Romeo & Juliet Page #6

hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,

which thou expect'st not,

nor I looked not for.

Madam, in happy time. What day is that?

Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,

the gallant, young,

and noble gentleman, Sir Paris,

at St Peter's Church,

shall happily make thee there

a joyful bride.

Now, by St Peter's Church and Peter too,

he shall not make me there a joyful bride!

Here comes your father. Tell him so yourself.

How now, wife?

Have you delivered to her our decree?

Ay, sir.

But she will none, she gives you thanks.

I would the fool were married to her grave.

How?

Will she none?

Is she not proud?

Doth she not count her blest,

unworthy as she is,

that we have wrought so worthy

a gentleman to be her bride?

Not proud you have,

but thankful that you have.

Proud can I never be of what I hate!

Thank me no thankings,

nor proud me no prouds!

But fettle your fine joints

'gainst Thursday next!

Hear me with patience but to speak a word!

No!

Fie, fie! Stop it!

Speak not! Reply not! Do not answer me!

Husband, are you mad?

Hang thee, young baggage!

Disobedient wretch!

God in heaven bless her! You are

to blame, my lord, to rate her so!

Peace, you mumbling fool!

I tell thee what.

Get thee to church o' Thursday,

or never after look me in the face!

An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend.

An you be not, hang, beg, starve,

die in the streets!

Trust to 't. Bethink you.

I'll not be forsworn!

O sweet my mother, cast me not away!

Delay this marriage for a month, a week.

Or, if you do not,

make the bridal bed in that

dim monument where Tybalt lies.

Talk not to me...

for I'll not speak a word.

Do as thou wilt,

for I have done with thee.

O God!

O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?

What say'st thou? Hast thou not

a word of joy? Some comfort, Nurse!

Faith, here it is.

I think it best you marry with this Paris.

O he's a lovely gentleman.

I think you are happy in this second match,

for it excels your first.

Or, if it did not,

your first is dead.

Or 'twere as good he were

as living here and you no use to him.

Speakest thou from thy heart?

And from my soul too;

else beshrew them both!

Amen.

What?

Well, thou hast comforted me

marvelous much.

Go in and tell my lady I am gone,

having displeased my father,

to Friar Laurence to make

confession and be absolved.

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalts death.

Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous

that she doth give her sorrow

so much sway

and in his wisdom hastes our marriage

to stop the inundation of her tears.

Happily met, my lady and my wife.

That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.

That "may be" must be, love,

on Thursday next.

- What must be shall be.

- Well, that's a certain text.

Come you to make confession?

Are you at leisure, holy Father, now,

or shall I come to you at evening mass?

My leisure serves thee,

pensive daughter, now.

Good sir, we must entreat the time alone.

God shield I should disturb devotion!

Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye.

Till then adieu,

and keep this holy kiss.

Tell me not, Father,

that thou hearest of this,

- unless thou tell me how I may prevent it!

- It strains me past the compass of my wits!

If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,

do thou but call my resolution wise.

- And with this, I'll help it presently!

- Hold, daughter!

Be not so long to speak! I long to die!

I do spy a kind of hope,

which craves as desperate an execution

as that is desperate

which we would prevent.

lf, rather than to marry with this Paris,

thou hast the strength of will

to slay thyself,

then it is likely thou wilt

undertake a thing like death

to chide away this shame.

And, if thou darest,

I'll give thee remedy.

No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest.

Each part,

deprived of supple government,

shall stiff and stark and cold

appear, like death.

Now, when the bridegroom in the morning

comes to rouse thee from thy bed,

there art thou dead.

Thou shalt be borne

to that same ancient vault

where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.

And in this borrowed likeness

of shrunk death

thou shalt continue

four and twenty hours

and then awake as from a pleasant sleep.

In the meantime, against thou shalt awake,

shall Romeo by my letters know our drift.

And hither shall he come that very night

to bear thee both hence to Mantua.

Take thou this vial, being then in bed,

and this distilling liquor drink thou off.

I'll send my letters to thy lord

post haste to Mantua.

Hello?

What if this mixture do not work at all?

Shall I be married then tomorrow morning?

- What, are you busy? Need you my help?

- No, madam.

We have culled such necessaries

as are behoveful for our estate tomorrow.

So please you, let me now be left alone,

and let the nurse this night sit up with you.

For I am sure you have your hands full all

in this so sudden business.

Good night.

Get thee to bed and rest,

for thou hast need.

Farewell.

God knows when we shall meet again.

Good night.

Romeo,

I drink to thee.

Requiem...

As the custom is, in all her best array,

bear her to church.

And all this day an unaccustomed spirit

lifts me above the ground

with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came

and found me dead

and breathed such life with kisses

in my lips that I revived

and was an emperor.

Ah, me!

How sweet is love itself possessed,

when but love's shadows

are so rich in joy!

News from Verona!

How now, Balthasar?

Dost thou not bring me

letters from the priest?

How doth my lady? Is my father well?

How doth my lady Juliet?

For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.

Her body rests in chapel monument,

and her immortal part

with the angels lives.

I saw her laid low.

Pardon me for bringing these ill news.

Is it e'en so?

Then I defy you, stars!

Juliet!

Juliet!

- I will hence tonight.

- Have patience!

Leave me!

Your looks are pale and wild

and do import some misadventure.

Tush! Thou art deceived!

Hast thou no letters to me from the priest?

No matter.

Well, Juliet,

I will lie with thee tonight.

I will hence tonight.

Romeo is within Verona walls.

Fear comes upon me!

O, much I fear

some ill, unthrifty thing!

The letter was of dear import!

I couldn't send it,

nor get a messenger to bring it thee.

The neglecting it may do much damage.

Bring forth these enemies,

Capulet and Montague!

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.

Such mortal drugs I have, but Verona law

is death to any he that utters them.

The world is not thy friend,

nor the world's law!

Then be not poor, but break it

and take this!

My poverty but not my will consents.

I pay thy poverty and not thy will.

Drink it off,

and if you had the strength of 20 men,

it would dispatch you straight.

There's my gold.

Worse poison to men's souls

than these poor compounds

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