The Same. JULIET’S Chamber. | |
| |
Enter Nurse. | |
| Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: | |
| Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! | 4 |
| Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! | |
| What! not a word? you take your pennyworths now: | |
| Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, | |
| The County Paris hath set up his rest, | 8 |
| That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, | |
| Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! | |
| I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam! | |
| Ay, let the county take you in your bed; | 12 |
| He’ll fright you up, i’ faith. Will it not be? | |
| What, dress’d! and in your clothes! and down again! | |
| I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady! | |
| Alas! alas! Help! help! my lady’s dead! | 16 |
| O! well-a-day, that ever I was born. | |
| Some aqua-vitœ, ho! My lord! my lady! | |
| |
Enter LADY CAPULET. | |
| Lady Cap. What noise is here? | 20 |
| Nurse. O lamentable day! | |
| Lady Cap. What is the matter? | |
| Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day! | |
| Lady Cap. O me, O me! my child, my only life, | 24 |
| Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! | |
| Help, help! Call help. | |
| |
Enter CAPULET. | |
| Cap. For shame! bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. | 28 |
| Nurse. She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day! | |
| Lady Cap. Alack the day! she’s dead, she’s dead! she’s dead! | |
| Cap. Ha! let me see her. Out, alas! she’s cold; | |
| Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; | 32 |
| Life and these lips have long been separated: | |
| Death lies on her like an untimely frost | |
| Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. | |
| Nurse. O lamentable day! | 36 |
| Lady Cap. O woeful time! | |
| Cap. Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail, | |
| Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. | |
| |
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, and PARIS, with Musicians. | 40 |
| Fri. L. Come, is the bride ready to go to church? | |
| Cap. Ready to go, but never to return. | |
| O son! the night before thy wedding-day | |
| Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, | 44 |
| Flower as she was, deflowered by him. | |
| Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; | |
| My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, | |
| And leave him all; life, living, all is Death’s! | 48 |
| Par. Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, | |
| And doth it give me such a sight as this? | |
| Lady Cap. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! | |
| Most miserable hour, that e’er time saw | 52 |
| In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! | |
| But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, | |
| But one thing to rejoice and solace in, | |
| And cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight! | 56 |
| Nurse. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! | |
| Most lamentable day, most woeful day, | |
| That ever, ever, I did yet behold! | |
| O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! | 60 |
| Never was seen so black a day as this: | |
| O woeful day, O woeful day! | |
| Par. Beguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! | |
| Most detestable death, by thee beguil’d, | 64 |
| By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! | |
| O love! O life! not life, but love in death! | |
| Cap. Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d! | |
| Uncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now | 68 |
| To murder, murder our solemnity? | |
| O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! | |
| Dead art thou! dead! alack, my child is dead; | |
| And with my child my joys are buried! | 72 |
| Fri. L. Peace, ho! for shame! confusion’s cure lives not | |
| In these confusions. Heaven and yourself | |
| Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, | |
| And all the better is it for the maid: | 76 |
| Your part in her you could not keep from death, | |
| But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. | |
| The most you sought was her promotion, | |
| For ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d; | 80 |
| And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d | |
| Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? | |
| O! in this love, you love your child so ill, | |
| That you run mad, seeing that she is well: | 84 |
| She’s not well married that lives married long; | |
| But she’s best married that dies married young. | |
| Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary | |
| On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, | 88 |
| In all her best array bear her to church; | |
| For though fond nature bids us all lament, | |
| Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment. | |
| Cap. All things that we ordained festival, | 92 |
| Turn from their office to black funeral; | |
| Our instruments to melancholy bells, | |
| Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, | |
| Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, | 96 |
| Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, | |
| And all things change them to the contrary. | |
| Fri. L. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; | |
| And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare | 100 |
| To follow this fair corse unto her grave. | |
| The heavens do lower upon you for some ill; | |
| Move them no more by crossing their high will. [Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and Friar. | |
| First Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. | 104 |
| Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah! put up, put up, for, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit. | |
| First Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. | |
| |
Enter PETER. | |
| Pet. Musicians! O! musicians, ‘Heart’s ease, Heart’s ease:’ O! an ye will have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’ | 108 |
| First Mus. Why ‘Heart’s ease?’ | |
| Pet. O! musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full of woe;’ O! play me some merry dump, to comfort me. | |
| Sec. Mus. Not a dump we; ’tis no time to play now. | |
| Pet. You will not then? | 112 |
| Musicians. No. | |
| Pet. I will then give it you soundly. | |
| First Mus. What will you give us? | |
| Pet. No money, on my faith! but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel. | 116 |
| First Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. | |
| Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate, I will carry no crotchets: I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me? | |
| First Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. | |
| Sec. Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. | 120 |
Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men:| | When griping grief the heart doth wound, |
| And doleful dumps the mind oppress, |
| Then music with her silver sound— |
| |
| Why ‘silver sound?’ why ‘music with her silver sound?’ What say you, Simon Catling? | |
| First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. | |
| Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? | 124 |
| Sec. Mus. I say ‘silver sound,’ because musicians sound for silver. | |
| Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? | |
| Third Mus. Faith, I know not what to say. | |
Pet. O! I cry you mercy; you are the singer; I will say for you. It is, ‘music with her silver sound,’ because musicians have no gold for sounding:| | Then music with her silver sound |
| With speedy help doth lend redress. |
[Exit. | 128 |
| First Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same! | |
| Sec. Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we’ll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. | |
