The works of William Shakespeare complete. With life and glossary

TYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.

Friar LAURENCE, a Franciscan.

Friar JOHN, a Franciscan.

BALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.

SAMPSON, servant to Capulet. GREGORY, servant to Capulet. ABRAM, servant to Montague. An Apothecary. Three Musicians. Chorus.

Boy. Page to Paris. PETER.

An Officer.

Lady MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.
Lady CAPULET, wife to Capulet.
JULIET, daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations of both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.

SCENE. DURING THE GREATER PART OF THE PLAY, IN VERONA; ONCE (IN THE FIFTH ACT) AT

MANTUA.

PROLOGUE.

Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of their parents' rage,

Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

SCENE 1.-A public place.

ACT I.

when I have fought with the men, I will be civil Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with swords with the maids, and cut off their heads.

and bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, if we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand; therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant:

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sum. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden-heads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. "Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.

Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear

it.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law of our side, if I say-ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you,
sır; but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Enter BENVOLIO, at a distance.

Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better.
Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords. Enter TYBALT.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart

less hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

You, Capulet, shall go along with me,
And Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt PRINCE and Attendants; CAPULET,

Lady CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and
Servants.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; 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,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him
to-day?

Right glad am I he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,

sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.

Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from this city's side,

Tyb. What, draw, and talk of peace? I hate the So early walking did I see your son:

word,

for a sword?

Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE and Lady MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Enter PRINCE, with Attendants.

Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-
Will they not hear?-what ho! you men, you
beasts,-

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins!
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
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,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away:

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,-
That most are busied when they are most alone,-
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering 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, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself, and many others, friends:
But he, his own affections' 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.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter ROMEO at a distance.

Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step
aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.
Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.

Ah me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?

Ben. It was: What sadness lengthens Romeo's | hours?

Bom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

Ben. In love? Rom. OutBen. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,

Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first created!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick
health!

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!--
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.

No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.

At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with loving tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[Going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong, Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why, no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!— In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you

lov'd.

With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian'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 the 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 beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still
live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. "Tis the way

Rom.

To call hers exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning 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.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early
made.

Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me;-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written-that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-In good time.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.
Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's
burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's
languish:

Take thou some new infection to the eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.

Rom. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
For your broken shin.
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madman

is:

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp'd and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good

fellow.

Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, sir, can you

read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without
book:

But I pray, can you read anything you see?
Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the
language.

Serv. Ye say honestly: Rest you merry!
Rom. Stay, fellow: I can read.
Signor Martino, and his wife and daughters;
[Reads.
County Anselme, and his beauteous sisters; the lady
widow of Vitruvio; Signor Placentio, and his lovely
nieces; Mercutio, and his brother Valentine; Mine
uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; My fair
niece Rosaline; Livia; Signor Valentio, and his
cousin Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena.
A fair assembly; [gives back the note.] Whither
should they come?

Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither to supper?
Serv. To our house.
Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that

before.

master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry.

[Exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st; With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither, and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires!

And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being
by,

Herself pois'd with herself in either eye:
But in that crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well, that now shows

best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

SCENE III-A Room in Capulet's House.

Enter Lady CAPULET and NURSE.

La. Cap. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse. Now by my maiden-head,- at twelve year old,

I bade her come.-What, lamb! what, lady-bird!-
God forbid!-where's this girl ?—what, Juliet!
Enter JULIET.

Jul. How now, who calls?
Nurse.
Jul.

What is your will?

Your mother.

Madam, I am here.

We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back agam;
La. Cap. This is the matter:- Nurse, give
leave awhile,
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel
Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse.

I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet to my teen be it spoken, I have but four-
She is not fourteen.-How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?
La. Cap.
A fortnight, and odd days.
Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!-
Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen
Were of an age,-Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
"Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,-
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua:-
Nay, I do bear a brain:-but, as I said,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To bid me trudge.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I

trow,

And since that time it is eleven years: For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about. For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband-God be with his soul! 'A 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 dam, I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, The pretty wretch left crying, and said-Ay: To see now, how a jest shall come about! I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule? quoth he:

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said—Ay.

La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy

peace.

Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot choose but

laugh,

To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay:
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said—Ay.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;

Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very tneme I came to talk of:-Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers: by my count,
I was a 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! lady, such a man,
As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.
La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a
flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.
La. Cap. What say you? can you love the
gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast:
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every several lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by

men.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' fove?

Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight.

La. Cap. We follow thee.-Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-A Street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-Bearers, and others. Rom. What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?

Or shall we on without apology?

Ben. The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hood-wink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:

But, let them measure us by what they will,
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Rom. Give me a torch,-I am not for this
ambling;

Being but heavy I will bear the light.

Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Rom. Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead, So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. Mer. You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound.

Rom. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and to boundI cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do 1 sink.

Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love: Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Rom. Is love a tender thing? it is too rougn, Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn. Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with

love;

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.— Give me a case to put my visage in:

[Putting on a mask.

A visor for a visor!-what care I,
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner in,
But every man betake him to his legs.

Rom. A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase,-
I'll be a candle-holder, and look on,

The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done.

Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word:

If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this, sir reverence, love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears.-Come, we burn daylight, ho. Rom. Nay, that's not so.

Mer.

I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, lights, lights, by day. Take our good meaning; for our judgment sits Five times in that, ere once in our five wits.

Rom. And we mean well in going to this mask But 'tis no wit to go.

Mer.
Why, may one ask?
Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night.
Mer.

Rom. Well, what was yours?
Mer.

And so did I.

That dreamers often lie Rom. In bed, asleep, while they do dream things

true.

Mer. O, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' leg
Her traces of the smallest spider's web;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her collars of the moonshine's watery beams;
Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film:
Her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner, squirrel, or old gruo,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coach-makers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love:

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