The Works of William Shakespeare

150

LUCIUS, MARCUS, and the others descend. All. Lucius, all hail, Rome's gracious governor! Luc. Thanks, gentle Romans: may I govern so, To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe! But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, For nature puts me to a heavy task: Stand all aloof: but, uncle, draw you near, To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk. O, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips, [Kissing Titus. These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, The last true duties of thy noble son!

Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss, Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips: O, were the sum of these that I should pay Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them! Luc. Come hither, boy; come, come, and learn of us 160 Tomelt in showers: thy grandsire loved thee well: Many a time he danced thee on his knee, Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow; Many a matter hath he told to thee, Meet and agreeing with thine infancy; In that respect, then, like a loving child, Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring, Because kind nature doth require it so:

Re-enter Attendants with AARON.

Em. You sad Andronici, have done with woes: Give sentence on this execrable wretch, That hath been breeder of these dire events. Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish him;

179

There let him stand, and rave, and cry for food:
If any one relieves or pities him,
For the offence he dies. This is our doom:
Some stay to see him fasten'd in the earth.
Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury
dumb?

I am no baby, I, that with base prayers
I should repent the evils I have done:
Ten thousand worse than ever yet I did
Would I perform, if I might have my will:
If one good deed in all my life I did,
I do repent it from my very soul.

190

Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor hence,

And give him burial in his father's grave:
My father and Lavinia shall forthwith
Be closed in our household's monument.
As for that heinous tiger, Tamora,
No funeral rite, nor man in mourning weeds,
No mournful bell shall ring her burial;
But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey:
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity;
And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
See justice done on Aaron, that damn'd Moor,
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning:
Then, afterwards, to order well the state,
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt.

200

SCENE I. Verona. A public place. Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers. Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
o' the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague

moves me.

Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

PETER, servant to Juliet's nurse. ABRAHAM, servant to Montague. An Apothecary.

Three Musicians.

Page to Paris; another Page; an Officer.

LADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.
LADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.
JULIET, daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants.

Chorus.

SCENE: Verona: Mantua.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. 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.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. Sam. Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.

Gre. They must take it in sense that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. Sam. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. 50

Enter ABRAHAM and BALthasar. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. [Aside to Gre.] Is the law of our side, if I say ay?

Gre. No.

And made Verona's ancient citizens

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,

Sam. Well, sir.

100

To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,

Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,

Gre. Say 'better:' here comes one of my To know our further pleasure in this case,

master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.

Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

[They fight.

Enter BENVOLIO.

Ben. Part, fools!
Put up your swords; you know not what you do.
[Beats down their swords.
Enter TYBALT.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these
heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

To old Free-town, our common judgement-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 110
[Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Mon-
tague, and Benvolio.
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
abroach?

Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: 119
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,

Ben. I do but keep the peace: put up thy Came more and more and fought on part and part, sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I
hate the word,

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward!

[They fight.

Enter several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs. First Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! 80

Down with the Capulets! down with the Mon-
tagues!

Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY
CAPULET.

Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long
sword, ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword?

Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,

And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek
a foe.

Enter PRINCE, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you
beasts,

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,

Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him
to-day?

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

130

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of
sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been

seen,

140

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importuned him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself-I will not say how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows
160

grow,

We would as willingly give cure as know.

Enter ROMEO.

Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours?

Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!

health!

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit

With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold!
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor,
That when she dies with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still
live chaste?

220

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,

For beauty starved with her severity
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.

230

Ben. Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
Rom.
'Tis the way

To call hers exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.

240

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.
No, coz, I rather weep. 189
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.

At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love that thou hast
shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

200

Ben. Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. What, shall I groan and tell thee? Groan! why, no;

Ben.

SCENE II. A street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years: Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number

more.

At my poor house look to behold this night

Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view, of many mine being one
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me. [To Serv., giving a paper.]
Go, sirrah, trudge about

Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.
Serv. Find them out whose names are written
here! It is written, that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last,
the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his
nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose
names are here writ, and can never find what
names the writing person hath here writ.
must to the learned.-In good time.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO.

Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish:

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
Rom. Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Rom.
For your broken shin.
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-
man is;

Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and-God-den, good fellow.

Serv. God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read?

Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60 Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

Serv. Ye say honestly: rest you merry! Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. [Reads. 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena.'

A fair assembly: whither should they come?
Serv. Up.

Rom. Whither?

Serv. To supper; to our house.

Rom. Whose house?

Serv. My master's.

Rom. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.

Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! [Exit.

Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;

And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!

100

One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised with herself in either eye:
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well that now shows
best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own.

We must talk in secret:-nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.
Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but
four,-

She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

La. Cap. A fortnight and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she-God rest all Christian souls!-Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years: And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua :

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