The second group consists of three characters who give a doubly strong impression of life because they include among their qualities some degree of perception or understanding. Prince Escalus, slight as he is, is one of these, and Friar Lawrence another. Normally we should expect a magistrate to belong to the group of static or flat characters, but Shakespeare has given his magistrate a conscience and a growing presentiment of what must happen to everyone in Verona if the wound in the civil body cannot be healed. Others want to keep the peace, too, but mainly because they have a perfunctory sense of duty or perhaps because they dislike fighting. Escalus knows from the beginning that keeping the peace here is a matter of life or death, and in the end he readily takes his share of responsibility for the bloody sacrifice he has failed to avert:Capulet, Montague,
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love.
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punished.
(5.3.291-95)
The Friar is included in this “all”; and the Friar, moreover, has preceded the Prince in accepting blame:. . . if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed some hour before his time
Unto the rigor of severest law.
(266-69)
Like the Prince, the Friar has had from the start a clear perception of the danger latent in the old quarrel, and like the Prince he has taken steps appropriate to his position to mend the differences and restore order. Yet whereas the Prince by nature has moved openly and erred in not moving vigorously enough, Friar Lawrence by nature works in secret and his secrecy does him in. Actually his much-criticized plan for ending the quarrel is sound enough in principle. Any faithful son of the Church, accustomed to cementing alliances with the sacrament of matrimony, would naturally have considered the young people’s sudden affection for each other an opportunity sent by Heaven. Friar Lawrence’s error lies all in the execution of the thing, in letting a Heaven-made marriage remain an affair of secret messages, rope ladders, and unorthodox sleeping potions, a clandestine remedy doomed to miscarriage long before the thwarted message determines the shape of the inevitable catastrophe. What was desperately needed in this case was a combination of virtues, the forthrightness of the Prince and the vigor and ingenuity of the Friar; and these virtues were combined only in Mercutio, who fell victim to the deficiencies of both in that he confronted a needlessly active Tybalt at a disadvantage caused in part by bumbling Romeo’s adherence to the Friar’s secret plot.
Mercutio, who is the third member of this more perceptive group, stands next to Romeo and Juliet in importance in the play. In fact, some critics who consider him more interesting than the two protagonists have suggested that Shakespeare finished him off in Act 3 out of necessity. This is almost as absurd as the view that Shakespeare wrote Falstaff out of Henry V because the fat man had become unmanageable. Others have found Mercutio’s wit embarrassing and tried to relieve Shakespeare of the responsibility for some parts of it, but this is absurd too. An edited Mercutio becomes either sentimental or obscene; he also becomes meaningless, and without him the play as a whole reverts to the condition of melodrama that it had in Shakespeare’s source. Consider for a moment the climax of the play, which is almost solely Shakespeare’s invention. In Brooke the matter is relatively simple: Tybalt provokes Romeo, and Romeo slays him. Shakespeare has it that Tybalt deliberately sought to murder Romeo and Romeo so badly underestimated his challenger that he declined to defend himself; whereupon Mercutio, in defense of both Romeo’s honor and his person, picked up the challenge and would have killed Tybalt but for Romeo’s intervention. Tybalt then killed Mercutio, and Romeo killed Tybalt in revenge. But, one should ask, what if Romeo had not intervened? Tybalt would have been slain, surely, and Mercutio would have survived to receive the Prince’s rebuke; at most, however, he would have been punished only slightly, for Mercutio was of the Prince’s line and not of the feuding families. The feud thus would have died with Tybalt, and in time Capulet and Montague might have been reconciled openly, as Friar Lawrence hoped. In short, Mercutio was on the point of bringing to pass what neither civil authority nor well-intentioned but misplaced ingenuity had been able to accomplish, and Romeo with a single sentimental action (“I thought all for the best,” he says) destroyed his only hope of averting tragedy long enough to achieve the maturity he needed in order to avoid it altogether.
Many critics have commented on the breathless pace of this play, and no wonder. Shakespeare has made it the story of a race against time. What Romeo needs most of all is a teacher, and the only one capable of giving him instruction worth having and giving it quickly is Mercutio. All the rest are unavailable, or ineffectual, like Benvolio, or unapt for dealing practically with human relations. Mercutio, however, for all his superficial show of irresponsibility, is made in the image of his creator; he is a poet, who gives equal value to flesh and spirit, sees them as inseparable aspects of total being, and accepts each as the necessary mode of the other. His first line in the play, discharged at a young fool who is playing the ascetic for love, is revealing: “Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance” (1.4.13). And when gentle Romeo persists in day-dreaming, he says, “Be rough with love,” declares that love is a mire and that dreamers are often liars. The long fairy speech which follows dignifies idle dreams by marrying them to earth; its intent is to compel Romeo to acknowledge his senses and to bring him to an honest and healthy confession of what he is really looking for, but Romeo is too wrapped up in self-deception to listen. In Act 2 Mercutio tries harder, speaks more plainly, but prompts from his pupil only the fatuous “He jests at scars that never felt a wound.” Later still, in the battle of wits (2.4), Mercutio imagines briefly that he has succeeded: “Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art though sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature” (92-95). There are no wiser words in the whole play, and none more ironic; for Romeo even here has not found his identity and is never really to find it except for those fleeting moments when Juliet is there to lead him by the hand.
Time runs out for both principals in this play, but it is Juliet who makes the race exciting. Her five-day maturation is a miracle which only a Shakespeare could have made credible; yet at the end she is still a fourteen-year-old girl, and she succumbs to an adolescent’s despair. Mercutio might have helped had he been available, but Mercutio is dead. All the others have deserted her—parents, Nurse, the Friar, who takes fright at the crucial moment, and Romeo, who lies dead at her feet. She simply has not lived long enough in her wisdom to stand entirely alone. This is really the source of pathos in Romeo and Juliet. One hears much about the portrayal of young love here, about the immortality of the lovers and the eternality of their love; but such talk runs toward vapid sentimentality and does an injustice to Shakespeare. No one has more poignantly described the beauty of young love than he, and no one has portrayed more honestly than he the destructiveness of any love which ignores the mortality of those who make it. Romeo struggled toward full understanding but fell far short of achievement, leaving a trail of victims behind him. Juliet came much closer than we had any right to expect, but she too failed. Both have a legitimate claim to our respect, she more than he; and the youth of both relieves them of our ultimate censure, which falls not on the stars but on all those whose thoughtlessness denied them the time they so desperately needed.
—J. A. BRYANT, JR. The University of Kentucky
The Prologue.
Corus.
Two housholds both alike in dignitie,
(Infaire Verona where we lay our Scene)
From auncient grudge, breake to new mutinie,
Where ciuill bloud makes ciuill hand uncleane
From forth the fatall loynes of these two soes,
A paire of starre-crost louers, take their life:
Whose misadue
ntur’d pittious overthrowes,
Doth with their death burie their Parents strife.
The ferafull passage of their death-markt loue,
And the continuance of their Parents rage:
Which but their childrens end nought could remove:
Is now the two houres trafficque of our Stage.
The which if you with patient eares attend,
what heare sall misse, our toyle shall strine to mend.
Az
THE MOST EXcellent and lamentable
Tragedie, of Romeo and Iuliet.
Enter Sampson and Gregorie with Swords and Bucklers, of the boufe of Capulet.
SAmp. Gregorie, on my word weele not carrie Coles.
Greg. No,for then we should be Collyers.
Samp. I meane:,and we be in choller, weele draw.
Greg. I while you hue,draw your necke out of choller.
Samp. I strike quickly being moued.
Greg. But thou art not quickly moued to strike.
Samp. A dog of the house of Mountague moues me.
Grego. To moue is to stirre, and to be valiant, is to stand:
Therefore if thou art moued thou runist away.
Samp. A dog of that house shall moue me to stand
I will take the wall of any man or maide of A founta. gues.
Grego. That shewes thee a weake flaue,for the weakest goes to the wall.
Samp. Tis true, & therfore women being the weaker vessels are euer thrust to the walhthcrfore I wil push Mountagues men from the wall, and thrus his maides to the wall.
Greg. The quarell is betweene our maisters , and vs their men.
Samp. Tis all one,I mill shew my selfe a tyrant,when I haue fought with the men, I will beclull witli the wiides, I will cut off their heads.
A 3 Grego. The
[Dramatis Personae
Chorus
Escalus, Prince of Verona
Paris, a young count, kinsman to the Prince
Montague
Capulet
An old man, of the Capulet family
Romeo, son to Montague
Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo
Benvolio, nephew to Montague and friend to Romeo
Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet
Balthasar, servant to Romeo
Peter, servant to Juliet’s nurse
Abram, servant to Montague
An Apothecary
Three Musicians
An Officer
Lady Montague, wife to Montague
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet
Juliet, daughter to Capulet
Nurse to Juliet
Citizens of Verona, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both
houses, Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watch-
men, Servants, and Attendants
Scene: Verona; Mantua]
The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet
THE PROLOGUE
[Enter Chorus.]
Chorus. Two households, both alike in dignity,°1
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-crossed° lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
The fearful passage of their death-marked love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
Which, but their children’s end, naught 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.
[Exit.]
[ACT 1
Scene 1. Verona. A public place.]
Enter Sampson and Gregory, with swords and bucklers,° of the house of Capulet.
Sampson. Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.°
Gregory. No, for then we should be colliers.°
Sampson. I mean, and° we be in choler, we’ll draw.°
Gregory. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.
Sampson. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gregory. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sampson. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
Gregory. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand. Therefore, if thou art moved, thou run’st away.
Sampson. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall° of any man or maid of Montague’s.
1.1.s.d. bucklers small shields 1 carry coals endure insults 2 colliers coal venders (this leads to puns on “choler” = anger, and “collar” = hang-man’s noose) 3 and if 3 draw draw swords 13 take the wall take the preferred place on the walk
Gregory. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.°
Sampson. ’Tis 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.
Gregory. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
Sampson. ’Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought with the men, I will be civil with the maids—I will cut off their heads.
Gregory. The heads of the maids?
Sampson. Ay, the heads of the maids or their maiden-heads. Take it in what sense thou wilt.
Gregory. They must take it in sense that feel it.
Sampson. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and ’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
Gregory. ’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been Poor John.° Draw thy tool!° Here comes two of the house of Montagues.
Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar].
Sampson. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee.
Gregory. How? Turn thy back and run?
Sampson. Fear me not.
Gregory. No, marry.° I fear thee!
15-16 weakest goes to the wall i.e., is pushed to the rear 18 thrust to the wall assaulted against the wall 33 Poor John hake salted and dried (poor man’s fare) 33 tool weapon (with bawdy innuendo) 39 marry (an interjection, from “By the Virgin Mary”)
Sampson. Let us take the law of our sides;° let them begin.
Gregory. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
Sampson. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb° at them, which is disgrace to them if they bear it.
Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson. I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson. [Aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay?
Gregory. [Aside to Sampson] No.
Sampson. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gregory. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abram. Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
Sampson. But if you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man as you.
Abram. No better.
Sampson. Well, sir.
Enter Benvolio.
Gregory. Say “better.” Here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.
Sampson. Yes, better, sir.
Abram. You lie.
Sampson. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing° blow. They fight.
40 take the law of our sides keep ourselves in the right 44 bite my thumb i.e., make a gesture of contempt 65 swashing slashing
Benvolio. Part, fools! Put up your swords. You know not what you do.
Enter Tybalt.
Tybalt. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?° Turn thee, Benvolio; look upon thy death.
Benvolio. I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tybalt. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mon
tagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward! [They fight.]
Enter [an Officer, and ] three or four Citizens with clubs or partisans.
Officer. Clubs, bills, and partisans!° Strike! Beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
Enter old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife.
Capulet. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
Lady Capulet. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
Capulet. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come And flourishes his blade in spite° of me.
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