Jul. 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, phial.-

What if this mixture do not work at all?
Must I of force be married to the County?
No, no: this shall forbid it :-lie thou there.
[Laying down a dagger.
What if it be a poison, which the Friar
Subtly hath ministered to have me dead;
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonoured,
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 these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed:
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud: where, as they say,
At some hours in the night, spirits resort:
Alack, alack! 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:-
O! if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environéd with all these hideous fears;
And madly play with my forefathers' joints;
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud;
And in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point!-Stay, Tybalt, stay!-
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[She throws herself upon the bed.

SCENE IV. CAPULET'S Hall.

Enter LADY CAPULET and Nurse.

Lady C. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse.

Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

Enter CAPULET.

Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crowed,

The curfew-bell hath rung; 'tis three o'clock.—
Look to the baked meats, good Angelica:
Spare not for cost.

Nurse. Go, 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 watched

ere now

All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. Lady C. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;

But I will watch you from such watching now. [Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse. Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!—Now, fellow, What's there?

Enter Servants, with spits, logs, and baskets. 1st Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.

Cap. Make haste, make haste [Exit 1st Servant]. -Sirrah, fetch drier logs:

Call Peter; he will shew thee where they are. 2nd Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out

logs,

And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Exit. Cap. 'Mass, and well said. A merry whore

son! ha,

Thou shalt be loggerhead.-Good faith, 'tis day:
The County will be here with music straight,
[Music within.
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! the bridegroom he is come already. Make haste, I say! [Exeunt.

SCENE V.--JULIET's Chamber; JULIET on the bed.

Enter Nurse.

Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet !— fast, I warrant her, she.— Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! 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
That you shall rest but little.-God forgive me,
(Marry, and amen!) how sound is she asleep!
Ineeds must wake her.-Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the County take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith.-Will it not be?
What, drest, and in your clothes! 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!—
Some aqua-vitæ, ho!-My lord! my lady!
Enter LADY CAPULET.

Lady C. What noise is here?
Nurse.

O lamentable day!

Lady C. What is the matter?
Nurse.

Look, look! O heavy day!

Lady C. O me, O me!-my child, my only life, 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.

Nurse. She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!

Lady C. 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: Life and these lips have long been separated. Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Accursed time! unfortunate old man! Nurse. O lamentable day! Lady C. Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,

Ties

O woful time!

up my tongue, and will not let me speak. 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 thy wedding-day
Hath death lain with thy bride :-there she lies,
Flower as she was, defloweréd 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 leaving, all is death's.
Par. Have I thought long to see this morn-
ing's face,

And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Lady C. Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hate-

ful day!

Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
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 catched it from my sight.
Nurse. O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day! most woful day,
That ever, ever I did yet behold!
O day, O day, O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woful day, O woful day!

Par. Beguiled, divorcéd, wrongéd, spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee beguiled,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown!--
O love! O life!—not life, but love in death!
Cap. Despised, distresséd, hated, martyred,
killed!-

Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now
To murder, murder, our solemnity?---

O child, O child!—my soul, and not my child!—
Dead art thou!-alack! my child is dead:
And, with my child, my joys are buried.

Fri. 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:
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 't was your heaven she should be advanced :
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced,
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:
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,
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 ordainéd festival,
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;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go
with him;
And go, sir Paris: every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill:
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.
[Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULet, Paris,
and FRIAR.

1st Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up; For well you know this is a pitiful case. [Exit.

1st Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Enter PETER.

Pet. Musicians, O musicians, "Heart's-ease, heart's-ease." O, an you will have me live, play "Heart's-ease."

1st 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.

2nd Mus. Not a dump we: 'tis no time to play now. Pet. You will not, then?

Mus. No.

Pet. I will, then, give it you soundly. 1st Mus. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

1st Mus. Then will I give you the servingcreature.

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?

1st Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us. 2nd Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

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?

1st Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 2nd Mus. I say "silver sound," because musicians sound for silver.

Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

3rd 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 such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding :

"Then music, with her silver sound,

With speedy help doth lend redress."
[Exit singing.

1st Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same! 2nd Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we 'll in here: tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

C A

T

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Mantua. A Street.

Enter ROMEO.

Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to
think),

And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
That I revived, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possessed,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

Enter BALTHASAR.

News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my lady 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 Capels' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

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

I do remember an apothecary,-
And hereabouts he dwells,-whom late I noted
In tattered weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples: meagre were his looks;
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones :
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed, and other skins
Of ill-shaped 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 scattered to make up a show.

Rom. Come hither, man.—I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison; such soon-speeding geer As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead, And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apoth. 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 starveth in thy eyes, Contempt and beggary hang upon 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. Apoth. My poverty, but not my will, consents. Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apoth. Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. Rom. There is thy gold: worse poison to men's souls;

Doing more murders in this loathsome world Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell:

I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none.
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.—
Come, cordial, and not poison: go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-FRIAR LAURENCE's Cell.
Enter FRIAR JOHN.
John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE.

Lau. 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 barefoot 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, Sealed up the doors, and would not let us forth: So that my speed to Mantua there was stayed.

Lau. Who bare 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.

Lau. 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 go and bring it thee. [Exit.

Lau. Now must I to the monument alone: Within this 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 corse, closed in a dead man's tomb!

[Exit.

SCENE III-A Churchyard: in it, a Monument belonging to the Capulets.

Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and

a torch.

Par. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and
stand aloof:-

Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground:
So shall no foot upon the churchyard 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 flowers. Do as I bid thee; go.
Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.
[Retires.

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal
bed I strew.

O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones, Which with sweet water nightly I will dew;

Or, wanting that, with tears distilled by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep, Nightly shall be, to strew thy grave and weep. [The Boy whistles. The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rites? What, with a torch!-muffle me, night, a while. [Retires.

Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, &c.

Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrenching-iron.

Hold, take this letter: early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light. Upon thy life I charge thee,