« AnteriorContinuar »
Or fate enuie our happie marriage,
So foone to sunder vs by timelesse death?
Nur. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best frend I had,
O honest Tybalt, curteous gentleman.
lul. What storme is this that blowes so contrarie,
Is Tybalt dead, and Romeo murdered :
My deare loude coufen, and my dearest lord.
Then let the trumpet found a generall doome,
These two being dead, then living is there none.
Nur. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that murdred him is banished.
Iul. Ah heauens, did Romeos hand shed Tybalts blood !
Nur. It did, it did, alacke the daye it did.
Iul. O serpents hate, hid with a flowring face :
O painted fepulcher, including filth.
Was neuer booke containing so foule inatter,
So fairly bound. Ah, what meant Romeo ?
Nur. There is no truth, no faith, no honestie in men:
All false, all faithles, periurde, all forsworne.
Shame come to Romeo.
Iul. A blister on that tung, he was not borne to shame : V pon his face shame is alhamde to fit. But wherefore villaine didst thou kill my cousen ? That villaine cousen would haue kild my husband. All this is comfort. But there yet remaines Worse than his death, which faine I would forget : But ah, it presseth to my memorie, Romeo is banished. . Ah that word banished. Is worse than death. Romeo is banished, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Iuliet, All killd, all naine, all dead, all banished, Where are my father and my mother nurse ?
Nur. Weeping and wayling ouer Tybalts coarse. Will you goe to them?
Iul. 1, 1, when theirs are spent,
Mine shall he shed for Romeos banishment.
Nur. Ladie, your Romeo will be here to night,
Ile to him, he is hid at Laurence cell.
lul. Doo so, and beare this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.
Fr. Romeo come forth, come forth thou fearfull man,
Amiation is enamourd on thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamitie.
Rom. Father what newes, what is the princes doome.
What sorrow craues acquaintance at our hands,
Which yet we know not.
Fr. Too familiar
Is my yong sonne with such sowre companie :
I bring thee tidings of the princes doome.
Rom. What lesse than doomes day is the princes doome ?
Fr. A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips,
Not bodies death, but bodies banishment.
Rom. Ha, banished ? be mercifull, fay death :
For exile hath more terror in his lookes,
Than death it selfe, doo not say banishment.
Fr. Hence from Verona art thou banished :
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatorie, torture, hell it felfe.
Hence banished, is banisht from the world :
And world exilde is death. Calling death banishment,
Thou cutst my head off with a golden axe,
And smileft vpon the stroke that murders me.
Fr. Oh monstrous sinne, o rude vnthankfulnes :
Thy fault our law calls death, but the milde prince
(Taking thy part) hath rulhd aside the law,
And turnd that blacke word death to banishment:
This is meere mercie, and thou seest it not.
Rom. Tis torture and not mercie, heauen is heere
Where Iuliet liues : and euerie cat and dog,
And little mouse, euerie vnworthie thing
Liue hcere in heauen, and may looke on her,
Bur Romeo may not. More validitie,
More honourable state, more courtship liucs
In carrion Alyes, than Romeo : they may feaze
On the white wonder of faire Iuliets skinne,
And steale immortall killes from her lips;
But Romeo may not, he is banilhed.
Flies may doo this, but I from this must Aye.
Oh father hadst thou no strong poyson mixt,
No sharpe ground knife, no present meane of death,
Though nere so meane, but banishment
To torture me withall : ah, banished.
O frier, the damned vse that word in hell :
Howling attends it. How hadst thou the heart,
Being a diuine, a ghostly confessor,
A sinne absoluer, and my frend profest,
To mangle me with that word, banishment ?
Fr. Thou fond mad man, heare me but speake a word,
Rom. O, thou wilt talke againe of banishment.
Fr. Ile giue thee armour to beare off this word,
Aduersities sweete milke, philosophie,
To comfort thee though thou be banished.
Rom. Yet banished ? hang vp philosophie,
Valesse philosophie can make a Juliet,
Displant a towne, reuerse a princes doome,
It helpes not, it prevailes not, talke no more.
Fr. O, now I see that madmen haue no eares.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men haue no eyes.
Fr. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate,
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feele.
Wert thou as young as I, Iuliet thy loue,
An houre but married, Tybalt murdred.
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightlt thou speake, then mightst thou teare thy hayre.
And fall vpon the ground as I doe now,
Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.
Fr. Romeo arise, stand vp thou wilt be taken,
I heare one knocke, arise and get thee gone.
Nu. Hoe fryer.
Fr. Gods will what wilfulnes is this?
Nur. Hoe fryer open the doore,
Fr. By and by I come. Who is there?
Nur. One from lady Iuliet.
Fr. Then come neare.
Nur. Oh holy fryer, tell mee oh holy fryer,
Where is my ladies lord? Wher's Romeo ?
Fr. There on the ground, with his owne teares made drunke.
Nur. Oh he is euen in my mistresse case.
Iuft in her case. Oh wofull simpathy,
Pitteous predicament, euen fo lyes shee,
Weeping and blubbring, blubbring and weeping
Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man.
For Iuliets fake, for her fake rise and stand,
Why should you fall into so deepe an 0.
Nur. Ah sir, ah sir. Wel deaths the end of all.
Rom. Spakelt thou of Iuliet, how is it with her ?
Doth she not thinke me an olde murderer,
Now I haue stainde the childhood of her ioy.
With bloud remou'd but little from her owne?
Where is she, and how doth she? And what sayes
My conceald lady to our canceld loue ?
Nur. Oh the faith nothing, but weepes and pules,
And now fals on her bed, now on the ground,
And Tybalt cryes, and then on Romeo calles.
Rom. As if that name shot from the deadly leuel of a gun
Did murder her, as that names cursed hand
Murderd her kinsman. Ah tell me holy fryer
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lye? Tell me that I may
facke The hatefull mansion.
He offers to stab himselfe, and nurse snatches the dagger
away. Nur. Ah?
Fr. Hold, stay thy hand : art thou a man? thy forme
Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote
The vnresonable furyes of a beast.
Vnseemely woman in a seeming man,
Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both.
Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temperd,
Haft thou Naine Tybalt? wilt thou say thy felfe?
*And Nay thy lady too, that liues in thee?
Rouse vp thy fpirits, thy lady luliet liues,
For whose sweet fake thou wert but lately dead: