The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)

by William Shakespeare

  Nurse

  I could stay here all night and listen to your wise words. I will tell my lady you are coming.

  O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!-- My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

  Romeo

  Please do, and tell her I am sorry.

  Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.

  Nurse

  Here, sir, this is a ring she asked me to give you. Hurry! It’s getting late.

  Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

  (Exit Nurse.)

  Romeo

  I am feeling better.

  How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

  Friar Lawrence

  Go then and good night. Get out before the sun comes up and go to Mantua. Send your man to me from time to time and I will keep you posted about what is going on here. Give me your hand. It is late and you must go.

  Go hence; good night! and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence. Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late; farewell; good night.

  Romeo

  Even though I am going to be filled with joy, I am sad to leave you. Farewell.

  But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief so brief to part with thee: Farewell.

  (Exit all.)

  Scene IV: A room in Capulet’s house.

  (Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.)

  Capulet

  Things have not gone well lately, so we have not had time to prepare Juliet for marriage. She loved Tybalt dearly, as I did, so she probably won’t come down tonight. I would have gone to bed myself, if you weren’t here.

  Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I; well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late; she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

  Paris

  I understand this is not the best time to try to win your daughter’s affections. Please give her my best. Good night.

  These times of woe afford no tune to woo.-- Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.

  Lady Capulet

  I will, and I will talk to her early tomorrow about you, but tonight she is too upset.

  I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

  Capulet

  Sir Paris, I will make her marry you. Wife, go to her now or go to bed. Tell her about Paris’s love and inform her that she will be getting married Wednesday. What day is this, anyway?

  Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be rul'd In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.-- Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,-- But, soft! what day is this?

  Paris

  Monday, sir.

  Monday, my lord.

  Capulet

  Monday! Ha-ha! Wednesday is too soon then. Make it Thursday, wife. She will be married to this noble earl. Paris, will you be ready? Is this too soon for you? We’ll keep it intimate, just a few friends. If we celebrate too much, people will think we have no respect for the dead. So, we’ll keep it simple. What do think about Thursday?

  Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, Thursday let it be;--a Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl.-- Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

  Paris

  I wish Thursday were tomorrow.

  My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.

  Capulet

  Well, go on. Thursday it is. Go, wife, to Juliet or go to bed. Let her know about her wedding arrangements. Farewell, my lord. It is almost morning now, so good night.

  Well, get you gone: o' Thursday be it then.-- Go you to Juliet, ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.-- Farewell, my lord.--Light to my chamber, ho!-- Afore me, it is so very very late That we may call it early by and by.-- Good night.

  (Exit all.)

  Scene V: An open gallery to Juliet’s chamber, overlooking the garden.

  (Enter Romeo and Juliet.)

  Juliet

  Will you be gone? It’s not day yet. I heard the nightingale, the bird of night, not the lark, the bird of morning. Believe me it is not time to go.

  Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

  Romeo

  I heard the lark. I can see the sunrise just over the mountain tops. I must leave or stay and die.

  It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

  Juliet

  The light you see is not daylight, but some meteor from the sun to light up the night for you to make your way to Mantua. You still have time; don’t leave.

  Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales To be to thee this night a torch-bearer And light thee on the way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.

  Romeo

  Let them take me then and put me to death, if that’s what you want. I am content to stay with you. I will agree with you that the approaching light is not morning or the song we here comes from the lark. I would rather stay than go, no matter what happens. So, let’s talk.

  Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon gray is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go.-- Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.-- How is't, my soul? let's talk,--it is not day.

  Juliet

  No, you’re right. It is day. Leave quickly! It is the lark singing the song that separates us. I hate the sound. Some say that the lark and toad traded eyes. I wish they had traded voices, too, since that voice represents our parting. Now, go. It is growing lighter and they will be hunting for you.

  It is, it is!--hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had chang'd voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.

  Romeo

  The more light that comes, the darker we feel.

  More light and light,--more dark and dark our woes!

  (Enter Nurse.)

  Nurse

  Madam!

  Madam!

  Juliet

  Nurse?

  Nurse?

  Nurse

  Your mother is coming. Day is broken. Look out.

  Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about.

  (Exit.)

  Juliet

  You must go out the window.

  Then, window, let day in, and let life out.

  Romeo

  Farewell, farewell. One more kiss, and I’ll go.

  Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

  (Descends.)

  Juliet

  Are you gone my love, my life,
my friend? I must hear from you every minute of every day. It will be years before we are together again.

  Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, my friend! I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo!

  Romeo

  Goodbye. I will send word and my love every chance I get.

  Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

  Juliet

  Do you think we will ever meet again?

  O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

  Romeo

  I have no doubt. All these terrible things will be mere memories for us to share in our old age.

  I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.

  Juliet

  Oh God! I feel like I am looking at you at the bottom of your tomb. Either my eyes are playing tricks on me, or you look really pale.

  O God! I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.

  Romeo

  Trust me, love, you look pale, too. Our sadness makes us sick. Goodbye, goodbye!

  And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!

  (Exit Romeo.)

  Juliet

  Oh strange fate! What are you doing to him? If you are fickle, please send him back soon.

  O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long But send him back.

  Lady Capulet

  (From inside.) Hello, daughter! Are you up?

  [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up?

  Juliet

  Who is it? Is it my mother? She never stays up so late or gets up so early. What does she want?

  Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

  (Enter Lady Capulet.)

  Lady Capulet

  What’s wrong, Juliet?

  Why, how now, Juliet?

  Juliet

  I don’t feel well.

  Madam, I am not well.

  Lady Capulet

  Are you still crying over your cousin’s death? You can’t bring him back with tears. And, if you could, you couldn’t keep him alive. So, stop crying. A little grief is okay, but too much is ridiculous.

  Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

  Juliet

  I am crying because I feel a great loss.

  Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

  Lady Capulet

  You feel a loss, but Tybalt feels nothing.

  So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for.

  Juliet

  I feel like I will cry forever.

  Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

  Lady Capulet

  You are crying because of Tybalt’s death and because his murderer is still alive.

  Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

  Juliet

  What murderer, madam?

  What villain, madam?

  Lady Capulet

  Romeo.

  That same villain Romeo.

  Juliet

  (To herself.) He is not a murderer or a villain. God forgive him. I know I do, with all of my heart. My heart aches for him.

  Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.

  Lady Capulet

  Because the murderer is alive.

  That is because the traitor murderer lives.

  Juliet

  Yes, ma’am. I would kill him myself, if I could put my hands on him.

  Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. Would none but I might venge my cousin's death!

  Lady Capulet

  Don’t worry. We will have our revenge. Don’t cry anymore. I am going to send someone to Mantua, where Romeo is and have him dealt with. Then, you’ll feel better.

  We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,-- Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,-- Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.

  Juliet

  I will never be okay, until I see Romeo dead. If you could find someone to take him a poison, I would mix it myself. My heart hates to hear his name and not be able to go after him. I want to take out my frustrations on his body.

  Indeed I never shall be satisfied With Romeo till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd: Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it, That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him nam'd,--and cannot come to him,-- To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt Upon his body that hath slaughter'd him!

  Lady Capulet

  If you could find a way, I’ll find the man. But now, I have some great news.

  Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.

  Juliet

  I need some good news. What is it? Tell me.

  And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship?

  Lady Capulet

  Well, you know you have a very wise father. He wants to help you get over Tybalt’s death with a joyous occasion you haven’t even thought about.

  Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy That thou expect'st not, nor I look'd not for.

  Juliet

  Madam, tell me quickly, on what day is it?

  Madam, in happy time, what day is that?

  Lady Capulet

  Thursday morning, you will marry the noble Paris at St. Peter’s Church.

  Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at St. Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.

  Juliet

  I will not marry him. What is the hurry? He hasn’t even asked me out. Please, tell my father I would rather marry Romeo, whom you know I hate, than marry Paris.

  Now by Saint Peter's Church, and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he that should be husband comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris:--these are news indeed!

  Lady Capulet

  Well, here comes your father. You can tell him yourself and see how he takes it.

  Here comes your father: tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.

  (Enter Capulet and Nurse.)

  Capulet

  When the sun sets, dew comes, but on the night of my brother’s son’s death, it rains. What is wrong now, girl? Are you still crying? You must be a fountain with all the tears you’ve shed. You must calm down. Have you told her the news?

  When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright.-- How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind: For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who,--raging with thy tears and they with them,-- Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body.--How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree?

  Lady Capulet

 
; Yes sir, I told her. But she won’t hear of it. She says no thanks! I wish she were dead.

  Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave!

  Capulet

  Don’t say that. I don’t understand. How can she be so ungrateful? Does she not have any pride? Doesn’t she know how blessed she is to be able to marry such a gentleman?

  Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her bles'd, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

  Juliet

  I am not proud of whom you have found, but I am thankful that you cared so much to look. I know you meant it lovingly, but I do not have to love what you did.

  Not proud you have; but thankful that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate that is meant love.

  Capulet

  What? What logic are you using? Proud, and I thank you, and I thank you not. Regardless of how you feel, you are going to be married Thursday at Saint Peter’s Church, even if I have to drag you there. Now, get out of here, you sick girl.

  How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? Proud,--and, I thank you,--and I thank you not;-- And yet not proud:--mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face!