SCENE III.-Friar LAURENCE's Cell.
Enter Friar LAURENCE and ROMEO.
Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man; Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Fri. Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom? Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death':
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: do not say-banishment,
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exile is death :-then banishment
Is death misterm'd: calling death-banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment:
This is dear* mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not merey: heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not.-More validity,†
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hands,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin,
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But-banished-to kill me; banished?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me, with that word-banishment?
Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. Yet banished ?-Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.
Rom. Not I, unless the breath of heart-sick groans,
Mist like, infold me from the search of eyes.
Fri. Hark, how they knock !-Who's there!-Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a while: stand up;
Run to my study:-By and by :-God's will!
What wilfulness is this ?-I come, I come.
Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will ? Nurse. [within]. Let me come in, and you shall know my
I come from lady Juliet.
Fri. Welcome then.
Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo!
Fri. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her case!
Fri. O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament!
Nurse. Even so lies she,
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering :
Stand up, stand up; stand, an you be a man:
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep an O?
Nurse. Ah Sir! ah Sir !—Well, death 's the end of all.
Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth she not think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell❜d love?
Nurse. O, she says nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps ;
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Rom. As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman.-O tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper❜d.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish:
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set on fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.*
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;"
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too;
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behaved and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her;
But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set,
* Torn to pieces with thine own weapons.
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.—
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night,
To hear good counsel: O, what learning is !-
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
Nurse. Here, Sir, a ring she bid me give you, Sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this!
Fri. Go hence: Good night; and here stands all your state ;* Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguised from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
Farewell.
SCENE IV-A Room in CAPULET's House.
Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS.
Cap. Things have fallen out, Sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter:
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did 1;-Well, we were born to die.-
"Tis very late, she'll not come down to night:
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo:
Madam, good night, commend me to your daughter.
La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.
Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperatet tender
Of my child's love: I think, she will be ruled
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But, soft; What day is this?
Cap. Monday? ha ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O'Thursday let it be;-o' Thursday, tell her,
* The whole of your fortune depends on this.
She shall be married to this noble earl:-
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado;-a friend, or two:--
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
Cap. Well, get you gone :-O' Thursday be it then :-
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewell, my lord.-Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by :-Good night.
SCENE V-JULIET'S Chamber.
Enter ROMEO and JULIET.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops:
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Jul. Yon light is not the daylight, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;*
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more caret to stay, than will to go;-
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.-
How is't, my soul? let's talk, it is not day.
Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away;
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say,
the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since harm from harm that voice doth us affray,
*Reflection of the moon.
* Inclination.
+ Parts of a musical composition.
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