 | Romeo and Juliet |  |
41
ACT IV.
SCENE, Juliet's Chamber.Romeo and Juliet discovered.
Jul.
Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near Day,
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearful Hollow of thine Ear:
Nightly she sings on yond' Pomgranate 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 begone, and live; or stay, and die.
Jul.
Yon Light is not Day-light; I know it well
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.
Then stay a while; thou shalt not go so soon.
Rom.
Let me then stay, let me be ta'en and die;
If thou wilt have it so, I am content:
I'll say yon Gray is not the Morning's Eye,
'Tis but the pale Reflex of Cynthia's Brow;
I'll say it is the Nightingale that beats
The vaulty Heaven's, so high above our Heads,
And not the Lark, the Messenger of Morn:
Come Death and welcome. Juliet wills it so.
What says my Love? Let's talk; it is not Day.
Jul.
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.
42
O! now I would they had chang'd Voices too!
O! now begone, more light and light it grows.
Nurse within.
Nurse.
Madam.
Jul.
Nurse.
Nurse.
Your Lady Mother's coming to your Chamber;
The Day is broke; be wary, look about.
Jul.
Then, thou must go: Love! Lord! ah! Husband! Friend!
I must hear from thee every Day in the Hour,
For in a Minute there are many Days:
O, by this 'count, I shall be much in Years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.
Rom.
The Saints that heard our Vows, and know our Loves,
Seeing my Faith, and thy unspotted Truth,
Will sure take care, and let no Wrongs annoy thee;
Upon my Knees I'll ask 'em every Day,
How my kind Juliet does;—and every Night,
In the severe Distresses of my Fate,
As I perhaps shall wander thro' the Desert,
And want a Place to rest my weary Head on,
I'll count the Stars, and bless 'em as they shine,
And court 'em all, for my dear Juliet's Safety.
Jul.
Oh! Banishment! eternal Banishment!
Ne'er to return! must we ne'er meet again?
My Heart will break; I cannot bear that Thought
And live, cou'd I but see to the End of Woe,
There were some Comfort;—but eternal Torment,
Is ever insupportable to Thought:
It cannot be that we shall part for ever.
Rom.
No, for my Banishment may be recall'd;
Then shall I boldly claim fair Juliet mine:
Whilst happiest Men shall envy at our Blessings,
And Poets write the Wonders of our Loves.
Jul.
Oh! I cou'd find out Things to talk to thee for ever.
43
Weep not, the Time
We had to stay together has been employ'd
In richest Love.
Jul.
We ought to summon all
The Spirit of soft Passion up, to chear,
Our Hearts, thus lab'ring with the Pangs of parting.
Oh! my poor Romeo!
Rom.
Ah! my kindest Juliet!
Jul.
But do'st thou think we e'er shall meet again?
Rom.
I doubt it not; and all these Woes shall serve
For sweet Discourses in our Time to come.
Jul.
Alas! I have an ill-divining Soul:
Methinks I see thee, now thou art from my Arms,
Like a stark Ghost, with Horror in thy Visage:
Either my Eye-sight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom.
And trust me, Love, in my Eye so dost thou:
Dry sorrow drinks our Blood:—Farewell, Farewell.
Jul.
All good Angels guard thee.
[Ex. Romeo.
Oh Fortune, Fortune! all Men call thee fickle;
If thou art fickle, what hast thou to do
With him that is renowned for his Faith?
Yet be fickle Fortune: For then I hope
Thou wilt not keep him long—But send him back.
Enter Lady Capulet.
L. Cap.
Ho, Daughter, are you up?
Jul.
Who is't that calls! Is it my Lady Mother?
What unaccustom'd Cause procures her hither?
[Aside.
L. Cap.
Why, how now Juliet?
Jul.
Madam, I am not well.
L. Cap.
Evermore weeping for your Cousin's Death?
What wilt thou wash him from his Grave with Tears?
Jul.
Yet let me weep for such a feeling Loss.
L. Cap.
Well Girl, thou weep'st not so much for his Death,
As that the Villain lives, which slaughter'd him.
Jul.
What Villain, Madam.
L. Cap.
That same Villain, Romeo.
Jul.
Villain and he are many Miles asunder.
44
Content thee, Girl: If I could find a Man
I wou'd soon send to Mantua, where he is,
And give him such an unaccustom'd Dram,
That he should soon keep Tibalt Company.
Jul.
Find you the Means, and I'll soon find such a Man;
For while he lives, my Heart shall ne'er be light
Till I behold him—dead—is my poor Heart,
Thus for a Kinsman vex'd?
L. Cap.
Well, let that pass.
I come to bring thee joyful Tidings, Girl.
Jul.
And Joy comes well in such a needful Time.
What are they, I beseech your Ladyship?
L. Cap.
Well, well; thou hast a careful Father, Child,
One, who to put thee from thy Heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden Day of Joy,
That thou expect'st not; nor I look'd not for.
Jul.
Madam, in happy Time, what Day is this?
L. Cap.
Marry, my Child, early next Thursday Morn,
Paris the gallant, young and noble Count,
Shall happily make thee a joyful Bride.
Jul.
I wonder at this Haste, that I must wed
Ere he that must be Husband comes to woo.
I pray you tell my Lord and Father, Madam,
I will not marry yet; and when I do
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris:—These are News indeed.
L. Cap.
Here comes your Father, tell him so yourself,
And see how he will take it at your Hands.
Enter Capulet, and Nurse.
Cap.
How now? What, still in Tears? Evermore show'ring!
Now, Wife, have you deliver'd our Decree?
L. Cap.
Ay, Sir; but she will none, she gives you Thanks:
I wou'd the Fool were married to her Grave.
45
Soft, take me with you, take me with you, Wife:
How! will she none? Doth she not give us Thanks?
Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a Gentleman to be her Bridegroom?
Jul.
Not proud, you have; but thankful that you have.
Proud can I never be of what I hate:
But thankful even for Hate, that is meant Love.
Cap.
How now, Chop-Logick! Why, what Riddling's this!
Proud! and I thank you! and I thank you not!
Thank me no Thankings, nor proud me no Prouds;
But settle your fine Joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris, to St. Peter's Church:
Or I will drag thee on a Hurdle thither.
Jul.
Good Father, I beseech you on my Knees,
Hear me with Patience but to speak a Word.
Cap.
Hang thee, young Baggage disobedient Wretch.
I tell thee what, get thee to Church on Thursday
Or never after look me in the Face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.
My Fingers itch Wife, we scarce thought us blest.
That Heaven hath sent us but this only Child.
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a Curse in having her:
Out on her Hilding
Nurse.
Now good Heaven bless her
You are to blame my Lord, to rate her so.
Cap.
And why, my Lady Wisdom, hold your Tongue.
Good Prudence, smatter with your Gossips go.
Nurse.
I speak no Treason: Then why mayn't one speak
Cap.
Peace you mumbling Fool.
Utter your Gravity o'er a Gossip's Bowl.
For here we need it not
L. Cap.
You are too hot
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It makes me mad: Day, Night, late, early,
At home, abroad; alone, in Company,
Waking or Sleeping, still my Care hath been
To have her match'd: And having now provided
A Gentleman of noble Parentage,
Of fair Demeans, youthful, and nobly allied;
Stuff'd as they say with honourable Parts;
Proportion'd as one's Thought would wish a Man:
And then to have a wretched pulling Fool,
A whining Mammet, in her Fortune's Tender,
To answer I'll not wed; I cannot love;
I am too young: I pray you pardon me,
Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest:
If you be mine, I'll give you to my Friend;
If you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the Streets;
For by my Soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall ever do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn.
[Exit.
Jul.
Is there no pity sitting in the Clouds,
That sees into the Bottom of my Grief.
O sweet my Mother, cast me not away,
Delay this Marriage for a Month, a Week,
Or if you do not, make the bridal Bed
In that dim Monument, where Tibalt lies.
L. Cap.
Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a Word;
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee
[Exit.
Jul.
O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?
Nurse.
Faith, here it is,
Romeo is banish'd: All the World to nothing
That he dares not come back to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be by Stealth.
Then, since the Case so stands, as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the Count.
Oh! he's a lovely Gentleman!
Romeo's a Dish-clout to him.
Jul.
Speak'st thou from thy Heart?
Nurse.
And from my Soul too;
Or else beshrew 'em both!
47
Go in, and tell my Lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my Father, to Friar Laurence Cell,
To make Confession, and to be absolv'd.
Nurse.
Marry I will, and this is wisely done.—
[Exit.
Jul.
O most wicked Fiend!
Thus to dispraise my Lord, with that same Tongue,
Which she hath prais'd him with, above Compare,
So many thousand Times! Go, Counsellor;
Thou and my Bosom, henceforth shall be 'twain:
How hateful is this Place in Romeo's Absence?
Remov'd from what we love, a Court's a Prison;
But with our Loves the least Spot's a World:
Then, finding Romeo, I enjoy the World.
Oh! Love, how mighty is thy Power! My Heart
Grows resolute, inspir'd by thee: 'Tis Love
Makes wise Men weak, and silly Women cunning;
Cowards couragious, and the Hero tremble:
Love can with sudden, and resistless, Power,
Abash the Learned; or make an Orator,
Of unskill'd Youth;—Humanise the Brute;
Exalt the Slave, enslave the Conqueror:
Love can make Juliet shun her Father's House,
Who ere she knew Love's Influence, thence to have fled,
Had broke her Heart; no, I'll not tarry here:
I'll to the Friar, and consult with him.
If for my Griefs he finds no Remedy,
Let the worst come, I still have Power to die.
[Exit.
SCENE, the Monastry
Friar Laurence, and Paris.
Fri.
On Thursday, Sir! the Time is very short.
Paris.
My Father Capulet will have it so.
Fri.
You say, you do not know the Lady's Mind.
Uneven is this Course, I like it not.
Paris.
Immoderately she weeps for Tibalt's Death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of Love.
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Now, Sir, her Father counts it dangerous,
That we shou'd give her Sorrow so much Sway;
And in his Wisdom hastes our Marriage,
To stop the Inundation of her Tears;
Which, too much minded by herself alone,
May be put from her by Society.
Now, you do know the Reason of this Haste?
Fri.
I wou'd I knew not why it shou'd be slack'd.
[Aside.
Look, Sir, here comes the Lady t'wards my Cell.
Enter Juliet.
Paris.
Welcome, my Love, my Lady, and my Wife.
Jul.
That may be, Sir, when I may be a Wife.
Paris.
That may be, must be, Love, on Thursday next.
Jul.
What must be, shall be.
Paris.
Come you to make Confession to this Father?
Jul.
To answer that, were to confess to you.
Paris.
Do not deny to him that you love me?
Jul.
I will confess to you, that I love him.
Paris.
So will you, I am sure, that you love me.
Jul.
If I do so, it will be of more Price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your Face.
Paris.
Poor soul, thy Face is much abus'd with Tears.
Jul.
The Tears have got small Victory by that:
For it was bad enough before their Spite.
Paris.
Thou wrong'st it more than Tears with that Report.
Jul.
That is no Slander, Sir, which is but Truth,
And what I speak, I speak it to my Face.
Paris.
Thy Face is mine, and thou hath slander'd it.
Jul.
It may be so, for it is not my own.
Are you at leisure, holy Father, now,
Or shall I come at Evening Mass?
Fri.
My Leisure serves me, pensive Daughter, now
My Lord, I must entreat the Time alone.
49
Heaven shield I shou'd disturb Devotion:
Juliet, farewell, and keep this holy Kiss.
[Exit Paris.
Jul.
Go shut the Door, and when thou hast done so
Come weep with me, past Hope, past Cure, past Help.
Fri.
O, Juliet I already know your Grief,
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursdry next be married to the Count.
Jul.
Tell me not Friar that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If in thy Wisdom thou can'st give no Help,
Do thou but call my Resolution wise,
And with this Dagger I'll help it presently.
Heaven join'd my Heart and Romeo's, thou our Hands;
And ere this Hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the Label to another Deed,
Or my true Heart with treacherous Revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
Therefore out of thy long-experienced Time,
Give me some present Council, or behold
'Twixt my Extreams and me, this bloody Dagger
Shall play the Umpire: Arbitrating that,
Which the Commission of thy Years and Art
Cou'd to no Issue of true Honour bring:
Speak, and be brief; for I desire to die.
If what thou speak'st, speak't not of Remedy.
Fri.
Hold Daughter, I do spy a kind of Hope,
Which craves as desperate an Execution,
As that is desperate which we wou'd prevent.
If rather than to marry with Count Paris
Thou hast the Strength or Will, to slay thyself;
Then it is likely thou wilt undertake
A Thing like Death to chide away this Shame,
That cop'st with Death itself, to scape from it,
And if thou dar'st I'll give the Remedy
Jul.
O bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the Battlements of yonder Tower:
Or chain me to some steepy Mountain's Top
Where roaring Bears, and savage Lions roam;
Or shut me nightly in a Charnel House,
50
Or bid me go into a new made Grave,
And hide me with a dead Man in his Shroud;
Things that to hear them nam'd, have made me tremble;
And I will do it without Fear or Doubt,
To live an unstain'd Wife to my sweet Love.
Fri.
Mind Juliet, hie thee Home, get thee to Bed:
(Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy Chamber:)
And when thou art alone, take thou this Phial,
And this distilled Liquor drink thou off,
When presently thro' all thy Veins shall run
A cold and drowsy Humour, which shall seize
Each vital Spirit; for no Pulse shall keep
His natural Progress, but surcease to beat;
No Warmth, no Breath shall testify thou livest;
And in this borrow'd Likeness of shrunk Death
Thou shalt continue two and forty Hours,
And then awake as from a pleasant Sleep,
Now when the Bridegroom in the Morning comes
To rouse thee from thy Bed, there art thou dead;
Then as the Manner of our Country is,
In thy best Robes uncover'd, on the Bier,
Be borne to Burial in thy Kindred's Grave:
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient Vault
Where all the Kindred of the Capulet's lie;
In the mean time against thou shalt awake
Shall Romeo by my Letters know our Drift,
And hither shall he come; and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very Night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua;
If no unconstant Toy nor womanish Fear
Abate thy Valour in the acting it.
Jul.
Give me, oh give me, tell me not of Fear.
Fri.
Now get you gone, be strong and prosperous
In this Resolve, I'll send a Friar with Speed
To Mantua, with my Letters to thy Lord.
Jul.
Love give me Strength, and Strength shall Help afford.
Farewell, dear Father.
51
Enter Capulet, Lady, Capulet, Nurse, and two or three Servants.
Cap.
So many Guests invite as here are writ;
What is my Daughter gone to Friar Laurence?
Nurse.
Ay, forsooth.
Cap.
Well, he may chance to do some good on her;
A peevish self will'd Harlotry it is.
Enter Juliet.
Nurse.
See where she comes from her Confession.
Cap.
How now my Head-strong? Where have you been gadding?
Jul.
Where I have learnt me to repent the Sin
Of disobedient Opposition
To you and your Behests; and am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here,
And beg your Pardon: Pardon, I beseech you!
Hence-forward I am ever rul'd by you.
Cap.
Send for the Count, go quick, tell him of this:
I'll have this Knot knit up immediately.
Jul.
I met the youthful Lord at Laurence Cell,
And gave him what becoming Love I might,
Not stepping o'er the Bounds of Modesty.
Cap.
Why, I am glad on't; this is well.
Jul.
Nurse, will you go with me into the Closet,
To help me sort such needful Ornaments,
As you think fit to furnish me To-morrow?
Cap.
Go Nurse, go with her; we'll to Church 'ith' Morning.
[Exeunt Jul. and Nurse.
L. Cap.
We shall be short in our Provisions;
'Tis now past Night.
Cap.
Tush, I'll stir about,
And all Things shall be well, I warrant thee, Wife:
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her;
I'll not to Bed To-night, let me alone:
I'll play the Housewife for this once. What ho!
They are all forth; well, I will walk my self
52
My Heart's wond'rous light,
Since this same wayward Girl is so reclaim'd.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, Juliet's Chamber.
Juliet and Nurse.
Jul.
Ay, those Attires are best; but, gentle Nurse,
I pray thee leave me to my self To-night:
For I have need of many Orisons
To move the Heavens to smile upon my State,
Which, well thou know'st, is cross and full of Sin.
Enter Lady Capulet.
L. Cap.
What, are you busy, do you need my Help?
Jul.
No, Madam; we have cull'd such Necessaries
As are behoveful for our State To-morrow:
So, please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the Nurse this Night set up with you;
For I am sure you have your Hands full all,
In this so sudden Business.
L. Cap.
Good-night,
Get thee to Bed and rest, for thou hast need.
[Exeunt.
Jul.
Farewell—Heaven knows when we shall meet again!
I have a faint cold Fear thrills thro' my Veins,
That almost freezes up the Heat of Life.
I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Nurse—what shou'd she do here?
My dismal Scene I needs must act alone:
Come Phial—what if this Mixture do not work at all?
Shall I of Force be married to the Count?
No, no; this shall forbid it; lie thou there:
[Conceals a Dagger under her Robe.
What if it be a Poison, which the Friar
Subt'ly hath ministred, to have me dead,
Least in this Marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
53
For he hath still been try'd a holy Man—
How, if when I am laid into the Tomb,
I 'wake before the Time that Romeo
Comes to redeem me? There's a fearful Point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the Vault,
To whose foul Mouth no healthsome Air breathes in:
Or, if I live, it is not very like
The horrible Conceit of Death and Night,
Together with the Terror of the Place,
As in a Vault an ancient Receptacle,
Where for these many hundred Years the Bones
Of all my buried Ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tibalt, yet but green in Earth,
Lies fest'ring in his Shroud, where as they say,
At some Hours of the Night Spirits refort—
Alas! alas! is it not like, that I
So early waking, what with loathsome Smells,
And Shrieks like Mandrakes torn out of the Earth,
That living Mortals hearing them run mad—
Or, if I 'wake, shall I not be distraught,
(Inviron'd with all these hideous Fears,)
And madly play with my Forefathers Joints,
And pluck the mangled Tibalt from his Shroud?
And in this Rage, with some great Kinsman's Bone
As with a Club, dash out my desp'rate Brains?
O look! methinks I see my Cousin's Ghost
Seeking out Romeo—Tibalt, get thee gone,
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
SCENE, a Hall.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.
L. Cap.
Hold, take these Keys, and fetch more Spices, Nurse.
Nurse.
They call for Dates and Quinces in the Pastry.
54
Cap.
Come, stir, stir, stir, the second Cock hath crowed,
First Mattin's Bell hath rung, 'tis four o'Clock:
Look to the bak'd Meats, good Angelica
Spare not for Cost.
L. Cap.
Go, you Cot-Quean, go;
Get you to-bed; faith you'll be sick To-morrow
For this Night's watching.
Cap.
No not a whit; what I have watch'd ere now
All Night for a less Cause, and ne'er been sick.
L. Cap.
Ay, you have been a Mouse-hunt in your Time,
But I will watch you, from such watching, now.
[Exit. L. Cap. and Nurse.
Cap.
A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood—
Good faith 'tis Day
Young Paris will be here with Musick strait,
For so he said he would. I hear him near.
Nurse, Wife, what ho? What Nurse I say?
Enter Nurse.
Go waken Juliet, go, and trim her up,
I'll go and chat with Paris: Hie, make haste,
Make haste, I say.
[Exit. Cap.
SCENE draws and discovers Juliet on a Bed.
Nurse.
Mistress, what Mistress! Juliet—fast, I warrant her,
Why Lamb—why Lady—Fie you slug-a-bed—
Oh! ho! what drest and in your Cloaths and down again!
I must needs wake you, Lady, Lady, Lady,—
Alas! alas! help! help! my Lady's dead,
O well-a-day, that ever I was born?
Enter Lady Capulet.
L. Cap.
What Noise is here?
55
O lamentable Day!
L. Cap.
What is the Matter?
Nurse.
Look—oh heavy Day!
L. Cap.
Oh me, oh me, my Child, my only Life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee.
Enter Capulet.
Cap.
For Shame bring Juliet forth, her Lord is come.
Nurse.
She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead, alack the Day.
Cap.
Ha! let me see her—alas she's cold,
Her Blood is settled and her Joints are stiff,
Life and these Lips have long been separated:
‘Death lies on her like an untimely Frost
‘Upon the sweetest Flower of the Field.
Accursed Time! unfortunate old Man!
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians.
Fri.
Come, is the Bride ready to go to Church?
Cap.
Ready to go, but never to return.
O Son the Night before the Wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy Wife: See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflower'd now by him:
Death is my Son-in-law.—
Paris.
Have I thought long to see this Morning's Face,
And doth it give me such a Sight as this?
L. Cap.
Most miserable Hour that Time e'er saw
In lasting Labour of his Pilgrimage;
But one Child to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel Death hath caught it from my Sight.
Nurse.
Oh Woe most lamentable, most woeful Day.
Fri.
Peace, for shame!
Cap.
All things that we ordained Festival,
Turn from their Office to black Funeral:
Our Instruments to melancholy Bells;
Our Wedding chear to a sad Funeral Feast:
Our solemn Hymns to sullen Dirges change,
And Bridal Flowers serve for a buried Coarse.
56
Your Daughter lives in Peace and Happiness
And it is vain to wish it otherwise,
Heaven and yourself had part in this fair Maid,
Now Heaven hath all—
Then as the Custom of our Country is,
In all her best and sumptuous Ornaments
Convey her where her Ancestors lie tomb'd.
[Exeunt.
| Romeo and Juliet | |