ACT
II
Before you read Act II, there are some vocabulary words that need defined.
Now
answer questions 1-5
Now let’s see what happens to the star-crossed lovers.
Section
B: The Poetry of Romeo and Juliet (06:12)
Juliet
Act II. Prologue.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Now
old desire doth in his death-bed lie,
And
young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair
for which love groan’d for and would die,
4
With
tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.
Now Romeo
is belov’d and loves again,
Alike
bewitched by the charm of looks,
But to his
foe suppos’d he must complain,
8
And
she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held
a foe, he may not have access
To
breathe such vows as lovers us’d to swear;
And she as
much in love, her means much less
12
To
meet her new-beloved any where:
But passion
lends them power, time means, to meet,
Tempering
extremity with extreme sweet. [Exit.
Act II. Scene I.
Verona. A Lane by the wall of CAPULET’S Orchard.
Enter ROMEO.
Rom. Can
I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back,
dull earth, and find thy centre out. [He climbs the wall, and
leaps down within it.
4
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Ben. Romeo!
my cousin Romeo!
Mer. He
is wise;
And, on my
life, hath stol’n him home to bed.
8
Ben. He
ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:
Call, good
Mercutio.
Mer. Nay,
I’ll conjure too.
Romeo! humours!
madman! passion! lover!
12
Appear thou in
the likeness of a sigh:
Speak but one
rime and I am satisfied;
Cry but ‘Ay
me!’ couple but ‘love’ and ‘dove;’
Speak to my
gossip Venus one fair word.
16
One nickname
for her purblind son and heir,
Young Adam
Cupid, he that shot so trim
When King
Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid.
He heareth
not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
20
The ape is
dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee
by Rosaline’s bright eyes,
By her high
forehead, and her scarlet lip,
By her fine
foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
24
And the
demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy
likeness thou appear to us.
Ben. An
if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. This
cannot anger him: ’twould anger him
28
To raise a
spirit in his mistress’ circle
Of some
strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had
laid it, and conjur’d it down;
That were some
spite: my invocation
32
Is fair and
honest, and in his mistress’ name
I conjure only
but to raise up him.
Ben. Come,
he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be
consorted with the humorous night:
36
Blind is his
love and best befits the dark.
Mer. If
love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he
sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his
mistress were that kind of fruit
40
As maids call
medlars, when they laugh alone.
O Romeo! that
she were, O! that she were
An open et
cœtera, thou a poperin pear.
Romeo, good
night: I’ll to my truckle-bed;
44
This field-bed
is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we
go?
Ben. Go,
then; for ’tis in vain
To seek him
here that means not to be found. [Exeunt.
48
Act II. Scene II.
The Same. CAPULET’S Orchard.
Enter ROMEO.
Rom. He
jests at scars, that never felt a wound. [JULIET appears above at
a window.
But, soft!
what light through yonder window breaks?
4
It is the
east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair
sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already
sick and pale with grief,
That thou her
maid art far more fair than she:
8
Be not her
maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal
livery is but sick and green,
And none but
fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady;
O! it is my love:
12
O! that she
knew she were.
She speaks,
yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye
discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold,
’tis not to me she speaks:
16
Two of the
fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some
business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in
their spheres till they return.
What if her
eyes were there, they in her head?
20
The brightness
of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight
doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through
the airy region stream so bright
That birds
would sing and think it were not night.
24
See! how she
leans her cheek upon her hand:
O! that I were
a glove upon that hand,
That I might
touch that cheek.
Jul. Ay
me!
28
Rom. She
speaks:
O! speak
again, bright angel; for thou art
As glorious to
this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged
messenger of heaven
32
Unto the
white-upturned wond’ring eyes
Of mortals,
that fall back to gaze on him
When he
bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon
the bosom of the air.
36
Jul. O
Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy
father, and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou
wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
40
Rom. [Aside.]
Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Jul. ’Tis
but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art
thyself though, not a Montague.
What’s
Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
44
Nor arm, nor
face, nor any other part
Belonging to a
man. O! be some other name:
What’s in a
name? that which we call a rose
By any other
name would smell as sweet;
48
So Romeo
would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that
dear perfection which he owes
Without that
title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that
name, which is no part of thee,
52
Take all
myself.
Rom. I
take thee at thy word.
Call me but
love, and I’ll be new baptiz’d;
Henceforth I
never will be Romeo.
56
Jul. What
man art thou, that, thus be-screen’d in night,
So stumblest
on my counsel?
Rom. By
a name
I know not how
to tell thee who I am:
60
My name, dear
saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is
an enemy to thee:
Had I it
written, I would tear the word.
Jul. My
ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
64
Of that
tongue’s uttering, yet I know the sound:
Art thou not
Romeo, and a Montague?
Rom. Neither,
fair maid, if either thee dislike.
Jul. How
cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
68
The orchard
walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place
death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
Rom. With
love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls;
72
For stony
limits cannot hold love out,
And what love
can do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy
kinsmen are no stop to me.
Jul. If
they do see thee they will murder thee.
76
Rom. Alack!
there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of
their swords: look thou but sweet,
And I am proof
against their enmity.
Jul. I
would not for the world they saw thee here.
80
Rom. I
have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes;
And but thou
love me, let them find me here;
My life were
better ended by their hate,
Than death
prorogued, wanting of thy love.
84
Jul. By
whose direction found’st thou out this place?
Rom. By
Love, that first did prompt me to inquire;
He lent me
counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot;
yet, wert thou as far
88
As that vast
shore wash’d with the furthest sea,
I would
adventure for such merchandise.
Jul. Thou
know’st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a
maiden blush bepaint my cheek
92
For that which
thou hast heard me speak tonight.
Fain would I
dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have
spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost thou love
me? I know thou wilt say ‘Ay;’
96
And I will
take thy word; yet, if thou swear’st,
Thou mayst
prove false; at lovers’ perjuries,
They say, Jove
laughs. O gentle Romeo!
If thou dost
love, pronounce it faithfully:
100
Or if thou
think’st I am too quickly won,
I’ll frown and
be perverse and say thee nay,
So thou wilt
woo; but else, not for the world.
In truth, fair
Montague, I am too fond,
104
And therefore
thou mayst think my haviour light:
But trust me,
gentleman, I’ll prove more true
Than those
that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have
been more strange, I must confess,
108
But that thou
over-heard’st, ere I was ’ware,
My true love’s
passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute
this yielding to light love,
Which the dark
night hath so discovered.
112
Rom. Lady,
by yonder blessed moon I swear
That tips with
silver all these fruit-tree tops,—
Jul. O!
swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
That monthly
changes in her circled orb,
116
Lest that thy
love prove likewise variable.
Rom. What
shall I swear by?
Jul. Do
not swear at all;
Or, if thou
wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
120
Which is the
god of my idolatry,
And I’ll
believe thee.
Rom. If
my heart’s dear love—
Jul. Well,
do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
124
I have no joy
of this contract tonight:
It is too
rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden;
Too like the
lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can
say it lightens. Sweet, good-night!
128
This bud of
love, by summer’s ripening breath,
May prove a
beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good-night,
good-night! as sweet repose and rest
Come to thy
heart as that within my breast!
132
Rom. O!
wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul. What
satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. The
exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.
Jul. I
gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
136
And yet I
would it were to give again.
Rom. Wouldst
thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?
Jul. But
to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish
but for the thing I have:
140
My bounty is
as boundless as the sea,
My love as
deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I
have, for both are infinite. [Nurse calls within.
I hear some
noise within; dear love, adieu!
144
Anon, good
nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay but a
little, I will come again. [Exit above.
Rom. O
blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night,
all this is but a dream,
148
Too
flattering-sweet to be substantial.
Re-enter JULIET, above.
Jul. Three
words, dear Romeo, and goodnight indeed.
If that thy
bent of love be honourable,
152
Thy purpose
marriage, send me word tomorrow,
By one that
I’ll procure to come to thee,
Where, and
what time, thou wilt perform the rite;
And all my
fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay,
156
And follow
thee my lord throughout the world.
Nurse. [Within.]
Madam!
Jul. I
come, anon.—But if thou mean’st not well,
I do beseech
thee,—
160
Nurse. [Within.]
Madam!
Jul. By
and by; I come:—
To cease thy
suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will
I send.
164
Rom. So
thrive my soul,—
Jul. A
thousand times good-night! [Exit above.
Rom. A
thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Love goes
toward love, as schoolboys from their books;
168
But love from
love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring.
Re-enter JULIET, above.
Jul. Hist!
Romeo, hist! O! for a falconer’s voice,
To lure this
tassel-gentle back again.
172
Bondage is
hoarse, and may not speak aloud,
Else would I
tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her
airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
With
repetition of my Romeo’s name.
176
Rom. It
is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet
sound lovers’ tongues by night,
Like softest
music to attending ears!
Jul. Romeo!
180
Rom. My
dear!
Jul. At
what o’clock to-morrow
Shall I send
to thee?
Rom. At
the hour of nine.
184
Jul. I
will not fail; ’tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot
why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let
me stand here till thou remember it.
Jul. I
shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
188
Remembering
how I love thy company.
Rom. And
I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any
other home but this.
Jul. ’Tis
almost morning; I would have thee gone;
192
And yet no
further than a wanton’s bird,
Who lets it
hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor
prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a
silk thread plucks it back again,
196
So
loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I
would I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet,
so would I:
Yet I should
kill thee with much cherishing.
200
Good-night,
good-night! parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall
say good-night till it be morrow. [Exit.
Rom. Sleep
dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were
sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
204
Hence will I
to my ghostly father’s cell,
His help to
crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.
Act II. Scene III.
The Same. FRIAR LAURENCE’S Cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket.
Fri.
L. The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the
eastern clouds with streaks of light,
4
And flecked
darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth
day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels:
Now, ere the
sun advance his burning eye
The day to
cheer and night’s dank dew to dry,
8
I must up-fill
this osier cage of ours
With baleful
weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth
that’s nature’s mother is her tomb;
What is her
burying grave that is her womb,
12
And from her
womb children of divers kind
We sucking on
her natural bosom find,
Many for many
virtues excellent,
None but for
some, and yet all different.
16
O! mickle is
the powerful grace that lies
In herbs,
plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so
vile that on the earth doth live
But to the
earth some special good doth give,
20
Nor aught so
good but strain’d from that fair use
Revolts from
true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself
turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice
sometime’s by action dignified.
24
Within the
infant rind of this weak flower
Poison hath
residence and medicine power:
For this,
being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted,
slays all senses with the heart.
28
Two such
opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well
as herbs, grace and rude will;
And where the
worser is predominant,
Full soon the
canker death eats up that plant.
32
Enter ROMEO.
Rom. Good
morrow, father!
Fri.
L. Benedicite!
What early
tongue so sweet saluteth me?
36
Young son, it argues
a distemper’d head
So soon to bid
good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his
watch in every old man’s eye,
And where care
lodges, sleep will never lie;
40
But where
unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain
Doth couch his
limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy
earliness doth me assure
Thou art
up-rous’d by some distemperature;
44
Or if not so,
then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath
not been in bed to-night.
Rom. That
last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri.
L. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
48
Rom. With
Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot
that name, and that name’s woe.
Fri.
L That’s my good son: but where hast thou been, then?
Rom. I’ll
tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
52
I have been
feasting with mine enemy,
Where on a
sudden one hath wounded me,
That’s by me
wounded: both our remedies
Within thy
help and holy physic lies:
56
I bear no
hatred, blessed man; for, lo!
My
intercession likewise steads my foe.
Fri.
L. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling
confession finds but riddling shrift.
60
Rom. Then
plainly know my heart’s dear love is set
On the fair
daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on
hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin’d,
save what thou must combine
64
By holy
marriage: when and where and how
We met we
woo’d and made exchange of vow,
I’ll tell thee
as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.
68
Fri.
L. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here;
Is Rosaline,
whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon
forsaken? young men’s love then lies
Not truly in
their hearts, but in their eyes.
72
Jesu Maria!
what a deal of brine
Hath wash’d
thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline;
How much salt
water thrown away in waste,
To season
love, that of it doth not taste!
76
The sun not
yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans
ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo! here upon
thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear
that is not wash’d off yet.
80
If e’er thou
wast thyself and these woes thine,
Thou and these
woes were all for Rosaline:
And art thou
chang’d? pronounce this sentence then:
Women may
fall, when there’s no strength in men.
84
Rom. Thou
chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri.
L. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And
bad’st me bury love.
Fri.
L. Not in a grave,
88
To lay one in,
another out to have.
Rom. I
pray thee, chide not; she, whom I love now
Doth grace for
grace and love for love allow;
The other did
not so.
92
Fri.
L. O! she knew well
Thy love did
read by rote and could not spell.
But come,
young waverer, come, go with me,
In one respect
I’ll thy assistant be;
96
For this
alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your
households’ rancour to pure love.
Rom. O!
let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Fri.
L. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. [Exeunt.
100
Act II. Scene IV.
The Same. A Street.
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Mer. Where
the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not
home to-night?
4
Ben. Not
to his father’s; I spoke with his man.
Mer. Why
that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him
so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt,
the kinsman of old Capulet,
8
Hath sent a
letter to his father’s house.
Mer. A
challenge, on my life.
Ben. Romeo
will answer it.
Mer. Any
man that can write may answer a letter.
12
Ben. Nay,
he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.
Mer. Alas!
poor Romeo, he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench’s black eye; shot
through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the
blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Ben. Why,
what is Tybalt?
Mer. More
than prince of cats, I can tell you. O! he is the courageous captain of
compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and
proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom; the
very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very
first house, of the first and second cause. Ah! the immortal passado! the punto
reverso! the hay!
16
Ben. The
what?
Mer. The
pox of such antick, lisping, affecting fantasticoes, these new tuners of
accents!—‘By Jesu, a very good blade!—a very tall man! a very good whore.’—Why,
is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted
with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-mois,
who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old
bench? O, their bons, their bons!
Enter ROMEO.
Ben. Here
comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
20
Mer. Without
his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is
he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a
kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rime her; Dido a dowdy;
Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or
so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there’s a French
salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
Rom. Good
morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer. The
slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
Rom Pardon,
good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may
strain courtesy.
24
Mer. That’s
as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
Rom. Meaning—to
curtsy.
Mer. Thou
hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A
most courteous exposition.
28
Mer. Nay,
I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink
for flower.
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why,
then, is my pump well flowered.
32
Mer. Well
said; follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out the pump, that, when the
single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.
Rom. O
single-soled jest! solely singular for the singleness.
Mer. Come
between us, good Benvolio; my wit faints.
Rom. Switch
and spurs, switch and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.
36
Mer. Nay,
if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the
wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I
with you there for the goose?
Rom. Thou
wast never with me for anything when thou wast not here for the goose.
Mer. I
will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay,
good goose, bite not.
40
Mer. Thy
wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
Rom. And
is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?
Mer. O!
here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad.
Rom. I
stretch it out for that word ‘broad;’ which added to the goose, proves thee far
and wide broad goose.
44
Mer. Why,
is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art
thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this
drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide
his bauble in a hole.
Ben. Stop
there, stop there.
Mer. Thou
desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Ben. Thou
wouldst else have made thy tale large.
48
Mer. O!
thou art deceived; I would have made it short; for I was come to the whole
depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer.
Rom. Here’s
goodly gear!
Enter Nurse and PETER.
Mer. A
sail, a sail!
52
Ben. Two,
two; a shirt and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!
Peter. Anon!
Nurse. My
fan, Peter.
56
Mer. Good
Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.
Nurse. God
ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God
ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is
it good den?
60
Mer. ’Tis
no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of
noon.
Nurse. Out
upon you! what a man are you!
Rom. One,
gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
Nurse. By
my troth, it is well said; ‘for himself to mar,’ quoth a’?—Gentlemen, can any
of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?
64
Rom. I
can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was
when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.
Nurse. You
say well.
Mer. Yea!
is the worst well? very well took, i’ faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse. If
you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
68
Ben. She
will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A
bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Rom. What
hast thou found?
Mer. No
hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and
hoar ere it be spent. [Sings.
An old hare
hoar, and an old hare hoar,
Is
very good meat in Lent:
But a hare
that is hoar, is too much for a score,
When
it hoars ere it be spent.
72
Romeo, will
you come to your father’s? we’ll to dinner thither.
Rom. I
will follow you.
Mer. Farewell,
ancient lady; farewell,
Lady, lady,
lady.
[Exeunt
MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO.
Nurse. Marry,
farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of
his ropery?
76
Rom. A
gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a
minute than he will stand to in a month.
Nurse. An
a’ speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, an a’ were lustier than he
is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I’ll find those that shall. Scurvy
knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skeins-mates. [To
PETER.] And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his
pleasure!
Pet. I
saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have
been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion
in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
Nurse. Now,
afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray
you, sir, a word; and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out;
what she bid me say I will keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye
should lead her into a fool’s paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind
of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you
should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any
gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
80
Rom. Nurse,
commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee,—
Nurse. Good
heart! and, i’ faith, I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord! she will be a joyful
woman.
Rom. What
wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.
Nurse. I
will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a
gentlemanlike offer.
84
Rom. Bid
her devise
Some means to
come to shrift this afternoon;
And there she
shall at Friar Laurence’ cell,
Be shriv’d and
married. Here is for thy pains.
88
Nurse. No,
truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom. Go
to; I say, you shall.
Nurse. This
afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
Rom. And
stay, good nurse; behind the abbey wall:
92
Within this
hour my man shall be with thee,
And bring thee
cords made like a tackled stair;
Which to the
high top-gallant of my joy
Must be my
convoy in the secret night.
96
Farewell! Be
trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains.
Farewell!
Commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse. Now
God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
Rom. What
sayst thou, my dear nurse?
100
Nurse. Is
your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,
Two may keep
counsel, putting one away?
Rom. I
warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.
Nurse. Well,
sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady—Lord, Lord!—when ’twas a little prating
thing,—O! there’s a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife
aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I
anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I’ll
warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world.
Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?
104
Rom. Ay,
nurse: what of that? both with an R.
Nurse. Ah!
mocker; that’s the dog’s name. R is for the—No; I know it begins with some
other letter: and she had the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary,
that it would do you good to hear it.
Rom. Commend
me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay,
a thousand times. [Exit ROMEO.] Peter!
108
Pet. Anon!
Nurse. Before,
and apace. [Exeunt.
Act II. Scene V.
The Same. CAPULET’S Garden.
Enter JULIET.
Jul. The
clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an
hour she promis’d to return.
4
Perchance she
cannot meet him: that’s not so.
O! she is
lame: love’s heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten
times faster glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back
shadows over lowering hills:
8
Therefore do
nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore
hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun
upon the highmost hill
Of this day’s
journey, and from nine till twelve
12
Is three long
hours, yet she is not come.
Had she
affections, and warm youthful blood,
She’d be as
swift in motion as a ball;
My words would
bandy her to my sweet love,
16
And his to me:
But old folks,
many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy,
slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse and PETER.
20
O God! she
comes. O honey nurse! what news?
Hast thou met
with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse. Peter,
stay at the gate. [Exit PETER.
Jul. Now,
good sweet nurse; O Lord! why look’st thou sad?
24
Though news be
sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou
sham’st the music of sweet news
By playing it
to me with so sour a face.
Nurse. I
am aweary, give me leave awhile:
28
Fie, how my
bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!
Jul. I
would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.
Nay, come, I
pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.
Nurse. Jesu!
what haste? can you not stay awhile?
32
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
Jul. How
art thou out of breath when thou hast breath
To say to me
that thou art out of breath?
The excuse
that thou dost make in this delay
36
Is longer than
the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news
good, or bad? answer to that;
Say either,
and I’ll stay the circumstance:
Let me be
satisfied, is ’t good or bad?
40
Nurse. Well,
you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not
he; though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s; and
for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet
they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but, I’ll warrant him,
as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What! have you dined at
home?
Jul. No,
no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that?
Nurse. Lord!
how my head aches; what a head have I!
It beats as it
would fall in twenty pieces.
44
My back o’
t’other side; O! my back, my back!
Beshrew your
heart for sending me about,
To catch my
death with jauncing up and down.
Jul. I’
faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
48
Sweet, sweet,
sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?
Nurse. Your
love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a
handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,—Where is your mother?
Jul. Where
is my mother! why, she is within;
Where should
she be? How oddly thou repliest:
52
‘Your love
says, like an honest gentleman,
Where is your
mother?’
Nurse. O!
God’s lady dear,
Are you so
hot? Marry, come up, I trow;
56
Is this the
poultice for my aching bones?
Henceforward
do your messages yourself.
Jul. Here’s
such a coil! come, what says Romeo?
Nurse. Have
you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
60
Jul. I
have.
Nurse. Then
hie you hence to Friar Laurence’ cell,
There stays a
husband to make you a wife:
Now comes the
wanton blood up in your cheeks,
64
They’ll be in
scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to
church; I must another way,
To fetch a
ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a
bird’s nest soon when it is dark;
68
I am the
drudge and toil in your delight,
But you shall
bear the burden soon at night.
Go; I’ll to
dinner: hie you to the cell.
Jul. Hie
to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. [Exeunt.
72
Act II. Scene VI.
The Same. FRIAR LAURENCE’S Cell.
Enter
FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO.
Fri. L. So
smile the heaven upon this holy act,
That after hours with sorrow chide us
not! 4
Rom. Amen,
amen! but come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of
joy
That one short minute gives me in her
sight:
Do thou but close our hands with holy
words, 8
Then love-devouring death do what he
dare;
It is enough I may but call her mine.
Fri. L. These
violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire
and powder, 12
Which, as they kiss consume: the
sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the
appetite:
Therefore love moderately; long love
doth so; 16
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter
JULIET.
Here comes the lady: O! so light a
foot
Will ne’er wear out the everlasting
flint: 20
A lover may bestride the gossamer
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
Jul. Good
even to my ghostly confessor. 24
Fri. L. Romeo
shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul. As
much to him, else are his thanks too much.
Rom. Ah!
Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap’d like mine, and that thy
skill be more 28
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy
breath
This neighbour air, and let rich
music’s tongue
Unfold the imagin’d happiness that
both
Receive in either by this dear
encounter. 32
Jul. Conceit,
more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of
ornament:
They are but beggars that can count
their worth;
But my true love is grown to such
excess 36
I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
Fri. L. Come,
come with me, and we will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall not
stay alone
Till holy church incorporate two in
one. [Exeunt. 40
Now answer questions 6 - 20