Romeo and Juliet Page #4

- A challenge, on my life.

- Romeo will answer it.

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?

- Why, what is Tybalt?

More than prince of cats, I can tell you.

Oh, he is the courageous captain

of compliments.

These fashion mongers,

these pardonnez-mois.

Their bons, their bons.

He fights as you sing prick-songs.

Keeps time, distance and proportion,

one, two and the third in your bosom.

The very butcher of a silk button.

A duelist, a duelist, the immortal passado.

The punto reverso. The hay.

Here comes Romeo.

Without his roe, like a dried herring.

O flesh, flesh, how thou art fishified.

Signor Romeo, bonjour.

You gave us

the counterfeit fairly last night.

Good morrow to you both.

What counterfeit did I give you?

- The slip, sir, the slip.

- Pardon, good Mercutio.

My business was great, and in such a case

as mine a man may strain courtesy.

That's as much as to say,

such a case as yours,

constrains a man to bow in the hams.

- Meaning, to curtsey.

- Thou hast most kindly hit it.

A most courteous exposition.

Why, is this not better now

than groaning for love?

Now art thou sociable,

now art thou Romeo.

A sail, a sail.

Two, two, a shirt and a smock.

Peter.

- Anon.

- My fan, Peter.

Good Peter, to hide her face.

God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

- God ye good day, fair gentlewoman.

- Is it good day?

'Tis no less, I tell you,

for the bawdy hand of the dial

is even now upon the prick of noon.

Out upon you. What a man are you!

Gentlemen, can any of you tell me

where I may find the young Romeo?

I can tell you.

I'm the youngest of that name,

for want of a worse.

If you be he, sir,

I desire some confidence with you.

The young lady...

The young lady bade me... Get back!

She will invite him to some supper.

A bawd, a bawd, a bawd.

Farewell, ancient lady! Farewell.

Lady, lady, lady!

Marry, farewell. I pray you, sir,

what saucy merchant was this?

A gentleman, nurse,

who loves to hear himself talk.

And to speak anything against me,

I'll take him down

and a' were lustier than he is,

and twenty such Jacks.

And I cannot, I'll find those that shall.

Scurvy knave.

I am none of his flirt-gills.

And thou must stand by, too, and suffer

every knave to use me at his pleasure.

I saw no man use you at his pleasure.

If I had, my weapon should quickly

have been out, I warrant.

I dare draw as soon as another man

if I see occasion in a good quarrel

and the law on my side.

Now, afore God, I am so vexed

that every part about me quivers.

Scurvy knave!

Pray you, sir, a word.

As I told you,

my young lady bade me inquire you out.

- Yes.

- What she bade me say,

- I'll keep to myself.

- Oh, no.

But first let me tell you.

If you should lead her into

a fool's paradise, as they say,

it were a very gross kind of behavior,

as they say,

for the gentlewoman is young,

and, therefore,

if you should deal double with her...

I protest. I protest.

Good heart and faith,

I will tell her as much.

Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman.

What wilt thou tell her, nurse?

I will tell her, sir, that you do protest

which, as I take it,

is a gentleman-like offer.

Bid her devise some means

to come to shrift this afternoon.

There she shall at Friar Laurence's cell

be shrived and married.

- Here. Here is for thy pains.

- No, truly, sir, not a penny.

Go to, I say you shall.

This afternoon, sir, she shall be there.

- Commend me to thy lady.

- Ay, a thousand times.

- Peter!

- Anon.

Take my fan and go before.

And apace, apace.

The clock struck 9:00

when I did send the nurse.

In half an hour she promised to return.

Perchance she cannot meet him.

That's not so.

She is lame.

Love's heralds should be thoughts,

which ten times faster glide

than the sun's beams.

From 9:
00 till 12:00 is three long hours.

And 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, and his to me.

O God, she comes.

O honey nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him?

- Send thy man away.

- Peter, stay at the gate.

- Anon.

- Now, good, sweet nurse.

- O Lord, why look'st thou sad?

- I am aweary, give me leave a while.

Fie, how my bones ache.

What a jaunt have I had.

I would thou hadst my bones

and I thy news.

Nay, come, I pray thee, speak.

Good, good nurse, speak.

Jesu. What haste?

Can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see that I am out of breath?

How are thou out of breath,

when thou hast breath to say to me

that thou art out of breath?

Is thy news good or bad?

Answer to that.

Let me be satisfied, is it good or bad?

Well, you have made a simple choice.

You know not how to choose a man.

Go thy ways, wench, serve God.

- What, have you dined at home?

- No, no.

What says he of our marriage?

What of that?

Lord, how my head aches.

What a head have I!

It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.

Oh, my back.

The other side.

Beshrew your heart

for sending me about to catch my death

with jaunting up and down.

In faith, I am sorry

that thou art not well.

O sweet, sweet, sweet nurse,

tell me, what says my love?

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?

Where is my mother?

Why, she is within. Where should she be?

How oddly thou repliest!

"Your love says, like an honest gentleman,

where is your mother?"

Oh, God's lady dear! Are you so hot?

Marry, come up, I trow.

Is this the poultice for my aching bones?

Henceforward, do your messages yourself!

Come, what says Romeo?

- Have you got leave to go to shrift today?

- I have.

Then hie you hence

to Friar Laurence's cell,

there stays a husband to make you a wife.

Now comes the wanton blood

up in your cheeks.

They'll be scarlet straight at any news.

Hie you to church, go. I'll to dinner.

Hie you to the cell!

Hie to high fortune.

Honest nurse, farewell.

- Good den, Father.

- Benedicite.

God mark thee to His grace, young son.

I love thy company.

- Where hast thou been?

- 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.

Be plain, good son.

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 this I pray that thou consent

to marry us this day.

Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here.

Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,

so soon forsaken?

I pray thee, chide me not.

Amen. Amen.

So smile the heavens upon this holy act,

that after hours with sorrow chide us not.

But come what sorrow can,

it cannot countervail the exchange of joy

that one short minute gives me

in her sight.

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