Romeo and Juliet Page #6

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of what you do not feel.

If you were young like me

and full of love,

married an hour,

red with Tybalt's blood,

hungry for Juliet

but banished from her side,

then you could speak

and I would listen.

NURSE:
Where is my lady's lord?

Where is Romeo?

Behold him now,

with his own tears made drunk.

So is my lady Juliet

just the same,

blubbering and weeping,

weeping and blubbering.

Good nurse, you speak

of Juliet?

Say quick:
Does she now

think I am a murderer?

She weeps and weeps.

And lies upon her bed, and...

and then jumps up and cries out,

"Tybalt," and then, "Romeo."

My name was fatal to her

from the start.

It kills her, as it killed

her noble kinsman.

Oh, tell me in what part of

my anatomy does lodge my name,

- and I will hack it off!

- What?

Wouldst kill yourself

and all the lady's hopes?

Look to your wits!

Your Juliet is alive.

There you are happy.

Tybalt would kill you,

but you instead killed Tybalt.

Take heart.

The prince has altered death

to simple exile.

Another stroke of luck

to make you smile.

Have done with pouting.

Go to your love.

Climb to her chamber,

kiss and comfort her!

But leave before the watch

begins to walk,

to make the journey

safe to Mantua,

where you will live

till we can find a way

to blaze your marriage,

reconcile your friends,

beg pardon of the prince

and call you back.

Oh, what it is

to hear good counsel.

You must return

to my lady Juliet.

Say Romeo is coming.

My Lord, I'll tell

my lady you will come.

Say I am prepared

to be chastised.

Here, sir, a ring

she did bid me give you.

How well my comfort

is revived by this.

FRIAR LAURENCE:
Be sure

you leave before the dawn.

Then make your home

in Mantua and wait.

I will send you messages

with all our news.

ROMEO:
If I were not to gain

a joy past joy,

I would be sad to leave you.

So farewell.

LADY CAPULET:
Why the race

to drag her to the church?

Give her time

to mourn her cousin.

No. We have no time

to waste in sterile tears,

with Paris restive in the slips

and soon to be rid of her

if he be not persuaded

she is his.

I do not think

he is so changeable.

Let us not take a chance

with lovers' vows

when Jove does laugh

at their fragility.

Do you want legal offspring

from our loins?

With Tybalt dead

and all our line at risk,

young Juliet

is the only living course

through which our blood

can flow.

You know I do.

Well, then we shall

take action when we may

and strike while

the iron is hot.

MAN:
This way, sir.

Paris, welcome.

How does my lady

in this sorrowful hour?

I would that I might be

some comfort to her.

Tonight, she is imprisoned

in her grief,

but in the morning,

I will know her mind.

Wife... when dawn breaks,

bid her make ready

for her wedding day.

You will tell her on Thursday

she will wed the noble count.

What say you to Thursday?

My Lord, I wish Thursday

were tomorrow.

Thursday it is, then.

JULIET:
Come, gentle night.

Come loving,

black-browed night.

Give me my Romeo,

and when he shall die,

take him and cut him out

in little stars.

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.

(SIGHS)

My husband.

My wife.

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

(BIRDS CONTINUE CHIRPING)

Must you be gone?

It's nowhere near the dawn.

You heard the nightingale

and not a lark, I promise.

She sings each night

sitting in yonder tree.

Believe me, love,

it was the nightingale.

It was the lark,

the herald of the morn.

No nightingale.

Look, love,

what envious streaks do lace

the severing clouds

in yonder east.

Night's candles are burnt out,

and jocund day stands tiptoe

on the misty mountain tops.

I must be gone and live,

or stay and die.

I do not think the light

is daylight yet.

I am content

if you would have it so.

I have more heart to stay

than will to go.

Come, death, and welcome.

Juliet wills it so.

I will lie with you

and say it is not day.

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

It is. It is. Go now.

Begone. Away!

Oh, it is the lark

that sings so out of tune

with horrid discords

and unpleasant sharps.

Oh, hurry now.

More light and light it grows!

More light and light,

more dark and dark our woes.

(RUNNING FOOTSTEPS)

- Madam!

- What is it?

Your mother is soon coming

to your chamber.

The day is here.

Be careful and make haste.

I shall be gone.

Your parents cannot know

that I have been part

of this deceit.

Farewell, my love.

One more kiss,

and I'll descend.

No. Come this way.

I'll teach Benvolio to learn

your news each day.

No, more than that.

Each hour in each day.

Each minute in each hour

is a day for pining lovers.

And amen to that.

Do you believe

we'll ever meet again?

I do not doubt it.

Nor that we shall smile

to think

of all these troubles

in the past.

If God would only

free me of foreboding.

I think I see you,

now you are below,

as dim and pale

as dead men in their tombs.

So are you dim, love,

in dawn's drab light.

Our worries make us pale.

So adieu.

Oh, fortune, fortune,

all men call you fickle because

no fortune ever constant be.

If that is so,

then change again, oh, fortune.

Be fickle now

and send him back to me.

Whoa, whoa, whoa,

whoa, whoa.

Please, Benvolio,

be a guardian angel to my love.

Watch her firmly and gently

as it would do the eye of God.

I will. I promise you.

Farewell, cousin.

(HORSE WHINNIES)

What is the rush?

I pray you tell, My Lord,

I will not marry yet,

and when I do, I swear

it shall be Romeo, whom I hate,

rather than Paris,

whom I despise!

LADY CAPULET:

Here comes your father.

You can tell him so

yourself.

(SOBBING)

My girl is like a channel.

What, more tears?

The level of the sea

will start to lift

if much more water flows

from your sweet eyes.

Wife, have you told her

of her marriage plans?

I have, and she will have

none of it, I swear.

Soft. Soft.

Take me with you,

take me with you, wife.

How? Will she none?

Does she not

give us thanks?

Is she not proud?

Does she not think her blessed,

unworthy as she is,

that we have brought so worthy

a gentleman to be her groom?

Thankful I am,

and grateful for your love,

but proud I cannot be

of what I hate.

How... how-how-how,

chopped logic.

What is this?

"Proud" and "I thank you,"

but "I thank you not."

Thank me no thankings,

nor proud me no prouds!

Be ready, lady,

Thursday morning next,

to go with Paris

to St. Peter's Church

- or I will drag thee

thither on a rail!

- Are you mad?

Good father,

I beseech you on my knees.

Will you not give me leave

to plead my cause?

- (PANTING)

- You...

- (GASPING)

- I tell you what.

Be there, Thursday church,

or never after look me

in the face.

- I...

- Speak not.

Reply not, do not answer me.

My fingers itch!

My lord, you're in the wrong,

my lord, to punish her.

Is that my lady wisdom's view?

Take care.

You dice with your place

in talking thus.

May not one speak?

Oh, will you be quiet,

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