William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (181 page)
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Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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ROMEO
A thousand times the worse to want thy light.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
⌈
He is going
.⌉
Enter Juliet aloft again
JULIET
Hist, Romeo! Hist! O for a falconer’s voice
To lure this tassel-gentle back again.
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. Romeo!
To lure this tassel-gentle back again.
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. Romeo!
ROMEO
It is my soul that calls upon my name.
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
JULIET
Romeo!
ROMEO My nyas?
JULIET What o’clock tomorrow
Shall I send to thee?
ROMEO By the hour of nine.
JULIET
I will not fail; ’tis twenty year till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
ROMEO
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
JULIET
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb’ring how I love thy company.
Rememb’ring how I love thy company.
ROMEO
And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
Forgetting any other home but this.
JULIET
’Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone—
And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,
That lets it hop a little from his hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,
That lets it hop a little from his hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
ROMEO
I would I were thy bird.
JULIET Sweet, so would I.
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
⌈ROMEO⌉
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
Hence will I to my ghostly sire’s close cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
Exit Juliet
Hence will I to my ghostly sire’s close cell,
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
Exit
Enter Friar Laurence, with a basket
FRIAR LAURENCE
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequ’ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And fleckled 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,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juicèd flowers.
The earth, that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb.
What is her burying grave, that is her womb,
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.
O mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities,
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good but, strained from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied,
And vice sometime’s by action dignified.
Chequ’ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And fleckled 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,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juicèd flowers.
The earth, that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb.
What is her burying grave, that is her womb,
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.
O mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities,
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good but, strained from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied,
And vice sometime’s by action dignified.
Enter Romeo
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.
Two such opposed kings 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.
Poison hath residence, and medicine power,
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed kings 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.
ROMEO
Good morrow, father.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Benedicite.
Benedicite.
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distempered 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,
But where unbruisèd youth with unstuffed brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art uproused with some distemp’rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right:
Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.
Young son, it argues a distempered 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,
But where unbruisèd youth with unstuffed brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art uproused with some distemp’rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right:
Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.
ROMEO
That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
FRIAR LAURENCE
God pardon sin!—Wast thou with Rosaline?
ROMEO
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No,
I have forgot that name and that name’s woe.
I have forgot that name and that name’s woe.
FRIAR LAURENCE
That’s my good son; but where hast thou been then?
ROMEO
I’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
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.
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
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.
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift.
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
ROMEO
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 combined save what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When and where and how
We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow
I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us today.
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine,
And all combined save what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When and where and how
We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow
I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us today.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine
Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears.
Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not washed off yet.
If e’er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine
Hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears.
Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not washed off yet.
If e’er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.
ROMEO
Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.
FRIAR LAURENCE
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
ROMEO
And bad’st me bury love.
FRIAR LAURENCE Not in a grave
To lay one in, another out to have.
ROMEO
I pray thee, chide me not. Her I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
The other did not so.
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
The other did not so.
FRIAR LAURENCE O, she knew well
Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come, go with me.
In one respect I’ll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove
To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
But come, young waverer, come, go with me.
In one respect I’ll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove
To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
ROMEO
O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast. Exeunt
2.3Enter Benvolio and Mercutio
MERCUTIO Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?
BENVOLIO
Not to his father’s. I spoke with his man.
MERCUTIO
Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him so that he will sure run mad.
Torments him so that he will sure run mad.
BENVOLIO
Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father’s house.
Hath sent a letter to his father’s house.
MERCUTIO
A challenge, on my life.
BENVOLIO Romeo will answer it.
MERCUTIO Any man that can write may answer a letter.
BENVOLIO Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared. is
MERCUTIO Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead—stabbed with a white wench’s black eye, run 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?
⌈BENVOLIO⌉ Why, what is Tybalt?
MERCUTIO More than Prince of Cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing pricksong: keeps time, distance, and proportion. He rests his minim rests: 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
puntoreverso,
the hai.
puntoreverso,
the hai.
BENVOLIO The what?
MERCUTIO The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting phantasims, these new tuners of accent! ‘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 ‘pardon-me’s’, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! Enter Romeo
BENVOLIO Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!
MERCUTIO 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 a kitchen wench—marry, she had a better love to berhyme her—Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy, Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signor Romeo,
bonjour.
There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
bonjour.
There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
ROMEO Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? 45
MERCUTIO The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive ?
ROMEO Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
MERCUTIO That’s as much as to say such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
ROMEO Meaning to curtsy.
MERCUTIO Thou hast most kindly hit it.
ROMEO A most courteous exposition.
MERCUTIO Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
ROMEO Pink for flower.
MERCUTIO Right.
ROMEO Why, then is my pump well flowered.
MERCUTIO Sure wit, follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.
ROMEO O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!
MERCUTIO Come between us, good Benvolio. My wits faints.
ROMEO Switch and spurs, switch and spurs, or I’ll cry a match.
MERCUTIO Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I am 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?
ROMEO Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there for the goose.
MERCUTIO I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
ROMEO Nay, good goose, bite not.
MERCUTIO Thy wit is very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.
ROMEO And is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?
MERCUTIO O, here’s a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad.
ROMEO I stretch it out for that word ‘broad’, which, added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
MERCUTIO 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.
BENVOLIO Stop there, stop there.
MERCUTIO Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
BENVOLIO Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO 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. Enter the Nurse, and Peter,
her
man
her
man
ROMEO Here’s goodly gear.
⌈BENVOLIO⌉ A sail, a sail!
MERCUTIO Two, two—a shirt and a smock.
NURSE Peter.
PETER Anon.
NURSE My fan, Peter.
MERCUTIO Good Peter, to hide her face, for her fan’s the fairer face.
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