 | Romeo and Juliet |  |
1
ACT the First.
SCENE, a Hall,Old Capulet and Paris discovered.
Old Capulet.
My good Lord Paris, welcome to Verona,
The Blood that richly warms your youthful Veins,
Being so near ally'd to Royal Escalus,
(Our honour'd Prince) not more endears you to us,
Than do the Virtues of your noble Heart,
Which add a brighter Lustre to your Titles;
And challenge the Respect of all good Men.
Paris.
Lord Capulet, whatever I possess
Of Wealth, or Titles, is the Stroke of Chance;
Thank Fortune for 'em; but, on those I build not:
Be it my Endeavour then to engraft from you,
Upon my Mind your full-grown Worth and Knowledge,
E'er I presume to ask, fair Juliet's Love.
O. Cap.
Your Merit, Sir, is riper than her Years;
Tho' Girls are forward ripe in Italy,
At Fourteen, Sir, to make my Child a Mother,
Wou'd Grandsire me too soon; besides my Lady
2
We must be cautious how we cross the Women,
Or fear to lead uncomfortable Lives.
Montague, the ancient Enemy of our House,
Thinking our Power greater, Sir, than his,
Wish'd his Son Romeo, and our Daughter, married;
Which so increas'd the Anger of our Wives,
(Whose Quarrels we are ever apt to join in)
The Rage of civil War, broke out more fiercely;
And may prove fatal to his House or mine.
Par.
Young Romeo is a Man whom most admire,
And therefore to be fear'd: Say, may I hope
He has no Impression made on Juliet's Heart.
O. Cap.
None on my Life—She knows not what is Love;
Unless to love her Father, Mother, Kinsmen:
There her Affection's strong. So fear not him.
[A Noise is heard without of Fighting; and crying, Down with the Montague's, down with the Capulets, &c.
What Noise is that?—Bring me my Rapier there.
Paris.
Sir, be advis'd; think not to stir Abroad,
Till I have found the Prince; whose Presence, only,
Can quell these madding Riots.
[Exit Paris.
O. Cap.
Bring me my Sword.
Enter Lady Capulet.
L. Cap.
Bring you a Crutch!—I pray you stay within;
And let the Roisters quarrel by themselves:
'Tis but our Servants.
O. Cap.
I'll have my Sword: Hear I not Montague?
I know his Voice; therefore, I say, away;
He flourishes his Blade in Scorn of me.
[Exit O. Cap.
L. Cap.
Lock the Gates there; let not your Master forth.
[L. Cap. follows.
3
Old Montague and Capulet meeting.
Enter Prince and Attendants.
Prin.
Rebellious Subjects! Enemies to Peace;
That quench the Fire of your pernicious Rage,
With Purple-Fountains issuing from your Veins;
On Pain of Death, sheath your mistemper'd Blades,
And hear the Sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil Broils, bred of an airy Word,
By thee Old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the Quiet of our Streets,
And made Verona's ancient Citizens,
Cast by their grave beseeming Ornaments.
If ever you disturb our Streets again,
Your Lives shall pay the Forfeit of your Peace.
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And Montague, come you this Afternoon,
To know our farther Pleasure in this Case.
On Pain of Death, let every Man depart.
[Exit Prince and Attendance.
Remain Lord Montague, and Benvolio.
Mont.
Who set this ancient Quarrel new abroach?
Speak, Nephew, were you by when it began?—
Benv.
Here were the Servants of your Adversary,
And yours, close fighting, e'er I did approach;
I drew to part 'em: In the Instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his Sword prepar'd,
Which, as he breath'd Defiance to my Ears,
He swung about his Head, and cut the Winds;
While we were interchanging Thrusts and Blows,
Came more, and more, and fought on Part and Part,
Till the Prince came.
O. Mon.
Where is Romeo?
4
My Lord, an Hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peep'd thro' the golden Window of the East,
A troubled Mind drew me from Company;
When, underneath a Grove of Sycamour,
That Westward rooteth from this City Side,
So early walking did I see your Son;
Towards him I made, but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the Covert of the Wood;
I measuring his Affections by my own,
Which most are busied, when they are left alone,
Pursued my Humour; not pursuing his:
And gladly shun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mount.
Many a Morning hath he there been seen,
With Tears augmenting the fresh Morning Dew;
But all so soon as the all-chearing Sun,
Should, in the farthest East, begin to draw
The shady Curtains from Aurora's Bed;
Away from Light steals home my heavy Son:
And private, in his Chamber, pens himself;
Shuts up his Windows; looks fair Day-light out;
And makes himself an artificial Night.
Black and portentous, must this Humour prove,
Unless good Counsel may the Cause remove.
Benv.
My noble Uncle, do you know the Cause?
Mount.
I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Benv.
Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mount.
Both by my self, and many other Friends:
But he, his own Affection's Counsellor,
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.
Wou'd I cou'd learn from whence his Sorrows grow!
Benv.
See, where he comes: So please you step aside.
I'll try to learn his Grievance.
Mount.
Would thou may'st be so happy: I'll retire.
[Exit Moun.
5
Benv.
Good-Morrow, Cousin.
Rom.
Is the Day so young?
Benv.
But now struck Nine.
Rom.
Alas! sad Hours seem long!
Was that my Father, that went hence but now?
Benv.
It was. What Sadness lengthens Romeo's Hours?
Rom.
Not having that, which had, would make them short.
Benv.
Are you in Love, good Cousin?
Rom.
Say I were,
Were it a Wonder, Cousin?
Benv.
Returns the Fair-one, Love?
Rom.
I would she did!
Benv.
Alas! that Love, so gentle to our View,
Should often prove so harsh and tyrannous.
Rom.
Pri'thee no more; thou wilt but laugh at me.
Benv.
No, Coz. I rather weep.
Rom.
Good Heart, at what?
Benv.
At thy good Heart's Oppression.
Rom.
The friendly Love, Benvolio, thou hast shewn,
Doth add more Grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a Smoke, rais'd with the Fume of Sighs;
Being purg'd, a Fire sparkling in Lover's Eyes:
Being vex'd, a Sea nourish'd with Lovers Tears.
What is it else? A Madness most discreet;
A choaking Gall, and a preserving Sweet.
Farewel.
Benv.
Let me go with you; for if you leave me thus, you do me wrong.
Rom.
But I am lost, or am no more my self;
Think not this Romeo, whom you see before you.
Benv.
Tell me, in Sadness, who she is you love?
Rom.
In Sadness, Cousin, I do love a Woman.
Benv.
I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Rom.
A right good Marksman;—and she's fair I love.
Benv.
A right fair Mark, good Coz, is soonest hit.
6
Cousin, therein you miss;—She'll not be hit,
With Cupid's Arrow; she hath Diana's Wit;
And in strong Proof of Chastity well arm'd,
From Love's weak childish Bow, she lives unharm'd:
She will not stay the Siege of loving Terms,
Nor 'bide th'Encounter of assailing Eyes,
Nor ope her Lap to Saint-seducing Gold;
O! she is rich in Beauty; only poor,
That when she dies; with her dies Beauty's Store.
Benv.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste.
Rom.
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.
For Beauty starv'd by her Severity,
Cuts Beauty off from all Posterity.
Benv.
Be rul'd by me: Forget to think of her.
Rom.
First, teach me how I should forget to think.
Benv.
By giving Liberty unto thy Eyes: Examine other Beauties.
Rom.
'Tis the way
To call her's [exquisite] in Question more.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious Treasure of his Eye-sight lost,
Shew me a Mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her Beauty serve, but as a Note,
Where I may read, who still surpasses her!
Enter Old Mountague.
Mount.
Upon thy Duty, Romeo, make my Ear
No more a Stranger to thy sickly Thoughts;
But, do not let me think, what much I dread,
That the young callow Chit, whom I once deign'd,
To ask of Capulet, Romeo, for thy Bed,
Has caught thy Eye; and, thro' thy Eye, thy Heart:
No, Juliet is not for thee.—Sighs thou, Boy?
At that, unlucky Name, thou changest Colour;
Thy Looks fix'd, as if thy Fate had seiz'd thee.
7
Why nam'd you Juliet? Would she had ne'er been born,
Or any one but Capulet had got her!
Mount.
Forget her, Sir, if you regard my Blessing.
Rom.
Forget her! Oh! she has Beauty might ensnare
A Conqueror's Soul, and make him leave his Crown
At random, to be shuffled for by Slaves.
Oh! Juliet, there is Musick in thy Name,
That soft'ning me to Infant Tenderness,
Makes my Heart spring, like the first Leaps of Life.
Mount.
Then, thou art lost; if thou'rt a Man, my Son,
If thou hast Virtue in thee, or can'st prize
Thy Father's Honour, scorn her like a Slave:
Hell! love her! Damn her! She's a Capulet.
Learn then to hate her.
Rom.
'Tis impossible.
Who can behold, and hate her? Is she not
As harmless as the Turtles of the Woods?
Fair as the Summer Beauty of the Fields?
As op'ning Flow'rs untainted yet with Winds?
The Pride of Nature, and the Joy of Sense?
Why first did you bewitch me else to Weakness?
When from the Vespers as we came together,
And as by her's our Chariot drove along,
These were your Words: That, Romeo, that is she,
That must give Happiness to thee, and me.
Confirming in thy Arms the wish'd for Peace
Betwixt their ancient Family and mine.
Mount.
Then she was charming.
Rom.
Oh! I found her so.
I look'd and gaz'd, and never miss'd my Heart,
It fled so pleasingly away: But now,
My Soul is all fair Juliet's: Now she's fix'd
Firm in my Heart, by secret Vows made there;
Th'indelible Records of faithful Love.
You'd have me hate her. Can my Nature change
Create me o'er again—and I may be
That haughty Master of myself you'd have me
8
That keep me struggling under; tho' I see,
The hopeless State of my unhappy Love
With Torment; like a stubborn Slave that lies
Chain'd to the Floor, stretch'd helpless on his Back,
I look to Liberty, and break my Heart.
Mount.
No more, fond Boy, I'll have her nam'd no more.
When next thou name her, let it be with Infamy:
Tell me she has whor'd, or fled her Father's House,
With some coarse Slave, t' a secret Cell of Lust;
And then, I'll bless thee—
[Exit Mountague, and Benvolio.
Rom.
I shall obey. Saints from your Skies look down,
And find like me one wretched, if you can.
No, I will speak that hateful Name no more,
But be as curs'd as he can wish his Son.
[Exit.
SCENE, a handsome Apartment in Capulet's House.
Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servants.
Cap.
Lord Mountague is bound, as well as I,
In Penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For Men so old as we to keep the Peace.
Paris.
Of honourable Reck'ning are you both,
And pity 'tis you liv'd at Odds so long:
But, now my Lord, what say you to my Suit?
Cap.
But saying o'er 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.
Cap.
And too soon marr'd are those so early made;
The Earth hath swallow'd all my Hopes; but she.—
Yonder's my Lady, whom I have intreated
9
Women best understand each other's Minds.
Let us leave her to work upon my Daughter.
Then woo her gentle Paris, get her Heart;
My Will to her Consent is but a Part.
If she agree, within her Scope of Choice,
Lies my Consent, and fair-according Voice.
[Exeunt.
Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.
L. Cap.
Nurse, where's my Daughter? Call her forth to me.
Nurse.
Now by my Maiden-head (at twelve Years
old I had one) I'll bid her come. What Lamb!
What Lady-Bird! God forbid—Where's this Girl?
What Juliet!
Enter Juliet.
Jul.
How now, who calls?
Nurse.
Your Mother.
Jul.
Madam, I am here, what is your Will?
L. Cap.
This is the Matter. Nurse, give leave a while;
We must talk in Secret:—Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me: Thou shalt hear my Counsel:
Thou know'st my Daughter's of a pretty Age.
Nurse.
Faith I can tell her Age to an Hour.
L. Cap.
She's but fifteen.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my Teeth, and yet to
my Teeth be it spoken, I have but four;—
She's not fourteen! How long is it now to Lammas-Tide?
L. Cap.
A Fortnight and odd Days.
Nurse.
Even or odd, of all the Days in the Year,
come Lammas-Eve at Night shall she be fifteen; 'tis
since the Earthquake now twelve Years, and she
was wean'd; I never shall forget it of all the Days
in the Year. And then she cou'd stand alone!
Nay by the Rood, she cou'd have run, and waddled
all about: For even the Day before, she broke her
10
Soul, he was a merry Man) took up the Child;
yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy Face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more Wit,
wilt thou not, Jule? And by my holy Dame, the
pretty Wench left crying, and said aye! To see
now how a Jest shou'd come about,—
I warrant, an I shou'd live a thousand Years. I
shou'd not forget it, wilt thou not Jule, quoth he?
and, pretty Fool! It stinted, and said, aye!
L. Cap.
Enough of this: I prithee hold thy
Peace.
Nurse.
Well, I have done; Heaven mark thee to
his Grace:—Thou wert the prettiest Babe that e'er
I nurs'd. An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my Wish.
L. Cap.
And that same Marriage is the very
Theam, I came to talk of: Tell me, Daughter Juliet,
how stands your Disposition to be married?
Juliet.
It is an Honour that I dream not of.
Nurse.
An Honour! Were not I thy only Nurse,
I'd say thou had'st suck'd Wisdom from thy Teat:
An Honour! Eh!
L. Cap.
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—Ah! Lady, such a Man,
As all the World!—Why he's a Man of Wax.
L. Cap.
Verona's Summer hath not such a Flower.
Nurse.
Nay, he is a Flower; in faith, a very Flower.
L. Cap.
Speak briefly; can you like of Paris' Love?
Juliet.
If Happiness be seated in Content,
Or that my being bless'd can make you so,
11
Your only Child; and still, through all the Course
Of my past Life, have been obedient too:
And, as you've ever been a loving Parent,
And bred me up with watchful tenderest Care,
Which never cost me hitherto a Tear,
Name not that Paris any more: Indeed!
I cannot love him.
L. Cap.
Why?
Juliet.
Indeed I cannot,
L. Cap.
Oh early Disobedience!
Debauch'd already to her Sex's Folly;
Perverseness, and untoward head-strong Will.
Juliet.
Think me not so; I gladly shall submit
to any Thing, nay, must submit to all;
Yet think a little, e'er you fell my Peace:
The Rites of Marriage are of mighty Moment;
And shou'd you violate a Thing so sacred,
Into a lawful Rape, and load my Soul,
With hateful Bonds, which never can grow easy:
How miserable am I like to be!
L. Cap.
Has then some other taken up your heart,
And banish'd Duty, as an Exile, thence?
What sensual lewd Companion of the Night,
Have you been holding Conversation with,
From open Window, at a midnight Hour,
When wanton Wishes wou'd not let you sleep?
Juliet.
If I should love, is that a Fault, in one
So young as I? I cannot guess the Cause,—
But, when you first nam'd Paris for my Love,
My Heart shrunk back, as you had done it wrong.
L. Cap.
No more of this; 'twill make thy Father mad:
If thou art mine, resolve upon Compliance,
Or think no more to rest beneath my Roofs.
Juliet.
Will you then quite cast off your once loved Juliet?
And turn me like a Vagrant out of Doors,
To wander up and down Verona's Streets;
12
The proud and hard Revilings of a slave,
Fat with his Master's Plenty, when I ask
A little Pity for my pinching Wants?
Shall I endure the cold, wet windy Night,
To seek a Shelter under dropping Eves,
A Porch my Bed, a Threshold for my Pillow,
Shiv'ring and starved, for want of Warmth and Food,
Swell'd with my Sighs, and almost choak'd with Tears?
Must I, at the uncharitable Gates,
Of proud great Men implore Relief in vain?
Must I bear all this?
Because I am not Mistress of my Heart,
Or cannot love according to your liking?
L. Cap.
Graze where thou wilt, but think no more of me,
Till thy Obedience welcome thy Return.
[Exit.
Juliet.
Alas! That ever Heaven shou'd practise Stratagems,
Upon so soft a Subject as myself!
What say'st thou? Hast thou not a Word of Joy?
Some Comfort Nurse in this Extremity.
Nurse.
Marry, and there's but need on't: Odds my Life,
Well Romeo is a Man, and so is Paris;
Ah! But Romeo's Lip! And then Paris's Nose and
Forehead! But then Romeo's Eye again; how it will
sparkle, and twinkle, and trowl and leer! But
to see Romeo on Horseback! But to see Paris walk
or dance! such a Leg, such a Foot! Then Romeo's
Shape, and Motion; Ah! Well Romeo's the Man,
must be the Man, and shall be the Man.
Juliet.
He's by his Father's Nature rough and fierce,
And knows not yet the Follies of my Love;
And when he does, perhaps, may scorn and hate me.
13
Ah never fear it, he's a sweet young Man,
and thou shalt have him—ne'er pine nor teize thy
pretty Heart about it.—What! I have been thy
Nurse these fourteen Years, and I shou'd know what's
good for thee.
Juliet.
I prithee! Leave me to myself awhile.
[Exit Nurse.
'Tis hardly yet within two Hours of Day:
I'll to my Window which o'erhangs the Garden.
Behold the Queen of Night
Shines fair, with all her virgin Stars about her,
Not one amongst 'em all a Friend to Juliet;
Yet, by their Course a while I'll guide my Steps,
And think what Course, my wretched State must take.
Oh! Romeo! Romeo! The all-seeing Sun
Ne'er saw thy Equal since the World begun,
[Exit.
| Romeo and Juliet | |