 Act I of The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Sam Stinson. The Prologue. Enter Chorus. Chorus. Two households, both alike in dignity, and Fair Verona where we lay our scene. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life, whose misadventured piteous overthrows doth with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death marked love and the continuance of their parents' rage, which but their children's end not could remove, is now the two hours' traffic of our stage, the which, if you with patient ears attend, what here shall miss our toils shall have strive to mend. Exit. Act I. Scene I. Verona. A public place. Enter Samson and Gregory with swords and bucklers of the House of Capulet. Samson. Gregory on my word will not carry coals. Gregory. No, for then we should be colliers. Samson. I mean, and we be in collar will draw. Gregory. I, while you live, draw your neck out of a collar. Samson. I strike quickly being moved. Gregory. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Samson. A dog of the House of Montahue moves me. Gregory. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand. Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runnest away. Samson. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montahue's. Gregory. That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall. Samson. Tis true. And therefore women being the weaker vessels are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push Montahue's men from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall. Gregory. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. Samson. Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant when I have fought with the men. I will be cruel with the maids. I will cut off their heads. Gregory. The heads of the maids. Samson. I, the heads of the maids, or their maiden heads, take it in what sense thou wilt. Gregory. They must take it in the sense that feel it. Samson. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand, and tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gregory. Tis well thou art not fish. If thou hathst, thou hathst been poor John. Draw thy tool. Here comes two of the House of Montahue's. Enter two other serving men, Abram and Balthazar. Samson. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee. Gregory. How? Turn thy back and run? Samson. Fear me not. Gregory. No, Mary. I fear thee. Samson. Let us take the law of our sides. Let them begin. Gregory. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. Samson. Nay, as they dare, I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgraced to them, if they bear it. Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Samson. I do bite my thumb, sir. Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Samson. Aside to Gregory. Is the law of our side if I say I? Gregory. Aside to Samson. No. Samson. No, sir. I do not bite my thumb at you, sir. But I bite my thumb, sir. Gregory. Do you quarrel, sir? Abram. Quarrel, sir. No, sir. Samson. But if you do, sir, and for you, I serve as good a man as you. Abram. No better. Samson. Well, sir. Enter Benbolio. Gregory. Aside to Samson. Say better. Here comes one of my master's kinsmen. Samson. Yes, better, sir. Abram. You lie. Samson. Draw if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. They fight. Benbolio. Part fools. Beats down their swords. Put up your swords. You know not what you do. Enter Tybalt. Tybalt. What art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benbolio. Look upon thy death. Benbolio. I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword. Or manage it to part these men with me. Tybalt. What, drawn in talk of peace? I hate the word. As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee. Have at thee, coward. They fight. Enter an officer and three or four citizens with clubs or partisans. Officer. Clubs, bills and partisans. Strike. Beat them down. Citizens. Down with the Capulets. Down with the Montagues. Enter old Capulet in his gown and his wife. Capulet. What noise is this? Give me my longsword. Ho. Wife. A crutch. A crutch. Why call you for a sword? Capulet. My sword, I say. Old Montague has come and flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter old Montague and his wife. Montague. Thou, villain Capulet, hold me not. Let me go. Montague's wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. Enter Prince Escalus with his train. Prince. Rebellious subjects. Enemies to peace. Profaners of this neighbor. Stained steel. Will they not hear? What? Ho. You men. You beasts. Precious rage with purple fountains issuing from your veins. O pain of torture, from those bloody hands, throw your mistempered weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bread of an airy word, by thee old Capulet and Montague, have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets and made Verona's ancient citizens cast by their grave the seeming ornaments to wield old partisans. And hands as old, cankered with peace. Depart your cankered hate. If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away. You, Capulet, shall go along with me and Montague come you this afternoon to know our farther pleasure in this case. To old Freetown our common judgment plays. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Exunt, all but Montague, his wife and Benvolio. Montague, who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? Benvolio, here were the servants of your adversary and yours, close fighting ere I did approach. I drew to part them. In the instant came the fiery tibalt with his sword prepared, which as he breathed defiance to my ears, he swung about his head and cut the winds, who, nothing hurt with all, hissed him in scorn, while we were interchanging thrusts and blows. Came more and more and fought on part and part, till the Prince came, who parted either part. Montague's wife. Oh, where is Romeo? Saw you him today? Right, God, I am. He was not at this fray. Benvolio. Madam, an hour before the worshipped son peered forth the golden window of the east, a troubled mind draped me to walk abroad, where, underneath the grove of Sycamore, that westward rudeth from the city's side, so early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made, but he was where of me and stole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own, which then most sought were most might not be found, being one too many by my weary self, pursued my humor, not pursuing his, and gladly shunned who gladly fled from me. Montague. Many a morning hath he there been seen, with tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs, but also soon as the all-charing sun should in the farthest east bean to draw the shady curtains from Aurora's bed. Away from light steals home my heavy sun, and private in his chamber pens himself, shut up his windows, locks fair daylight, and makes himself an artificial night. Black and portentious must this humor prove, unless good counsel may the cause remove. Benvolio. My noble uncle. Do you know the cause? Montague. I neither know it nor can learn of him. Benvolio. Have you importuned him by any means? Montague. Both by myself and many other friend, but he, his own affections counselor, is to himself, I will not say how true, but to himself so secret and so close, so far from sounding and discovery, as is the bud-bit with an envious worm, ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow? We would as willingly give cure as no. Enter Romeo. Benvolio. See where he comes. So please you step aside. I'll know his grievance or be much denied. Montague. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay to hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. Exunt. Montague and wife. Benvolio. Good morrow, cousin. Romeo. It's the day so young. Benvolio. But new struck nine. Romeo. I, me. Sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Benvolio. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo. Not having that which having makes them short. Benvolio. And love? Romeo. Out. Benvolio. Of love? Romeo. Out of her favor where I am in love. Benvolio. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof. Romeo. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, should without eyes see pathways to his will. Where shall we dine? O me, what fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, o brawling love, o loving hate, o anything of nothing first create? O heavy lightness, serious vanity, misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, still waking in sleep. That is not what it is, this love, feel I, that feel no love in this. Does thou not laugh? Benvolio. No, cause, I rather weep. Romeo. Good heart, at what? Benvolio. At thy good heart's oppression. Romeo. Why, such is love's transgression, grieves of mine own lie heavy in my breast, which thou wilt propagate, to have it pressed with more of thine. This love that thou hast shown doth add more grief to much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs, being purged, a fire sparkling in lover's eyes, being vexed, a sea nourished with lover's tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall in a preserving sweet. Farewell, my cause. Benvolio. Soft, I will go along, and if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Romeo. Tut, I have lost myself. I am not here. This is not Romeo. He's some other where. Benvolio. Tell me in sadness. Who is that you love? Romeo. What? Shall I groan and tell thee? Benvolio. Grown? Why, no. But, sadly, tell me who? Romeo. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will. Ah, word ill urged, to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Benvolio. I aimed so near when I supposed you loved. Romeo. A right good markman, and she's fair I love. Benvolio. A right fair mark, fair cause, is soonest hit. Romeo. Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hit with Cupid's arrow. She hath Dian's wit. And, in strong proof of chastity, well armed. From love's weak childish bow, she lives unharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, nor ope her lap to Saint Siducing Gold. Oh, she's rich in beauty, only poor that, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Benvolio. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? Romeo. She hath. And in that sparing makes huge waste. For beauty starved with her severity, cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, to merit bliss by making me despair. She hath forth sworn to love. And in that vow do I live dead that live to tell it now. Benvolio. Be ruled by me. Forget to think of her. Romeo. Oh, teach me how I should forget to think. Benvolio. By giving liberty unto thine eyes, examine other beauties. Romeo. Tis the way to call hers. Exquisite. And question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows. Being black puts us in mind they hide the fair. He that is struck and blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Show me a mistress that is passing fair. What doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who passed that passing fair? Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget. Benvolio. I'll pay that doctrine or else die in debt. Exant. Scene two. A street. Enter Capulet, County Paris, and servant, the clown. Capulet. But Monta, he was bound as well as I, and penalty alike, and tis not hard, I think, for men so old as we to keep the peace. Paris. Of honorable reckoning are you both, and pity tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? Capulet. But saying or what I have said before, my child is yet a stranger in the world. She hath not seen the change of fourteen years. Let two more summers wither in their pride, ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. Paris. Younger than she are happy mothers made. Capulet. And too soon marred are those so early made. The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she. She is the hopeful lady of my earth. But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart. My will to her consent is but a part. And she agree within her scope of choice lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustomed feast, where too I have invited many a guest, such as I love, and you among the store one more most welcome makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night, earth treading stars that make dark heaven light. Such comfort as do lusty young men feel when well apparel'd April on the heel of limping winter treads. Even such delight among fresh female buds shall you this night inherit at my house. Here all, all see, and like her most, whose merit most shall be. Which, on more view of many, mine being one, may stand in number, though in reckoning none. Come, go with me. Disservant giving him a paper. Go, Sera, trudge about, through fair Verona, find those persons out, whose names are written there, and to them say, my house, and welcome on their pleasure stay. Exunt, Capulet in Paris. Servant, find them out whose names are written here. It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must, to the learned, in good time. Enter Benvolio and Romeo. Benvolio. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, one pain is lessened by another's anguish. Turn giddy, and be hoped by backward turning, when desperate grief cures with another's languish. Take thou some new infection to thy eye, and the rank poison of the old will die. Romeo, your plantain leaf is excellent for that. Benvolio, for what I pray thee? Romeo, for your broken shin. Benvolio. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? Romeo, not mad, but bound more than a madman is. Shut up in prison, kept without my food, whipped and tormented and goddened, good fellow. Servant. God, g'godden, I pray, sir. Can you read? Romeo, I, my known fortune in my misery. Servant. Perhaps you have learned it without book, but I pray, can you read anything you see? Romeo, I, if I know the letters in the language. Servant. Ye say honestly, rest you merry. Romeo. Stay, fellow, I can read. He reads. Signior Martino and his wife and daughters. Count Anne Selmo and his beautious sisters. The lady widow of Vitruvio. Signior Plessiento and his lovely nieces. Mercutio and his brother Valentine. My uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters. My fair niece Rosaline and Livia. Signior Valencio and his cousin Tybalt. Lucio and the lively Helena. Gives back the paper. A fair assembly. Where there should they come? Servant. Up. Romeo. Wither. Servant. To supper, to our house. Romeo. Whose house? Servant. My master's. Romeo. Indeed, I should have asked you that before. Servant. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet. And if you be not of the house of Montague's, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. Exit. Benvolio. At this same ancient feast of Capulets, Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona. Go, thither, and with unattain'd eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. Romeo. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, Then turn tears to fires, And these, who often drown, could never die. Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. One fairer than my love? The all-seeing son, Nair, saw her match Since first the world begun. Benvolio. Tut. You saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye. But in that crystal scales Let there be wade your lady's love Against some other maid, That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well That now seems best. Romeo. I'll go along. No such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of my own. Exant. Scene three. Capulets' house. Enter Capulets' wife and nurse. Wife. Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me. Nurse. Now, by my maiden head at twelve year old, I bade her come. What? Lamb? What lady bird? God forbid, where's this girl? What? Juliet? Enter Juliet. Juliet. How now? Who calls? Nurse. Your mother. Juliet. Madam, I am here. What is your will? Wife. This is the matter. Nurse, give leave a while. We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again. I have remembered me. Thou's hear our counsel. Thou knowest my daughters of a pretty age. Nurse. Faith. I can tell her age unto an hour. Wife. She's not fourteen. Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, And yet to my teen be it spoken. I have but four. She is not fourteen. How long is it now to lamestide? Wife. A fortnight in odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, Of all days in the year, Come lamest eve at night, Shall she be fourteen. Susan and she, God rest all Christian souls, Where of an age. Well, Susan is with God. She was too good for me. But as I said, On lamest eve at night, Shall she be fourteen. That shall she marry. I remember it well, To his sense the earthquake, Now eleven years, And she was weaned. I never shall forget it. Of all the days of the year, Upon that day, For I had then laid wormwood To my dug, Sitting in the sun Under the dovehouse wall. My lord and you were then At mantua. Nay, I do bear a brain. But as I said, When it did taste the wormwood On the nipple of my dug, And felt it bitter, Pretty fool. To see it techy, And fall out with the dug. Shake, Quote the dovehouse. T'was no need. I trode to bid me trudge. And since that time it is eleven years. For then she could stand high alone. Nay, By the rude she could have run And waddled all about. For even the day before She broke her brow. And then my husband, God be with his soul, Was a merry man, Took up the child. Yea, quote he, Does thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward When thou hast more wit. Wilt thou not jewel? And by my holodem The pretty wretch left crying And said, Aye, To see now how a jest shall come about. I warrant, And I should live a thousand years. I never should forget it. Wilt thou not jewel? Quote he, And pretty fool. It stinted and said, Aye. Wife, Enough of this. I pray thee, Hold thy peace. Nurse, Yes, madam, Yet I cannot choose but laugh To think it should leave crying And say, Aye. And yet I warrant, It bat upon it brow, A bump as big as a young cockrel stone, A perilous knock, And it cried bitterly, Yea, Quote my husband, Falls upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward When thou comest to age? Wilt thou not jewel? It stinted and said, Aye. Juliet, And stint thou too. I pray thee, Nurse, Say, Aye. Nurse, Peace, God mark thee to his grace, Thou wast the prettiest babe That ere I nursed, And I might live to see the Married once I have my wish. Wife, Mary, That Mary is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, Daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? Juliet, It is an honor that I dream Not of. Nurse, An honor? Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hath sucked wisdom From thy teat. Wife, Well, Think of marriage now, Younger than you, Here in Verona, Ladies of esteem Are made already mothers. By my count, I was your mother Much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus, Then in brief, The valiant Paris Seeks you for his love. Nurse, A man, Young lady? Lady, Such a man as all the world, Why, He's a man of wax. Wife, Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse, Nay, He's a flower in faith, A very flower. Wife, What say you? Can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him At our feast. Read, Or the volume of young Paris' face And find the light Ripped there with beauty's pen. Examine every married liniment And see how one another lends content. And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margin of his eyes This precious book of love, This unbound lover, To beautify him only lacks a cover. The fish lives in the sea And tis much pride for fair Without the fair within to hide. That book in many's eyes, Doth share the glory That in gold clasps locks And the golden story. So shall you share all that he doth possess By having him making yourself No less. Nurse, No less. Nay, Bigger women grow by men. Wife, Speak briefly. Can you like of Paris' love? Juliet, I'll look to like If looking, Liking move, But no more deep will I In dart mine eye Than your consent give strength And make it fly. Enter serving man. Serving man. Madam, The guests are come, Supper served up. You called, My young lady asked for. The nurse cursed in the pantry And everything in extremity. I must hence to wait. I beseech you follow straight. Wife, We follow thee. Exit, Serving man. Juliet, The county stays. Nurse, Go girl, Seek happy nights To happy days. Exit, Seen for a street. Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, With five or six other Maskers, Torchbearers. Romeo, What shall this speech be Spoke for our excuse, Or shall we on without apology? Benvolio, The date is out of such Prolixity, We'll have no cupid hoodwinked With a scarf, Bearing a tartar's painted bow of Laugh, Scaring the ladies like a crowkeeper, Nor no without book prologue Faintly spoke after the Promptor for our entrance, But let them measure us By what they will. We'll measure them a measure And be gone. Romeo, Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling Being but heavy. I will bear the light. Mercutio, Nay, gentle Romeo, We must have you dance. Romeo, Not I, believe me, You have dancing shoes, With nimble soles, I have a soul of lead. So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. Mercutio, You are a lover, Borrow cupid's wings And soar with them Above a common bound. Romeo, I am too soar In pierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, And so bound I cannot bound A pitch above dull wool. Under love's heavy birthing Do I sink? Mercutio, And to sink in it Should you birthing love To great oppression For a tender thing? Romeo, Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Too rude, Too boisterous, And it pricks like thorn. Mercutio, If love be rough with you, Be rough with love. Prick love for pricking, And you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in. A visor for a visor. What care I? What curious eye-death quote deformities? Here are the beetle-brows Shall blush for me. Benvolio, Come, Knock and enter, And know sooner in, But every man be take him to his legs. Romeo, A torch for me, Let wanton's light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels. For I am proverbed With a grand sire phrase, I'll be a candle-holder and look on. The game was near so fair, And I am done. Mercutio, Tut, Duns the mouse, The constable's own word. If thou art done, We'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir reverence love, Wherein thou sticks'd up to the ears. Come, We burn daylight. Oh, Romeo, Nay, That's not so. Mercutio, I mean, sir, in delay. We waste our lights in vain, Like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, For our judgment sits Five times in that ear, Once in our five wits. Romeo, And we mean well In going to this mask, But is no wit to go. Mercutio, Why? Made one ask. Romeo, I dreamt a dream tonight. Mercutio, And so did I. Romeo, Well, what was yours? Mercutio, That dreamers often lie. Romeo, In bed asleep, While they do dream things true. Mercutio, Oh, Then I see Queen Mab Hath been with you. She is the fairy's midwife, And she comes in shape No bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman. Drawn with a team of little atomies, Athwart's men's noses As they lie asleep. Her wagon spokes Made of long spinners' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, Her traces of the smallest spider's web, Her collars of the moonshine's watry beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, The lash of film, Her wagoner, A small gray-coated net, Not half so big as a round little worm Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid. Her chariot is an empty hazelnut Made by the joiner's squirrel or old grub. Time out a mind the fairy's coachmakers. And in this state She gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, And then they dream of love. Or courtiers' knees That dream on curses straight, Or lawyers' fingers Who straight dream on fees, Or ladies' lips Who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab With blisters' plagues Because their breaths With sweet meats tainted are. Sometimes she gallops Or a courtier's nose And then dreams he Of smelling out a suit. And sometimes comes she With a tithe pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose As a lie's asleep. Then dreams he Of another benefit. Sometimes she dribeth Or a soldier's neck. And then dreams he Of cutting foreign throats Of breeches, Am buscatos, Spanish blades Of helts, Five fathom deep. And then anon Drums in his ear, At which he starts and wakes, In being thus frightened, Swear's a prayer Or two and sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plaits the mains Of horses in the night And bakes the alphlocks And fowl sluttish hairs. Which once untangled Much misfortune bodes, This is the hag When maids lie on their backs That presses them And learns them first to bear, Making them women Of good carriage. This is she, Romeo, Peace, peace, Mercutio, Peace, thou talkst of nothing, Mercutio. True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children Of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin Of substance as the air, And more inconstant Than the wind, Who woos even now The frozen bosoms of the north, And, being angered, Puffs away from vents, Turning his face to the dew Dropping south. Benvolio, this wind you talk of Blows us from ourselves. Supper is done, And we shall come too late. Romeo, I fear too early. For my mind misgives Some consequence. Yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin His fearful date with this Night's revels And expire the term Of a despised life, Closed in my breast. By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that hath the steerage Of my course direct my sail. Unlusty gentlemen. Benvolio, strike drum. They march about the stage. Exunt. Scene five. Capulet's house. Serving men come forth With napkins. First servant. Where's Podpan That he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher. He scrape a trencher. Second servant. When good manners shall lie All in one or two men's hands, And they unwashed two, Tis a foul thing. First servant. Away with the joint stools. Remove the court cupboard. Look to the plate. Good thou. Save me a piece of march pain, And, as thou loves me, Let the porter let in Susan grindstone And knell Anthony and Poppan. Second servant. Aye, boy, ready. First servant. You are looked for And called for, Asked for and sought for In the great chamber. Third servant. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys. Be brisk awhile, And the longer liver take all. Exunt. Enter the maskers. Enter with servants. Capulet, his wife. Juliet, tibbled. And all the guests And gentle women to the maskers. Capulet. Welcome, gentlemen. Ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns Will have about with you. Aha, my mistresses. Which of you all Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty, She I'll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen. I have seen the day That I have worn a visor And could tell a whispering Tail in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please. Tis gone, tis gone, tis gone. You are welcome, gentlemen. Come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall. Give room. And foot it, girls. Music plays, and they dance. More light, you knaves. And turn the tables up. And quench the fire. The room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah. This unlooked-for sport comes well. Nay, sit. Nay, sit. Good cousin, Capulet. For you and I Are past our dancing days. How long is it now Since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second, Capulet. By our lady, thirty years. Capulet. What, man? Tis not so much. Tis not so much. Tis since the nuptial of Lucencio. Come, Pentecost, as quickly as it will. Some five and twenty years. And then we masked. Second, Capulet. Tis more, tis more. His son is elder, sir. His son is thirty. Capulet. Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. Romeo to a serving man. What lady's that? Which doth enrich the hand of yonder night? Serving man. I know not, sir. Romeo. Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an ethiope's ear. Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove Trooping with crows as yonder lady Or her fellows shows. The measure done. I'll watch her place of stand And touching hers make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear at sight? For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. Tibbled. This, by his voice, should be a montague. Fetch me my rapier boy. What dares the slave come hither? Covered with an antique face To fleer and scorn at our solemnity. Now, by the stock and honor of my kin To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. Capulet. Why? How now, kinsmen? Wherefore storm you so? Tibbled. Uncle, this is a montague, our foe. A villain that is hither come in spite To scorn at our solemnity this night. Capulet. Young Romeo, is it? Tibbled. Tis he that villain Romeo? Capulet. Content thee, gentle cause. Let him alone. A bear's him like a portly gentleman. And to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-governed youth. I would not for the wealth of all this town Here in my house do him disparagement. Therefore be patient. Take no note of him. It is my will. The witch, if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns. And he'll be seeming semblance for a feast. Tibbled. It fits when such a villain is a guest. I'll not endure him. Capulet. He shall be endured. What good men, boy? I say he shall go to. Am I the master here or you? Go to. You'll not endure him. God shall mend my soul. You'll make a mutiny among my guests. You will set cock-a-hoop. You'll be the man. Tibbled. Why, uncle, tis a shame. Capulet. Go to. Go to. You are a saucy boy. Is it so indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you. I know what. You must contrary me. Married his time. Well said my hearts. You are a prince-cox. Go. Be quiet or... More light. More light. For shame I'll make you quiet. What? Cheerly, my hearts. Tibbled. Patience per force with willful collar meeting makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw. But this intrusion shall no seeming sweet convert to bitterest gall. Exit. Romeo. If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this. My lips to blushing pilgrims ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. Juliet. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss. Romeo. Have not saints lips and holy palmers too? Juliet. I, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. Romeo. Oh then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou lest faith turn to despair. Juliet. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers sake. Romeo. Then move not while my prayers effect I take. Thus from my lips by thine my sin is purged. Kisses her. Juliet. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. Romeo. Sin from my lips? Oh, trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again. Kisses her. Juliet. You kiss by the book? Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Romeo. What is her mother? Nurse. Mary, bachelor, her mother is the lady of the house, and a good lady, and a wise and virtuous. I nursed her daughter that you talked with all. I tell you, he that can lay hold of her shall have the chinks. Romeo. Is she a capulet? Oh, dear account. My life is my foe's debt. Benvolio, away be gone the sport is at the best. Romeo. I, so I fear the more is my unrest. Capulet. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone. We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it in so? Why, then, I thank you all. I thank you, honest gentleman. Good night. More torches here, exempt massacres. Come on, then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay it waxes late. All to my rest, exempt. All but Juliet and nurse. Juliet. Come hither, nurse. What is yon gentleman? Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. Juliet. What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse. Mary that I think be young Petrucchio. Juliet. What's he that follows there that would not dance? Nurse. I know not. Juliet. Go ask his name if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse. His name is Romeo. An amontic you, the only son of your great enemy. Juliet. My only love? Sprung from my only hate? Too early seen unknown and known too late. Predigious birth of love. It is to me that I must love a loaded enemy. Nurse. What's this? What's this? Juliet. A rhyme I learned even now. Of one I danced with all. One calls within. Juliet. Nurse. Anon, anon. Come, let's away. The strangers all are gone. Exempt. End of Act One. Act Two of the Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sam Stinson. Act Two. Prologue. Enter Chorus. Chorus. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, and young affection gapes to be his heir. That fair for which love groaned for and would die, with tender Juliet matched, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, alike bewitched by the charm of locks. But to his foe supposed he must complain, and she steel loves sweet bait from fearful hooks. Being held a foe, he may not have access to breathe such vows as lovers used to swear, and she as much in love, her means much less to meet her new beloved anywhere. But passion lends them power, time means to meet, tempering extremities with extreme sweet. Exit. Scene One. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard. Enter Romeo alone. Romeo. Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back dull earth and find thy center out. Climes the wall and leaps down within it. Enter Benvolio with Mercutio. Benvolio. My cousin Romeo. Romeo. Mercutio. He is wise, and on my life hath stolen him home to bed. Benvolio. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wall. Call good Mercutio. Mercutio. Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo, humors, madman, passion, lover, appear thou in the likeness of a sigh, speak what one rhyme, and I am satisfied. Cry but I me, pronounce but love and dove, speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, one nickname for her per-blind son and heir. Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, when King Cofechua loved the beggar maid. He heareth not, he stirreth not, be moveth not. The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, by her high forehead and her scarlet lip, by her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thy, and the demeans that their adjacent lie, that in thy likeness thou appear to us, Benvolio, and if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. Mercutio. This cannot anger him, twit anger him to raise a spirit in his mistress' circle of some strange nature, letting it there stand till she had laid it and conjured it down. That were some spite. My invocation is fair and honest in his mistress' name. I conjure only but to raise up him. Benvolio. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees to be consorted with the humorous night. Blind is his love, and best befits the dark. Mercutio. If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree in which his mistress were that kind of fruit, as maids call medlars when they laugh alone. Oh, Romeo, that she were. Oh, that she were an open, et cetera, thou a popper in pair. Romeo, good night, all to my truckle bed. This field bed is too cold for me to sleep. Come, shall we go? Benvolio. Go, then, forked his in vain to seek him here that means not to be found. Exunt. Scene two. Capulet's orchard. Enter Romeo. Romeo. He jests at scars that never felt a wound. Enter Juliet above at a window. But soft, what light through yonder window breaks. It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off. It is my lady. Oh, it is my love. Oh, that she knew she were. She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that? Her eye discourses. I will answer it. I am too bold. Tis not to me she speaks. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp. Her eyes in heaven would, through the airy region, stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand. Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek. Juliet, I me. Romeo, she speaks. Oh, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white, upturned, wandering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy, pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air. Juliet, oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo, deny thy father and refuse thy name, or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I'll no longer be a capulet. Romeo, aside, shall I hear more or shall I speak at this? Juliet, tis but thy name that is my enemy, thou art thyself, though not a Montague, what's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. Oh, be some other name. What's in a name, that which we call a rose by any other name, would smell as sweet? So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called? Retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doth thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee, take all myself. Romeo, I take thee at thy word, call me but love, and I'll be new baptized, henceforth I never will be Romeo. Juliet, what man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, so stumblest on my counsel? Romeo, by a name I know not how to tell thee who I am. My name, dear Saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee. Had I it written, I would tear the word. Juliet, my ears have yet not drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound. Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? Romeo, neither fair Saint, if either thee dislike. Juliet, how camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here. Romeo, with love's light, wings, did I or perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt? Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. Juliet, if they do see thee, they will murder thee. Romeo, alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity. Juliet, I would not for the world they saw thee here. Romeo, I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight, and but thou love me, let them find me here. My life were better ended by their hate than death, pro-robed, wanting of thy love. Juliet, by whose direction foundest thou out this place? Romeo, by love that first did prompt me to inquire, he lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot, yet work thou as far as that vast shore washed with the farthest sea I would adventure for such merchandise. Juliet, thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush the paint my cheek, for that which thou hast heard me speak tonight. Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny what I have spoke, but farewell compliment. Does thou love me? I know thou wilt say I, and I will take thy word. Yet if thou swarest, thou mayest prove false. At lovers' perjuries they say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully, or if thou thinkest I am too quickly one, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay. So thou wilt woo, but else not for the world. In truth fair Montague, I am too fond, and therefore thou mayest think my heavier light. But trust me, gentlemen, I'll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, but that thou overhurst ere I was where. My true love passion, therefore pardon me, and not impute this yielding to light love which the dark night hath so discovered. Romeo, lady by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops. Juliet, oh swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon that monthly changes in her circled orb lest that thy love prove likewise variable. Romeo, what shall I swear by? Juliet, do not swear at all, or if thou wilt swear by thy gracious self, which is the God of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee. Romeo, if my heart's dear love, Juliet, well do not swear, although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night. It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden, too like the lightning which doth cease to be, ere one can say, it lightens. Sweet, good night, this bud of love by summer's ripening breath may prove a beautyous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night, as sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast. Romeo, oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? Juliet, what satisfaction can't thou have to-night? Romeo, the exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. Juliet, I gave thee mine before thou dis-prequest it, and yet I would it were to give again. Romeo, wilt thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love? Juliet, but to be frank and give it thee again, and yet I wish but for the thing I have. My bounty is as boundless as the sea. My love is deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite. I hear some noise within. Dear love, I do. Nurse calls within. A non-good nurse? Sweet Montehue, be true. Stay but a little. I will come again. Exit. Romeo, oh, blessed, blessed night, I am a feared being in-night. All this is but a dream. Too flattering sweet to be substantial. Enter Juliet above. Juliet, three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honorable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow by one that all procure to come to thee, where and what time thou wilt perform the right, and all my fortunes at thy foot all lay, and follow thee, my lord, throughout the world. Nurse, within. Madam! Juliet, I come a non, but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee. Nurse, within. Madam! Juliet, by and by I come to cease thy suit and leave me to my grief. Tomorrow will I send. Romeo, so thrive my soul. Juliet, a thousand times good night. Exit. Romeo, a thousand times the worse to want thy light. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, but love from love toward school with heavy looks. Enter Juliet again above. Juliet, hissed. Romeo hissed. For a falconer's voice to lure this tassel gentle back again. Bondages hoarse and may not speak aloud. Else would I tear the cave where echo lies and make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine with repetition of my Romeo's name. Romeo. Romeo, it is my soul that calls upon my name how silver sweet sound lovers tongues by night like softest music to attending ears. Juliet. Romeo. Romeo, my dear. Juliet, at what o'clock tomorrow shall I send to thee? Romeo, by the hour of nine. Juliet, I will not fail to his twenty years till then I have forgot why I did call thee back. Romeo, let me stand here till thou remember it. Juliet, I shall forget to have thee still stand there remembering how I love thy company. Romeo. And I'll still stay to have thee still forget forgetting any other home but this. Juliet. Tis almost morning I would have thee gone and yet no farther than a wanton's bird that lets it hop a little from her hand like a poor prisoner in his twisted guives and with a silk thread plucks it back again so loving jealous of his liberty. Romeo, I would I were thy bird. Juliet. Sweet, so would I. Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow. Exit. Romeo. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast. Would I were sleep in peace so sweet to rest. Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell his help to crave and my dear hap to tell. Exit. Scene three. Friar Lawrence's cell. Enter Friar, Lawrence alone, with a basket. Friar. The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light and flight darkness like a drunkard reels from fourth day's path in titan's fiery wheels. None ere the sun advance his burning eye the day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry. I must upfill this ozier cage of ours with baleful weeds and precious juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb. What is her burying gave? That is her womb. And from her womb children of diverse kind we sucking on her natural bosom find. Many for many virtues excellent, none but for some, and yet all different. Oh, Mickle is the powerful grace that lies in plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities. For not so vile that on the earth doth live, but to the earth some special good doth give, nor ought so good but strained from that fair use, revolts from true birth stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied and vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower poison hath residence and medicine power. For this being smelt with that part cheers each part, being tasted, and lays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still in man as well as herbs, grace and rude will. And where the worser is predominant, full soon the kanker death eats up that plant. Enter Romeo. Romeo, good morrow father, friar, benediccite, what early tongue so sweet luteeth me, young son, it argues a distempered head. So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, and where care lodges sleep will never lie. But where unbruised youth with unstuffed brain doth couch his limbs, their golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, thou art uproused with some distemp mature, or if not so, then here I hid it right, our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight. Romeo, that last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. Friar, God pardon sin, was thou with Rosaline? Romeo, with Rosaline, my ghostly father, no, I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Friar, that's my good son, but where hath thou been then? Romeo, I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, where on a sudden one hath wounded me, that's by me wounded. Both are remedies within thy help, and holy physical eyes. I bear no hatred, blessed man, for lo, my intercession likewise steds my foe. Friar, be plain good son, and homely in thy drift, riddling confession finds, but riddling shrift. Romeo, then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set on the fair daughter of rich Capulet, as mine on hers, so hers is set on mine. And all combined, save what thou must combine by holy marriage, when and where and how we met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow. I'll tell thee as we pass, but this I pray, that thou consent to Marius today. Friar, holy Saint Francis, what a change is here, is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, so soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies, not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline. How much salt water thrown away in waste to season love that of it doth not taste. The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears. Low, here upon thy cheek the stained doth sit of an old tear that is not washed off yet. If ere thou wasst thyself, and these woes thine, thou and these woes were all for Rosaline. And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then. Women may fall when there's no strength in men. Romeo, thou chidest me oft for loving Rosaline. Friar, for doting, not for loving pupil mine. Romeo, and batst me, Barry Love. Friar, not in a grave, to lay one in, another out to have. Romeo, I pray thee chide not. She whom I love now doth grace for grace and love for love allow. The other did not so. Friar, oh, she knew well thy love did read by rote that could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me. In one respect I'll thy assistant be, for this alliance may so happy prove to turn your household's rancor to pure love. Romeo, oh, let us hence I stand on sudden haste. Friar, wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast. Exant. Scene four, a street. Enter Benvolio in Mercutio. Mercutio, where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? Benvolio, not to his fathers, I spoke with his man. Mercutio, why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he will sure run mad. Benvolio, Tybalt the kinsman to old Capulet, has sent a letter to his father's house. Mercutio, a challenge on my life. Benvolio, Romeo will answer it. Mercutio, any man that can write may answer a letter. Benvolio, nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares being dared. Mercutio, a last poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench's black eye, shot through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart, cleft with the blind bow boy's butt shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? Benvolio, why, what is Tybalt? Mercutio, more than Prince of Cats, I can tell you. Oh, he's the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing, prick song, keeps time, distance, and proportion, rests me, his minimum rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom, the very butcher of a silk button, a duelist, a duelist, a gentleman of the very first house of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passato, the punto reverse, the hay. Benvolio, the what? Mercutio, the pox of such antique, lisping, affecting fantasticos, these new tuners of accent, by Yesiu a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whore. Why is not this lamentable thing, Grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion mongers, these pardonemies who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? Oh, their bones, their bones. Enter Romeo. Benvolio, here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. Mercutio, without his row, like a dried herring. Oh, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified. Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench. Mary, she had a better love to be rhyme her. Dido, a dowdy, Cleopatra, a gypsy, Helen and hero, hildings and harlots, this be a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. Señor Romeo, bonjour. There's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. Romeo, good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? Mercutio. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive? Romeo, pardon good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. Mercutio, that's as much as to say a piece as yours constrains a man to bow in the hands. Romeo, meaning to cursey. Mercutio, thou hast most kindly hit it. Romeo, a most curious exposition. Mercutio, nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. Romeo, pink for flower. Mercutio, right. Romeo, why, then, is my pump well flowered? Mercutio, well said. Follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single soul of it is worn the jest may remain after the wearing, solely singular. Romeo, oh single soul jest solely singular for the singleness. Mercutio, come between us, good Benvolio. My wits faint. Romeo, swits and spurs, swits and spurs, or I'll cry a match. Mercutio, nay, if our wits run the wild goose chase, I am done, for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than I am sure I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose? Romeo, thou was never with me for anything when thou was not there for the goose. Mercutio, I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. Romeo, nay, good goose, bite not. Mercutio, thy wit is a very bitter sweetening. It is a most sharp sauce. Romeo, and is it not then well served into a sweet goose? Mercutio, oh, here's a wit of chevereel that stretches from an inch narrow to an L broad. Romeo, I stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. Mercutio, why is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo, now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature. For this driveling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bobble in a hole. Benvolio, stop there, stop there. Mercutio, thou desires me to stop in my tail against the hare? Benvolio, thou wouldest else have made thy tail large. Mercutio, oh thou art deceived, I would have made it short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tail and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer. Romeo, here's goodly gear. Enter nurse and her man, Peter. Mercutio, a sail, a sail. Benvolio, two, two, a shirt and a smock. Nurse, Peter, Peter, a non. Nurse, my fan, Peter. Mercutio, good Peter, to hide her face for her fan's the fairer face of the two. Nurse, God ye good morrow, gentlemen. Mercutio, God ye gooden, fair gentle woman. Nurse, is it gooden? Mercutio, tis no less, I tell ye, for the body hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse, out upon you, what a man are you. Romeo, one gentle woman that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse, by my troth it is well said for himself to mar. Quote a gentleman, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? Romeo, I can tell you, but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name for fault of a worse. Nurse, you say well. Mercutio, yea, is the worst well? Very well took, in faith, wisely, wisely. Nurse, if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. Benbolio, she will indict him to some supper. Mercutio, abod, abod, abod, so ho. Romeo, what hast thou found, Mercutio? No hair, sir, unless a hair, sir, in a lenton pie. That is something stale and whore ere it be spent. He walks by them and sings. An old hair whore and an old hair whore is very good meat in lent. But a hair that is whore is too much for a score when it whores ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's wheel to dinner thither? Romeo, I will follow you. Mercutio, farewell, ancient lady, farewell, sings. Lady, lady, lady, exit Mercutio. Benbolio. Nurse, marry farewell. I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery? Romeo, a gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse, and to speak anything against me I'll take him down and a word lustier than he is, and twenty such jacks, and if I cannot I'll find those that shall. I am none of his flirtgills, I am none of his skeins mates, and thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure. Peter, I saw no man use you at his pleasure, if I had my weapon should quickly have been out, I warned you. I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse, now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers, scurvy knave, pray you, sir, a word, and, as I told you, my young lady bid me inquire you out. What she bid me say I will keep to myself, but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say. It were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say, for the gentle woman is young, and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentle woman, and very weak dealing. Romeo, nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress, I protest unto thee. Nurse, good heart, and I faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. Romeo, what wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost not mark me. Nurse, I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer. Romeo, bid her devise some means to come to shrift this afternoon, and there she shall at Friar Lawrence's cell be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse, no, truly, sir, not a penny. Romeo, go to, I say you shall. Nurse, this afternoon, sir, well, she shall be there. Romeo, and stay, good nurse, behind the Abbey Wall. Within this hour my man shall be with thee, and bring thee cords made like a tackled stair, which to the high top gallant of my joy must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell, be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. Farewell, commend me to thy mistress. Nurse, now, God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir. Romeo, what sayst thou, my dear nurse? Nurse, is your man's secret? Did you nare here say, too, may keep counsel, putting one away? Romeo, I warrant thee my man's as true as steel. Nurse, well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord, when twas a little prading thing, oh, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris that would faintly knife a board. But she, good soul, had as leave, see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man. But, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the verseal world. Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? Romeo, I, nurse, what of that, both with an R? Nurse, ah, mocker, that's the dog's name, R is for the— No, I know it begins with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and Rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. Romeo, commend me to thy lady. Nurse, I a thousand times. Exit Romeo. Peter, Peter, anon. Nurse, Peter, take my fan and go before and apace. Exit. Scene five, Capulets orchard, enter Juliet. Juliet. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse, and half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him, that's not so. Oh, she is lame. Love's heralds should be thoughts which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, driving back shadows over low-ring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinion doves draw love, and therefore hath the winds swift cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve is three long hours, yet she has not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, she would be as swift in motion as a ball. My words would bandy her to my sweet love, and his to me. But old folks, many fain as they were, dead, unwieldly, slow, heavy, and pale as lead. Enter Nurse, and Peter. Oh, good, she comes. Oh, honey nurse, what news! Has thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse, Peter, stay at the gate. Exit Peter. Juliet. Now, good, sweet nurse, oh Lord, why lookest thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily. If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news by playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse, I am a weary, give me leave awhile. Fee, how my bones ache. What adjants have I had? Juliet. I would thou hatched my bones, and I thy news. Nay, come. I pray thee speak. Good, good nurse, speak. Nurse, yesu, what haste? Can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? Juliet. How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that. Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance. Let me be satisfied. Is it good or bad? Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice. You know not how to choose a man. Romeo. No, not he. Though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's. And for a hand in a foot and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I'll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, Wedge. Serve God. What, have you dined at home? Juliet. No, no. But all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? What of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches. What a head have I. And beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back. Oh, to other side. Ah, my back, my back. Bershrew your heart for sending me about to catch my death with Johnson up and down. Juliet. Faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous and a kind, and a handsome, and I warrant a virtuous. Where is your mother? Juliet. Where is my mother? Why, she is within. Where should she be? How oddly thou repliast. Your love says, like an honest gentleman, where is your mother? Nurse. Oh, God's lady, dear, are you so hot? Mary, come up, I tro. Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. Juliet. Here's such a coil. Come, what says Romeo? Nurse. Have you got leave to go to Schrift today? Juliet. I have. Nurse. Nurse. Then he you hence to Friar Lawrence's cell. There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks. They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. He you to church. I must another way, to fetch a ladder, By the which your love must climb a bird's nest Soon when it is dark. I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go, all to dinner. He you to the cell. Juliet. He, to high fortune, honest nurse farewell. Exunt. Scene six. Friar Lawrence's cell. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo. Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after hours with sorrow chide us not. Romeo. Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can And cannot counter veil the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words Then love devouring death do what he dare. It is enough I may but call her mine. Friar. These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so. Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Enter Juliet. Here comes the lady. Oh, so light a foot will nere wear out The everlasting flint. A lover may bestride the gossamer That idols in the wanton summer air And yet not fall, so light is vanity. Juliet. Good even to my ghostly confessor. Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. Juliet. As much to him else is his thanks too much. Romeo. Ah, Juliet. If the measure of thy joy be heaped like mine And that thy skill be more to blazen it, Then sweeten with thy breath this neighbor air And let rich music's tongue unfold the imagined happiness That both receive in either by this dear encounter. Juliet. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, none of ornament. They are but beggars that can count their worth. But my true love is grown to such excess Cannot sum up some of half my wealth. Friar. Come, come with me, and we will make short work. For by your leaves you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. Exit.