Act III.
Scene II.
Scene II.—The Same. CAPULET'S Orchard.
Enter JULIET.
Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phœbus' lodging; such a waggoner
As Phæthon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!
That runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen!
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown
bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night! come, Romeo! come, thou day in
night!
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night;
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd
night,
Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.
O! I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
'To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O! here comes my
nurse,
Enter Nurse with cords.
And she brings .news; and every tongue that
speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Now nurse, what news? What hast thou there?
the cords
That Romeo bade thee fetch?
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
[Throws them down.
Jul. Ah me! what news? why dost thou
wring thy hands?
Nurse. Ah well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead,
he's dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he 'a dead!
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse. Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot. O! Romeo, Romeo;
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
Jul. What devil .art thou that dost torment
me thus?
This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,'
And that bare vowel, 'I,' shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an 'I;'
Or those eyes shut that mate thee answer 'I.'
If he be slain, say 'I;' or if not 'no:'
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine
eyes,
God save the mark! here on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swounded at the sight.
Jul. O break, my heart!—poor bankrupt,
break at once!
To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty?
Vile earth, to earth resign; and motion here;
And thou and Romeo press .one heavy bier!
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt! the best friend I had:
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!
Jul. What storm is this that blows so con-
trary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead?
My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living if those two are gone?
Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.
Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's
blood?
Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did.
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering
face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st;
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O, nature! what had'st thou to do in hell go
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O! that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.
Nurse. There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all naught,
All perjured, all dissemblers, all forsworn.
Ah! where's my man? give me some aqua
vitæ:
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me
old.
Shame come to Romeo!
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue
For such a wish! he was not born to shame:
Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit;
For 'tis -a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O! what a beast was I to chide at him.
Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd
your cousin?
Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my hus-
band?
Ah! poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth
thy name,
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my
cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my hus-
band:
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my
husband:
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's
death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But O! it presses to my memory,.
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' nainds.
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!'
That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's
death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,'
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
But with a rearward following Tybalt's death,
'Romeo is banished!' to speak that word
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead: 'Romeo is banished!'
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound
In that word's death; no words can that woe
sound.—
Where is my father and my mother, nurse?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's
corse:
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine
shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are
beguil'd,
Both you and I, for Romeo is exil'd:
He made you for a highway to my bed,
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding
bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber; I'll find Ro-
meo
To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here to-night:
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O! find him; give this ring to my true
knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
[Exeunt.
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