church and Peter too, 90 He shall not there make mee a ioyfull Bride. Are these the newes you had to tell me of? Marrie here are newes indeed. Madame I will not marrie yet. And when I doo, it shalbe rather Romeo whom I hate, Than Countie Paris that I cannot loue. 95

Moth: Here comes your Father, you may tell him so. Capo: Why how now, euermore showring? In one little bodie thou resemblest a sea, a barke, a storme: For this thy bodie which I tearme a barke, Still floating in thy euerfalling teares, 100 And tost with sighes arising from thy hart: Will without succour shipwracke presently. But heare you Wife, what haue you sounded her, what saies she to it? Moth: I haue, but she will none she thankes ye: Would God that she were married to her graue. 105 Capo: What will she not, doth she not thanke vs, doth she not wexe proud? Iul: Not proud ye haue, but thankfull that ye haue: Proud can I neuer be of that I hate, But thankfull euen for hate that is ment loue. 110 Capo: Proud and I thanke you, and I thanke you not, And yet not proud. Whats here, chop logicke. Proud me no prouds, nor thanke me no thankes, But fettle your fine ioynts on Thursday next To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church, 115 Or I will drag you on a hurdle thether. Out you greene sicknes baggage, out you tallow face. Iu: Good father heare me speake?

Cap: I tell thee what, eyther resolue on thursday next To goe with Paris to Saint Peters Church: 120 Or henceforth neuer looke me in the face. Speake not, reply not, for my fingers ytch. Why wife, we thought that we were scarcely blest That God had sent vs but this onely chyld: But now I see this one is one too much, 125 And that we haue a crosse in hauing her. Nur: Mary God in heauen blesse her my Lord, You are too blame to rate her so. Cap. And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tung, Good prudence smatter with your gossips, goe. 130 Nur: Why my Lord I speake no treason. Cap: Oh goddegodden. Vtter your grauity ouer a gossips boule, For heere wee need it not. Mo: My lord ye are too hotte. 135 Cap: Gods blessed mother wife it mads me, Day, night, early, late, at home, abroad, Alone, in company, waking or sleeping, Still my care hath beene to see her matcht. And hauing now found out a Gentleman, 140 Of Princely parentage, youthfull, and nobly trainde. Stuft as they say with honorable parts, Proportioned as ones heart coulde wish a man: And then to haue a wretched whyning foole, A puling mammet in her fortunes tender, 145 To say I cannot loue, I am too young, I pray you pardon mee? But if you cannot wedde Ile pardon you. Graze where you will, you shall not house with me. Looke to it, thinke out, I doe not vse to iest. I tell yee what, Thursday is neere, 150 Lay hand on heart, aduise, bethinke your selfe, If you be mine, Ile giue you to my frend: If not, hang, drowne, starue, beg, Dye in the streetes: for by my Soule Ile neuer more acknowledge thee, 155 Nor what I haue shall euer doe thee good, Thinke ont, looke toot, I doe not vse to iest. Exit. Iul: Is there no pitty hanging in the cloudes, That lookes into the bottom of my woes? I doe beseech you Madame, cast me not away, 160 Defer this mariage for a day or two, Or if you cannot, make my mariage bed In that dimme monument where Tybalt lyes. Moth: Nay be assured I will not speake a word. Do what thou wilt for I haue done with thee. Exit. 165 Iul: Ah Nurse what comfort? what counsell canst thou giue me. Nur: Now trust me Madame, I know not what to say: Your Romeo he is banisht, and all the world to nothing He neuer dares returne to challendge you. Now I thinke good you marry with this County, Oh he is a gallant Gentleman, Romeo is but a dishclout In respect of him. I promise you I thinke you happy in this second match. As for your husband he is dead: Or twere as good he were, for you haue no vse of him. 175 Iul: Speakst thou this from thy heart? Nur: I and from my soule, or els beshrew them both. Iul: Amen. Nur: What say you Madame? Iul: Well, thou hast comforted me wondrous much, 180 I pray thee goe thy waies vnto my mother Tell her I am gone hauing displeasde my Father. To Fryer Laurence Cell to confesse me, And to be absolu'd. Nur: I will, and this is wisely done. 185

Iul: Auncient damnation, O most cursed fiend. Is it more sinne to wish me thus forsworne, Or to dispraise him with the selfe same tongue That thou hast praisde him with aboue compare So many thousand times? Goe Counsellor, 190 Thou and my bosom henceforth shalbe twaine. Ile to the Fryer to know his remedy, If all faile els, I haue the power to dye.

Fr: On Thursday say ye: the time is very short, Par: My Father Capolet will haue it so, And I am nothing slacke to slow his hast. Fr: You say you doe not know the Ladies minde? Vneuen is the course, I like it not. 5 Par: Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death, And therefore haue I little talkt of loue. For Venus smiles not in a house of teares, Now Sir, her father thinkes it daungerous: That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway. 10 And in his wisedome hasts our mariage, To stop the inundation of her teares. Which too much minded by her selfe alone May be put from her by societie. Now doe ye know the reason of this hast. 15 Fr: I would I knew not why it should be slowd.

Heere comes the lady to my cell, Par: Welcome my loue, my Lady and my wife: Iu: That may be sir, when I may be a wife, Par: That may be, must be loue, on thursday next. 20 Iu: What must be shalbe. Fr: Thats a certaine text. Par: What come ye to confession to this Fryer. Iu: To tell you that were to confesse to you. Par: Do not deny to him that you loue me. 25 Iul: I will confesse to you that I loue him, Par: So I am sure you will that you loue me. Iu: And if I doe, it wilbe of more price, Being spoke behinde your backe, than to your face. Par: Poore soule that face is much abus'd with teares. 30 Iu: The teares haue got small victory by that, For it was bad enough before their spite. Par: Thou wrongst it more than teares by that report. Iu: That is no wrong sir, that is a truth: And what I spake I spake it to my face. 35 Par: Thy face is mine and thou hast slaundred it. Iu: It may be so, for it is not mine owne. Are you at leasure holy Father now: Or shall I come to you at euening Masse? Fr: My leasure serues me pensive daughter now. 40 My Lord we must entreate the time alone. Par: God sheild I should disturbe deuotion, Iuliet farwell, and keep this holy kisse.

Iu: Goe shut the doore and when thou hast done so, Come weepe with me that am past cure, past help, 45 Fr: Ah Iuliet I already know thy griefe, I heare thou must and nothing may proroge it, On Thursday next be married to the Countie. Iul: Tell me not Frier that thou hearst of it, Vnlesse thou tell me how we may preuent it. 50 Giue me some sudden counsell: els behold Twixt my extreames and me, this bloodie Knife Shall play the Vmpeere, arbitrating that Which the Commission of thy yeares and arte Could to no issue of true honour bring. 55 Speake not, be briefe: for I desire to die, If what thou speakst, speake not of remedie. Fr: Stay Juliet, I doo spie a kinde of hope, Which craues as desperate an execution, As that is desperate we would preuent. If rather than to marrie Countie Paris Thou hast the strength or will to slay thy selfe, Tis not vnlike that thou wilt vndertake A thing like death to chyde away this shame, Thou coapst with death it selfe to flye from blame. 65 And if thou doost, Ile giue thee remedie. Jul: Oh bid me leape (rather than marrie Paris) From off the battlements of yonder tower: Or chaine me to some steepie mountaines top, Where roaring Beares and sauage Lions are: 70 Or shut me nightly in a Charnell-house, With reekie shankes, and yeolow chaples sculls: Or lay me in tombe with one new dead: Things that to heare them namde haue made me tremble; And I will doo it without feare or doubt, 75 To keep my selfe a faithfull vnstaind Wife To my deere Lord, my deerest Romeo. Fr: Hold Iuliet, hie thee home, get thee to bed, Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy Chamber: And when thou art alone, take thou this Violl, 80 And this distilled Liquor drinke thou off: When presently through all thy veynes shall run A dull and heauie slumber, which shall seaze Each vitall spirit: for no Pulse shall keepe His naturall progresse, but surcease to beate: 85 No signe of breath shall testifie thou liust. And in this borrowed likenes of shrunke death, Thou shall remaine full two and fortie houres. And when thou art laid in thy Kindreds Vault, Ile send in hast to Mantua to thy Lord, 90 And he shall come and take thee from thy graue. Iul: Frier I goe, be sure thou send for my deare Romeo.

Capo: Where are you sirra? Ser: Heere forsooth. Capo: Goe, prouide me twentie cunning Cookes. Ser: I warrant you Sir, let me alone for that. Ile knowe them by licking their fingers. 5 Capo: How canst thou know them so? Ser: Ah sir, tis an ill Cooke cannot licke his owne fingers. Capo: Well get you gone.

But wheres this Head-strong? Moth: Shees gone (my Lord) to Frier Laurence Cell To be confest. Capo: Ah, he may hap to doo some good of her, A headstrong selfewild harlotrie it is.

Moth: See here she commeth from Confession, 15 Capo: How now my Head-strong, where haue you bin gadding? Iul: Where I haue learned to repent the sin Of froward wilfull opposition Gainst you and your behests, and am enioynd 20 By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And craue remission of so foule a fact.

Moth: Why thats well said. Capo: Now before God this holy reuerent Frier All our whole Citie is much bound vnto. 25 Goe tell the Countie presently of this, For I will haue this knot knit vp to morrow. Jul: Nurse, will you go with me to my Closet, To sort such things as shall be requisite Against to morrrow, 30 Moth: I pree thee doo, good Nurse goe in with her, Helpe her to sort Tyres, Rebatoes, Chaines, And I will come vnto you presently, Nur: Come sweet hart, shall we goe: Iul: I pree thee let vs. 35

Moth: Me thinks on Thursday would be time enough. Capo: I say I will haue this dispatcht to morrow, Goe one and certefie the Count thereof. Moth: I pray my Lord, let it be Thursday. Capo: I say to morrow while shees in the mood. 40 Moth: We shall be short in our prouision. Capo: Let me alone for that, goe get you in, Now before God my heart is passing light, To see her thus conformed to our will. Exeunt.

Nur: Come, come, what need you anie thing else? Iul: Nothing good Nurse, but leaue me to my selfe: For I doo meane to lye alone to night. Nur: Well theres a cleane smocke vnder your pillow, and so good night. Exit.

Moth: What are you busie, doo you need my helpe? Iul: No Madame, I desire to lye alone, For I haue manie things to thinke vpon. Moth: Well then good night, be stirring Iuliet, The Countie will be earlie here to morrow. Exit. 10 Iul: Farewell, God knowes when wee shall meete againe. Ah, I doo take a fearfull thing in hand. What if this Potion should not worke at all. Must I of force be married to the Countie? This shall forbid it. Knife, lye thou there. 15 What if the Frier should giue me this drinke To poyson mee, for feare I should disclose Our former marriage? Ah, I wrong him much, He is a holy and religious Man: I will not entertaine so bad a thought. 20 What if I should be stifled in the Toomb? Awake an houre before the appointed time: Ah then I feare I shall be lunaticke, And playing with my dead forefathers bones, Dash out my franticke braines. Me thinkes I see 25 My Cosin Tybalt weltring in his bloud, Seeking for Romeo: stay Tybalt stay. Romeo I come, this doe I drinke to thee.

Moth: Thats well said Nurse, set all in redines, The Countie will be heere immediatly.

Cap: Make hast, make hast, for it is almost day, The Curfewe bell hath rung, t'is foure a clocke, Looke to your bakt meates good Angelica. Nur: Goe get you to bed you cotqueane. I faith you will be sicke anone. Cap: I warrant thee Nurse I haue ere now watcht all night, and haue taken no harme at all. Moth: I you haue beene a mouse hunt in your time. 10

Cap: A Ielous hood, a Ielous hood: How now sirra? What haue you there? Ser: Forsooth Logs. Cap: Goe, goe choose dryer. Will will tell thee where thou shalt fetch them. 15 Ser: Nay I warrant let me alone, I haue a heade I troe to choose a Log.

Cap: Well goe thy way, thou shalt be logger head. Come, come, make hast call vp your daughter, The Countie will be heere with musicke straight. 20 Gods me hees come, Nurse call vp my daughter. Nur: Goe, get you gone. What lambe, what Lady birde? fast I warrant. What Iuliet? well, let the County take you in your bed: yee sleepe for a weeke now, but the next night, the Countie Paris hath set vp his rest that you shal rest25 but little. What lambe I say, fast still: what Lady, Loue, whatbride, what Iuliet? Gods me how sound she sleeps? Nay then I see I must wake you indeed. Whats heere, laide on your bed, drest in your cloathes and down, ah me, alack the day, some Aqua vitæ hoe. 30

Moth: How now whats the matter? Nur: Alack the day, shees dead, shees dead, shees dead. Moth: Accurst, vnhappy, miserable time.

Cap: Come, come, make hast, wheres my daughter? Moth: Ah shees dead, shees dead. 35 Cap: Stay, let me see, all pale and wan. Accursed time, vnfortunate olde man.

Par: What is the bride ready to goe to Church? Cap: Ready to goe, but neuer to returne. O Sonne the night before thy wedding day, 40 Hath Death laine with thy bride, flower as she is, Deflowerd by him, see, where she lyes, Death is my Sonne in Law, to him I giue all that I haue, Par: Haue I thought long to see this mornings face, And doth it now present such prodegies? 45 Accurst, vnhappy, miserable man, Forlorne, forsaken, destitute I am: Borne to the world to be a slaue in it. Distrest, remediles, and vnfortunate. O heauens, O nature, wherefore did you make me, 50 To liue so vile, so wretched as I shall. Cap: O heere she lies that was our hope, our ioy, And being dead, dead sorrow nips vs all.

All cry: And all our ioy, and all our hope is dead, Dead, lost, vndone, absented, wholy fled. 55 Cap: Cruel, vniust, impartiall destinies, Why to this day haue you preseru'd my life? To see my hope, my stay, my ioy, my life, Depriude of sence, of life, of all by death, Cruell, vniust, impartiall destinies. 60 Cap: O sad fac'd sorrow map of misery, Why this sad time haue I desird to see. This day, this vniust, this impartiall day Wherein I hop'd to see my comfort full, To be depriude by suddaine destinie. 65 Moth: O woe, alacke, distrest, why should I liue? To see this day, this miserable day. Alacke the time that euer I was borne. To be partaker of this destinie. Alacke the day, alacke and welladay. 70 Fr: O peace for shame, if not for charity. Your daughter liues in peace and happines, And it is vaine to wish it otherwise. Come sticke your Rosemary in this dead coarse, And as the custome of our Country is, 75 In all her best and sumptuous ornaments, Conuay her where her Ancestors lie tomb'd, Cap: Let it be so, come wofull sorrow mates, Let vs together taste this bitter fate.