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Or fate enuie our happie marriage,

So foone to funder vs by timeleffe death?

Nur. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best frend I had, O honeft Tybalt, curteous gentleman.

Iul. What ftorme is this that blowes fo contrarie,
Is Tybalt dead, and Romeo murdered :

My deare loude coufen, and my dearest lord.
Then let the trumpet found a generall doome,

These two being dead, then liuing is there none.
Nur. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished,

Romeo that murdred him is banished.

Iul. Ah heauens, did Romeos hand fhed Tybalts blood! Nur. It did, it did, alacke the daye it did.

Iul. O ferpents hate, hid with a flowring face :

O painted fepulcher, including filth.

Was neuer booke containing fo foule matter,

So fairly bound.

Ah, what meant Romeo?

Nur. There is no truth, no faith, no honeftie in men: All falfe, all faithles, periurde, all forfworne.

Shame come to Romeo.

Iul. A blister on that tung, he was not borne to shame : Vpon his face fhame is afhamde to fit.

But wherefore villaine didst thou kill my coufen?
That villaine coufen would haue kild my husband.
All this is comfort. But there yet remaines
Worfe than his death, which faine I would forget:
But ah, it preffeth to my memorie,

Romeo is banished. Ah that word banished.

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Is worse than death. Romeo is banished,

Is father, mother, Tybalt, Iuliet,

All killd, all flaine, 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,

Mine fhall 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 fo, and beare this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.

Enter Frier.


Fr. Romeo come forth, come forth thou fearfull man, Affliction is enamourd on thy parts,

And thou art wedded to calamitie.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Father what newes, what is the princes doome. What forrow craues acquaintance at our hands,

Which yet we know not.

Fr. Too familiar

Is my yong fonne with fuch fowre companie :

I bring thee tidings of the princes doome.

Rom. What leffe than doomes day is the princes doome? Fr. A gentler iudgement vanifht from his lips, Not bodies death, but bodies banishment.

Rom. Ha, banished? be mercifull, fay death:

For exile hath more terror in his lookes,
Than death it felfe, doo not fay banishment.

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 felfe.

Hence banished, is banisht from the world:

And world exilde is death. Calling death banishment,
Thou cutft my head off with a golden axe,

And fmileft vpon the ftroke that murders me.


Fr. Oh monftrous finne, O rude vnthankfulnes :
Thy fault our law calls death, but the milde prince
(Taking thy part) hath rufhd afide 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,
And little mouse, euerie vnworthie thing
Liue heere 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 feaze
On the white wonder of faire Juliets fkinne,
And steale immortall kiffes from her lips;
But Romeo may not, he is banished.

Flies may doo this, but I from this must flye.
Oh father hadft thou no ftrong poyfon mixt,

No sharpe ground knife, no prefent meane of death,
Though nere fo meane, but banishment

To torture me withall: ah, banished.

O frier, the damned vfe that word in hell:

Howling attends it. How hadst thou the heart,
Being a diuine, a ghostly confeffor,

A finne abfoluer, and my frend profest,

To mangle me with that word, banishment?

Fr. Thou fond mad man, heare me but fpeake a word,
Rom. O, thou wilt talke againe of banishment.

Fr. Ile giue thee armour to beare off this word,
Aduerfities fweete milke, philofophie,

To comfort thee though thou be banished.
Rom. Yet banished? hang vp philofophie,

Valeffe philofophie can make a Juliet,
Difplant a towne, reuerfe a princes doome,
It helpes not, it prevailes not, talke no more.


Fr. O, now I fee that madmen haue no eares.

Rom. How should they, when that wise men haue no eyes. Fr. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate,

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 mightft thou fpeake, then mightft thou teare thy hayre.
And fall vpon the ground as I doe now,
Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.

Nurfe knockes.

Fr. Romeo arife, ftand vp thou wilt be taken,

I heare one knocke, arise and get thee gone.

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Nur. One from lady Iuliet.

Fr. Then come neare.

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.

Iuft in her cafe. Oh wofull fimpathy,
Pitteous predicament, euen fo lyes fhee,

Weeping and blubbring, blubbring and weeping :
Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man.
For Iuliets fake, for her fake rise and stand,
Why should you fall into fo deepe an 0.


He rifes.

Rom. Nurfe.

Nur. Ah fir, ah fir. Wel deaths the end of all.
Rom. Spakeft thou of Iuliet, how is it with her?
Doth fhe not thinke me an olde murderer,

Now I haue ftainde the childhood of her ioy.
With bloud remou'd but little from her owne?
Where is the, and how doth fhe? And what fayes
My conceal'd lady to our canceld loue?

Nur. Oh fhe faith nothing, but weepes and pules,
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 curfed hand

Murderd her kinfman. Ah tell me holy fryer

In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my name lye? Tell me that I may facke
The hatefull manfion.

He offers to ftab himselfe, and nurfe fnatches the dagger

Nur. Ah?


Fr. Hold, ftay thy hand: art thou a man? thy forme Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote

The vnrefonable furyes of a beast.

Vnfeemely woman in a feeming man,

Or ill befeeming beaft in feeming both.
Thou haft amaz'd me. By my holy order,

I thought thy difpofition better temperd,
Haft thou flaine Tybalt? wilt thou flay thy felfe?
And flay thy lady too, that liues in thee?
Roufe vp thy fpirits, thy lady Iuliet liues,
For whofe fweet fake thou wert but lately dead:


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