University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The inside of a Church.
Enter the funeral procession of Juliet, in which the following Dirge is sung.
CHORUS.
AIR.
CHORUS.
AIR.
CHORUS.
AIR.
CHORUS.

SCENE II.

Mantua.
Enter Romeo.
If I may trust the flattery of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord fist lightly on his throne,
And all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possest,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy?
Enter Balthazar.
News from Verona—How now, Balthazar?
Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Friar?
How doth my lady? is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? that I ask again,
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

Bal.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill,
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I saw her carried to her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news.

Rom.
Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!—

Bal.
My Lord!

Rom.
Thou know'st my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.

Bal.
Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

Rom.
Go, thou art deceiv'd,
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar?

Bal.
No, good my Lord.

Rom.
No matter: Get thee gone,
And hire those horses, I'll be with thee straight.
[Exit Balthazar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night;—
Let's see for means—O mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thought of desperate men!
I do remember an Apothecary,
And hereabout he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meager were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuft, and other skins
Of ill shap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes;
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a shew.
Noting his penury, to myself I said,
An' if a man did need a poison now,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
Oh this same thought did but forerun my need,
As I remember this should be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's shop is shut.
What ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary.
Ap.
Who calls so loud?

Rom.
Come hither, man; I see that thou art poor;
Hold, there are forty ducats, let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding geer,
As will disperse itself thro' all the veins,
That the life-weary Taker may soon die.

Ap.
Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom.
Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression stare within thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang on thy back:
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
The world affords no law to make thee rich:
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.

Ap.
My poverty, but not my will consents.

[Exit.
Rom.
I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

[Apothecary returns.
Ap.
Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off, and if you had the strength
Of twenty men it would dispatch you straight.

Rom.
There is thy gold, worse poison to mens souls,
Doing more murder in this loathsome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewel, buy food, and get thee into flesh.
Come cordial, and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Monastery at Verona.
Enter Friar John to Friar Lawrence.
John.
Holy Franciscan Friar! brother! ho!

Law.
This same should be the voice of Friar John,
Welcome from Mantua; what says Romeo?
Or if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

John.
Going to find a bare-foot brother out,
One of our order to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick;
And finding him, the searchers of the town,
(Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,)
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua there was staid.

Law.
Who bore my letter then to Romeo?

John.
I could not send it; here it is again,
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

Law.
Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge,
Of dear import, and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence,
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

John.
Brother, I'll bring it thee.

[Exit.
Law.
Now must I to the monument alone:
Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents:
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell 'till Romeo come.
Poor living coarse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb!

[Exit.

SCENE. IV.

A Church-yard: In it, a Monument belonging to the Capulets.
Enter Paris, and his Page, with a light.
Par.
Give me thy torch, boy; hence, and stand aloof.
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen:
Under yond yew-tree lay thee all along,
Placing thy ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flow'rs. Do as I bid thee; go.

Page.
I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the church-yard, yet I will adventure.

[Exit.
Par.
Sweet flow'rs! with flow'rs thy bridal bed I strew;
[Strewing flowers.
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hand,
That living honour'd thee, and being dead
With fun'ral obsequies adorn thy tomb.
[The boy whistles.
—The boy gives warning, something doth approach—
What cursed foot wanders this way to night,
To cross my obsequies?
What, with a torch? muffle me, night, a while.

[Paris retires.

SCENE V.

Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a light.
Rom.
Give me the wrenching iron,
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Put out the torch, and on thy life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is partly to behold my lady's face:
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring, a ring that I must use
In dear employment; therefore hence, be gone:
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By heaven I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs;
The time and my intents are savage-wild,
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea.

Bal.
I will be gone, Sir, and not trouble you.

Rom.
So shalt thou win my favour. Take thou that,
Live and be prosp'rous, and farewel, good fellow.

Bal.
For all this same, I'll hide me near this place;
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

[Exit.
Rom.
Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth;
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open.
[Breaking open the monument.
And in despight I'll cram thee with more food.

Par.
[Shewing himself.]
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague:
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee;
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.

Rom.
I must indeed, and therefore came I hither—
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man,
Fly hence and leave me:
By heaven I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself.

Par.
I do defie thy pity and thy counsel,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.

Rom.
Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy.

[They fight, Paris falls.
Page.
Oh lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

Par.
Oh I am slain; if thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

[Dies.
Rom.
In faith, I will: let me peruse this face—
Mercutio's kinsman! Noble County Paris!
Give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave,
For here lies Juliet—Oh my love, my wife,
Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd, beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Oh Juliet, why art thou yet so fair—here, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-weary flesh.
Come bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide,
Thou desp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks my sea-sick weary bark:
No more—here's to my love—eyes, look your last;
Arms, take your last embrace; and Lips, do you
The doors of breath seal with a righteous kiss.—
Soft—soft—she breathes, and stirs!

[Juliet wakes.
Jul.
Where am I? defend me, powers!

Rom.
She speaks, she lives; and we shall still be bless'd!
My kind propitious stars o'erpay me now
For all my sorrows past—rise, rise my Juliet,
And from this cave of death, this house of horror,
Quick let me snatch thee to thy Romeo's arms,
There breathe a vital spirit in thy lips,
And call thee back to life and love!

[Takes her hand.
Jul.
Bless me! how cold it is! who's there!

Rom.
Thy husband,
It is thy Romeo, love; rais'd from despair
To joys unutterable! quit, quit this place,
And let us fly together—

[Brings her from the tomb.
Jul.
Why do you force me so—I'll ne'er consent—
My strength may fail me, but my will's unmov'd,—
I'll not wed Paris,—Romeo is my husband—

Rom.
Her senses are unsettl'd—restore 'em, Heav'n!
Romeo is thy husband; I am that Romeo,
Nor all th'opposing pow'rs of earth or man,
Can break our bonds, or tear thee from my heart.

Jul.
I know that voice—Its magic sweetness wakes
My tranced soul—I now remember well
Each circumstance—Oh my lord, my Romeo!
Had'st thou not come, sure I had slept for ever;
But there's a sovereign charm in thy embraces
That can revive the dead—Oh honest Friar!—
Dost thou avoid me, Romeo? let me touch
Thy hand, and taste the cordial of thy lips—
You fright me—speak—Oh let me hear some voice
Besides my own in this drear vault of death,
Or I shall faint—support me—

Rom.
Oh I cannot,
I have no strength, but want thy feeble aid,
Cruel poison!

Jul.
Poison! what means my lord; thy trembling voice!
Pale lips! and swimming eyes! death's in thy face!

Rom.
It is indeed—I struggle with him now—
The transports that I felt, to hear thee speak,
And see thy op'ning eyes, stopt for a moment
His impetuous course, and all my mind
Was happiness and thee; but now the poison
Rushes thro' my veins—I've not time to tell—
Fate brought me to this place—to take a last,
Last farewel of my love and with thee die.

Jul.
Die! was the Friar false!

Rom.
I know not that—
I thought thee dead; distracted at the sight,
(Fatal speed) drank poison, kiss'd thy cold lips,
And found within thy arms a precious grave—
But in that moment—Oh—

Jul.
And did I wake for this!

Rom.
My powers are blasted,
'Twixt death and love I'm torn—I am distracted!
But death's strongest—and must I leave thee, Juliet!
Oh cruel cursed fate! in sight of heav'n—

Jul.
Thou rav'st—lean on my breast—

Rom.
Fathers have flinty hearts, no tears can melt 'em.
Nature pleads in vain—Children must be wretched—

Jul.
Oh my breaking heart—

Rom.
She is my wife—our hearts are twin'd together—
Capulet, forbear—Paris, loose your hold—
Pull not our heart-strings thus—they crack—they break—
Oh Juliet! Juliet!

[Dies.
Jul.
Stay, stay, for me, Romeo—
A moment stay; fate marries us in death,
And we are one—no pow'r shall part us.

[Faints on Romeo's body.
Enter Friar Lawrence, with lanthorn, crow and spade.
Fri.
St. Francis be my speed! how oft to-night,
Have my old feet stumbled at graves! who's there,
Alack, alack! what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre!

Jul.
Who's there!

Fri.
Ah Juliet awake, and Romeo dead!
And Paris too—Oh what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!

Jul.
Here he is still, and I will hold him fast,
They shall not tear him from me—

Fri.
Patience, Lady—

Jul.
Who is that! Oh thou cursed Friar! patience!
Talk'st thou of patience to a wretch like me!

Fri.
O fatal error! rise, thou fair distrest,
And fly this scene of death!

Jul.
Come thou not near me,
Or this dagger shall quit my Romeo's death.

[Draws a dagger.
Fri.
I wonder not thy griefs have made thee desp'rate.
What noise without? sweet Juliet, let us fly—
A greater pow'r than we can contradict,
Hath thwarted our intents—come, haste away.
I will dispose thee, most unhappy lady,
Amongst a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question—for the watch is coming,
Come, go good Juliet—I dare no longer stay.

[Exit.
Jul.
Go, get thee hence, I will not away—
What's here! a phial—Romeo's timeless end.
O churl drink all, and leave no friendly drop
To help me after—I will kiss thy lips,
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them—

[Kisses him.
[Watch and Page within.]
Watch.
Lead, boy, which way—

Jul.
Noise again!
Then I'll be brief—Oh happy dagger!
This is thy sheath, there rest and let me die.

[Kills herself.
Boy.
This is the place—my liege.

Enter Prince, &c.
Prin.
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from its morning's rest?

Enter Capulet.
Cap.
What should it be that they so shriek abroad!
The people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet and some Paris; and all run
With open outcry tow'rd our monument.

Prin.
What fear is this which startles in your ears?

Watch.
Sov'reign, here lies the County Paris slain,
And Romeo dead—Juliet thought dead before
Is warm and newly kill'd—

Cap.
Oh me, this sight of death is as a bell,
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

Enter Mountague.
Prin.
Come Mountague, for thou art early up,
To see thy son and heir now early fall'n—

Moun.
Alas my liege my wife is dead to night,
Grief of my son's exile hath stop'd her breath:
What farther woe conspires against my age!

Prin.
Look there—and see—

Moun.
Oh thou untaught, what manners is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave!

Prin.
Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while
Till we can clear these ambiguities,
And know their spring and head—mean time forbear
And let mischance be slave to patience:
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

Fri.
I am the greatest.

Prin.
Then say at once what thou dost know of this.

Fri.
I will be brief, for my short date of breath,
Is not so long, as is a tedious tale.
Romeo there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
I married them; and when you would have giv'n her
Per force to Paris, then she comes to me,
And with wild looks bids me devise some means,
To rid her from this second marriage:
Or in my cell she'd kill herself—I gave her
A sleeping potion, whose effects wrought on her
The form of death—mean time I write to Romeo,
That he should come to take her from the tomb.—
The letter which I wrote was staid by accident:
Then alone at the fix'd hour of waking,
Came I to this place, where untimely lay
Paris and Romeo dead—Juliet awake
Was raving on the ground—I intreated her
To fly with me—but then a noise did scare me,
She desp'rate would not leave her husband's body,
But as it seems did violence on herself:
All this I know; and if ought in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd some hour before its time
Unto the rigour of severest law.

Prin.
We still have known thee for a holy man:
Where be these enemies, Capulet! Mountague!
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate.

Cap.
Oh brother Mountague, give me thy hand,
This is my daughter's jointure; for no more
Can I demand.

Moun.
But I can give thee more,
For I will raise her statue in pure gold,
That while Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at that rate be priz'd,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap.
As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie,
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prin.
A gloomy peace this morning with it brings,
Let Romeo's man and let the boy attend us:
We'll hence and farther scan these sad disasters:
Well may you mourn, my Lords, (now wise too late)
These tragic issues of your mutual hate:
From private feuds, what dire misfortunes flow;
Whate'er the cause, the sure effect is WOE.