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Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, [singing] 'lady, lady, lady.' [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio. Nurse. Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?
Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Nurse. An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure?
Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. 169
Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee
Nurse. Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.
Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.
Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. Rom. Bid her devise
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
Rom. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall:
Within this hour my man shall be with thee, 200
Rom. What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away? Rom. I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel
Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady-Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:-0, there is a nobleman in town, one
Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve 10
† But old folks, many feign as they were dead ;
Enter Nurse and PETER.
O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peter. Jul. Now, good sweet nurse, O Lord, why look'st thou sad?
SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.
Nurse. Your love says, like an honest gentle
Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send man, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handthe nurse; some, and, I warrant, a virtuous, Where is your mother?
Ful. Where is my mother! why, she is within ;
In half an hour she promised to return.
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
Nurse. I am a-weary, give me leave awhile:
Jul. I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news. Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.
Nurse. Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile?
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
To say to me that thou art out of breath?
Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance:
Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?
Jul. No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse. Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I !
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
Beshrew your heart for sending me about,
Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest ! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?'
O God's lady dear!
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift
Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Lau-
There stays a husband to make you a wife:
SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell. Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO.
Fri. L. So smile the heavens upon this
That after hours with sorrow chide us not!
Fri. L These violent delights have violent
Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot
Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
ful. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
Fri. L. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
Ben. Am I like such a fellow? Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
Ben. And what to?
Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quar
relled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
Mer. The fee-simple! O simple!
By my head, here come the Capulets. By my heel, 1 care not.
Enter TYBALT and others.
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. Mer. And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion.
Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?
Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!
Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your livery: 60 Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'
Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,-thou art a villain. Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. Rom. I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender As dearly as my own,-be satisfied.
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. [Draws. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. Tyb. I am for you. Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
What, art thou hurt? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. [Exit Page. Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve; ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
Kom. I thought all for the best.
Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses!
[Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth depend;
This but begins the woe others must end. Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Rom. Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee
Why dost thou stay? [Exit Romeo.
This shall determine that. [They fight; Tybalt falls. Ben. Romeo away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
Enter Citizens, &c.
First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
Up, sir, go with me;
Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. 150 La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood
Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered 160 With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats | Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, 170
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; 189 His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Romeo can, 40
a-bleed-Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo!
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Enter Nurse, with cords.
And she brings news; and every tongue that
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
Jul. What storm is this that blows so con-
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
We are undone, lady, we are undone !
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!
Ay, ay, the cords. [Throws them down. ful. Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse. Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.'
God save the mark!-here on his manly breast:
To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty!
Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day, it did! Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,
Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitæ : What hast thou there? These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
Blister'd be thy tongue 90