Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn.
(Exit.)
Juliet.
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 Tybalt lies.
Lady Capulet.
Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word;
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
(Exit.)
Juliet.
O God!--O nurse! how shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth?--comfort me, counsel me.--
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!--
What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse.
Faith, here 'tis; Romeo
Is banished; and all the world to nothing
That he dares ne'er 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 county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him; an eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
As living here, and you no use of him.
Juliet.
Speakest thou this from thy heart?
Nurse.
And from my soul too;
Or else beshrew them both.
Juliet.
Amen!
Nurse.
What?
Juliet.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in; and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas'd my father, to Lawrence' cell,
To make confession and to be absolv'd.
Nurse.
Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.
(Exit.)
Juliet.
Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
Or 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.--
I'll to the friar to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die.
(Exit.)
ACT IV.
Scene I. Friar Lawrence's Cell.
(Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.)
Friar.
On Thursday, sir? the time is very short.
Paris.
My father Capulet will have it so;
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.
Friar.
You say you do not know the lady's mind:
Uneven is the course; I like it not.
Paris.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
And therefore have I little talk'd of love;
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she do 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 do you know the reason of this haste.
Friar.
(Aside.) I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.--
Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.
(Enter Juliet.)
Paris.
Happily met, my lady and my wife!
Juliet.
That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
Paris.
That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.
Juliet.
What must be shall be.
Friar.
That's a certain text.
Paris.
Come you to make confession to this father?
Juliet.
To answer that, I should confess to you.
Paris.
Do not deny to him that you love me.
Juliet.
I will confess to you that I love him.
Paris.
So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.
Juliet.
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.
Juliet.
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.
Juliet.
That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
Paris.
Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it.
Juliet.
It may be so, for it is not mine own.--
Are you at leisure, holy father, now;
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?
Friar.
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.--
My lord, we must entreat the time alone.
Paris.
God shield I should disturb devotion!--
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you:
Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.
(Exit.)
Juliet.
O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!
Friar.
Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
It strains me past the compass of my wits:
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this county.
Juliet.
Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll help it presently.
God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo's 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-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel; or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the empire; arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
Friar.
Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
If, rather than to marry County Paris
Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,
Then is it likely thou wilt undertake
A thing like death to chide away this shame,
That cop'st with death himself to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give thee remedy.
Juliet.
O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house,
O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud;
Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble;
And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love.
Friar.
Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow;
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone,
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off:
When, presently, through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall,
Like death, when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv'd of supple government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
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,
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets 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.
And this shall free thee from this present shame,
If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear
Abate thy valour in the acting it.
Juliet.
Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!
Friar.
Hold; 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.
Juliet.
Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford.
Farewell, dear father.
(Exeunt.)
Scene II. Hall in Capulet's House.
(Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, Nurse, and Servants.)
Capulet.
So many guests invite as here are writ.--
(Exit first Servant.)
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
2 Servant.
You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can
lick their fingers.
Capulet.
How canst thou try them so?
2 Servant.
Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers:
therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.
Capulet.
Go, begone.--
(Exit second Servant.)
We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.--
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?
Nurse.
Ay, forsooth.
Capulet.
Well, be may chance to do some good on her:
A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is.
Nurse.
See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
(Enter Juliet.)
Capulet.
How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding?
Juliet.
Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests; and am enjoin'd
By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here,
To beg your pardon:--pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you.
Capulet.
Send for the county; go tell him of this:
I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning.
Juliet.
I met the youthful lord at Lawrence' cell;
And gave him what becomed love I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty.
Capulet.
Why, I am glad on't; this is well,--stand up,--
This is as't should be.--Let me see the county;
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.--
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,
All our whole city is much bound to him.
Juliet.
Nurse, will you go with me into my closet,
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?
Lady Capulet.
No, not till Thursday; there is time enough.
Capulet.
Go, nurse, go with her.--We'll to church to-morrow.
(Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.)
Lady Capulet.
We shall be short in our provision:
'Tis now near night.
Capulet.
Tush, I will 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 myself
To County Paris, to prepare him up
Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.
(Exeunt.)
Scene III. Juliet's Chamber.
(Enter Juliet and Nurse.)
Juliet.
Ay, those attires are best:--but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee, leave me to myself 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.)
Lady Capulet.
What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?
Juliet.
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 sit up with you;
For I am sure you have your hands full all
In this so sudden business.
Lady Capulet.
Good night:
Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.
(Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.)
Juliet.
Farewell!--God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me;--
Nurse!--What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.--
Come, vial.--
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning?--
No, No!--this shall forbid it:--lie thou there.--
(Laying down her dagger.)
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet methinks it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man:--
I will not entertain so bad a thought.--
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come 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,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it 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 this many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
