Pet. O! musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full of woe;’ O! play me some merry dump, to comfort me. 110
Sec. Mus. Not a dump we; ’tis no time to play now.
Pet. You will not then?
Musicians. No.
Pet. I will then give it you soundly.
First Mus. What will you give us? 115
Pet. No money, on my faith! but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.
First Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate, I will carry no crotchets: I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?
First Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.
Sec. Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. 120
Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men:
When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound —
Why ‘silver sound?’ why ‘music with her silver sound?’ What say you, Simon Catling?
First Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
Sec. Mus. I say ‘silver sound,’ because musicians sound for silver. 125
Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?
Third Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet. O! I cry you mercy; you are the singer; I will say for you. It is, ‘music with her silver sound,’ because musicians have no gold for sounding:
Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.
[Exit.
First Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same!
Sec. Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we’ll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt. 130
Act V. Scene I.
Mantua. A Street.
Enter ROMEO.
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne; 5
And all this day an unaccustom’d spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead; —
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think, —
And breath’d such life with kisses in my lips, 10
That I reviv’d, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d,
When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!
Enter BALTHASAR, booted.
News from Verona! How now, Balthasar? 15
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill if she be well.
Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill; 20
Her body sleeps in Capel’s monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault,
And presently took post to tell it you.
O! pardon me for bringing these ill news, 25
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Rom. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!
Thou know’st my lodging: get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.
Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience: 30
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.
Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv’d;
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? 35
Bal. No, my good lord.
Rom. No matter; get thee gone,
And hire those horses: I’ll be with thee straight. [Exit BALTHASAR.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let’s see for means: O mischief! thou art swift 40
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men.
I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts he dwells, which late I noted
In tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, 45
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff’d, and other skins
Of ill-shap’d fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes, 50
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter’d, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said
An if a man did need a poison now, 55
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
O! this same thought did but fore-run my need,
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house: 60
Being holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut.
What, ho! apothecary!
Enter Apothecary.
Ap. Who calls so loud?
Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor; 65
Hold, there is forty ducats; let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker may fall dead,
And that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath 70
As violently as hasty powder fir’d
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.
Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua’s law
Is death to any he that utters them.
Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness, 75
And fear’st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back;
The world is not thy friend nor the world’s law:
The world affords no law to make thee rich; 80
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 85
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.
Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls,
Doing more murders in this loathsome world
Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 90
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me
To Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt.
Act V. Scene II.
Verona. FRIAR LAURENCE’S Cell.
Enter FRIAR JOHN.
Fri. J. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE.
Fri. L. This same should be the voice of Friar John. 5
Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.
Fri. J. Going to find a bare-foot brother out,
One of our order, to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick, 10
And finding him, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal’d up the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stay’d. 15
Fri. L. Who bare my letter then to Romeo?
Fri. J. I could not send it, here it is again,
Nor get a me
ssenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.
Fri. L. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, 20
The letter was not nice, but full of charge
Of dear import; and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell. 25
Fri. J. Brother, I’ll go and bring it thee. [Exit.
Fri. L Now must I to the monument alone;
Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake:
She will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents; 30
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come:
Poor living corse, clos’d in a dead man’s tomb! [Exit.
Act V. Scene III.
The Same. A Churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the CAPULETS.
Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch.
Par. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof;
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, 5
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground:
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
Being loose, unfirm with digging up of graves,
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear’st something approach. 10
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee; go.
Page. [Aside.] I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure. [Retires.
Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,
O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones; 15
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,
Or, wanting that, with tears distill’d by moans:
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. [The Page whistles.
The boy gives warning something doth approach. 20
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
To cross my obsequies and true love’s rite?
What! with a torch? — muffle me, night, awhile. [Retires.
Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, &c.
Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. 25
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light: upon thy life I charge thee,
Whate’er thou hear’st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course. 30
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is partly, to behold my lady’s face;
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring, a ring that I must use
In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: 35
But, if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.
The time and my intents are savage-wild, 40
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that:
Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. 45
Bal. [Aside.] For all this same, I’ll hide me here about:
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.
Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorg’d with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, [Opens the tomb. 50
And, in despite, I’ll cram thee with more food!
Par. This is that banish’d haughty Montague,
That murder’d my love’s cousin, with which grief
It is supposed the fair creature died;
And here is come to do some villanous shame 55
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. — [Comes forward.
Stop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague,
Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. 60
Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
Fly hence and leave me: think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Put not another sin upon my head 65
By urging me to fury: O! be gone:
By heaven, I love thee better than myself.
For I come hither arm’d against myself:
Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say
A madman’s mercy bade thee run away. 70
Par. I do defy thy conjurations,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! [They fight.
Page. O Lord! they fight: I will go call the watch. [Exit.
Par. [Falls.] O, I am slain! — If thou be merciful, 75
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.
Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face:
Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think 80
He told me Paris should have married Juliet:
Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so? O! give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book: 85
I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
A grave? O, no! a lanthorn, slaughter’d youth,
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d, [Laying PARIS in the tomb. 90
How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death: O! how may I
Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife!
Death, that hathsuck’d the honey of thy breath, 95
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer’d; beauty’s ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death’s pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? 100
O! what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin! Ah! dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe 105
That unsubstantial Death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that I still will stay with thee,
And never from this palace of dim night 110
Depart again: here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids; O! here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! 115
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 120
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here’s to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies.
Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lanthorn, crow, and spade.
Fri. L. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night 125
Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who’s there?
Bal. Here’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Fri. L. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, 130
It burneth in the Capel’s monument.
Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there’s my master,
One that you love.
Fri. L. Who is it?
Bal. Romeo. 135
Fri. L. How long hath he been there?
Bal. Full half an hour.
Fri. L. Go with me to the vault.
Bal. I dare not, sir.
My master knows not but I am gone hence; 140
And fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on his intents.
Fri. L. Stay then, I’ll go alone. Fear comes upon me;
O! much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, 145
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.
Fri. L. [Advances.] Romeo!
Alack, alack! what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre? 150
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour’d by this place of peace? [Enters the tomb.
Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what! Paris too?
And steep’d in blood? Ah! what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance. 155
The lady stirs. [JULIET wakes.
Jul. O, comfortable friar! where is my lord?
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am. Where is my Romeo? [Noise within.
Fri. L. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest 160
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents: come, come away.
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too: come, I’ll dispose of thee 165
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns.
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming;
Come, go, good Juliet. — [Noise again.] I dare no longer stay.
Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. [Exit FRIAR LAURENCE.
What’s here? a cup, clos’d in my true love’s hand? 170
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after! I will kiss thy lips;
Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them,
Masters of the Theatre Page 34