Romeo and Juliet
Two households,
both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona,
where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge
break to new mutiny,
civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal
loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd
lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured
piteous overthrows Do
with their death bury
their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of
their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of
their parents' rage,
Which, but their
children's end,
nought could remove,
Is now the two hours'
traffic of our stage;
The which if you with
patient ears attend,
What here shall miss,
our toil shall
strive to mend.
I strike quickly,
being moved.
But thou art
not quickly moved
to strike.
A dog of the
house of Montague
moves me.
To move is
to stir;
and to be valiant is
to stand:
therefore,if thou art moved,
thou runn'st away.
A dog of that house
shall move me to
stand:
I will takethe wall of any
man or maid
of Montague's.
That shows
thee a weak slave;
for the weakest
goes to the wall.
Tis true; and
therefore women,
being the weaker
vessels, are ever
thrust to the wall:
Here comes two
of the house of
the Montagues.
Quarrel, quarrel,
I will
back thee.
How! turn
thy back and run?
I will bite
my thumb at them;
which is a disgrace to
them, if they bear it.
Do you bite your
thumb at us, sir?
I do bite my
thumb, sir.
Do you bite your
thumb at us, sir?
Come, come,
come, come.
Come! RUN!
Abraham.
Open there.
Open, Open.
Open!
What, art thou
drawn among these
heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio,
look upon thy death.
A servant of the
Capulets has killed
Abraham. Abraham
has benn killed
at the hands
of a Capulet!
What's this?
Abraham!
Abraham! Abraham!
Where's my man?
Where's my man!
What noise
is this?
Abraham is dead.
Give me my sword!
Give me my
long sword, ho!
Rebellious subjects,
enemies to peace,
Profaners of this
neighbour-stained steel,
Will they not hear?
What, ho!
you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of
your pernicious rage
With purple fountains
issuing from your veins,
Three civil brawls,
bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet,
and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd
the quiet of our streets,
On pain of torture,
Throw your mistemper'd
weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence
of your moved prince.
If ever you disturb
our streets again,
forfeit of the peace.
Good-morrow,
cousin.
Is the
day so young?
But new
struck nine.
Ay me!
sad hours seem long.
What sadness
lengthens Romeo's hours?
Not having
that, which, having,
makes them short.
In love?
Out--
Of love?
Out
of her favour,
where I am in love.
Alas, that
love, so gentle in his
view, Should be so
tyrannous and rough
in proof!
Alas, that love,
whose view is
muffled still, Should,
without eyes, see
pathways to his will!
Why, then, O
brawling love!
O loving hate!
O any thing, of
nothing first create!
O heavy lightness!
serious vanity!
Dost thou not laugh?
No, coz, I
rather weep.
Good
heart, at what?
At thy good
heart's oppression.
Why, such is
love's transgression.
This love that
thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to
too much of mine own.
Farewell, my coz.
Soft!
I will go along;
An if you leave me
so, you do me wrong.
Tut, I
have lost myself;
I am not here;
This is not Romeo,
he's some other where.
Tell me in sadness,
who is that you love.
Bid a sick man
in sadness make his will:
Ah, word ill urged
to one that is so ill!
Juliet!
How now!
who calls?
Your mother.
Come now, quick, quick!
Madam,
I am here.
What is your will?
This is the matter:
--nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret:
--nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd
me, thou's hear
our counsel.
Thou know'st my
daughter's of
a pretty age.
Faith, I
can tell her age
unto an hour.
How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?
Even or odd, of
all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at night
shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she--God rest
all Christian souls!
Were of an age:
well,Susan is with God;
She was too good for
me:
but, as I said,On Lammas-eve at night
shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry;
I remember it well.
'Tis since the
earthquake now eleven
years; And she
was wean'd,
--I never shall
forget it,
For then she could
stand alone;
nay, by the rood,
She could have run and
waddled all about; For
even the day before,
she broke her brow:
And then my husband
God be with his soul!
A' was a merry man--took
up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou
fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward
when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?'
and, by my holidame,
crying and said 'Ay.'
I warrant, an I should
live a thousand years,
it:
'Wilt thou not,Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it
stinted and said 'Ay.'
And stint thou too,
I pray thee, nurse,
say I.
Peace,
I have done.
God mark thee
to his grace!
An I might live to
see thee married once,
I have my wish.
Marry, that 'marry'
is the very
theme I came to talk of.
Tell me, daughter
Juliet, How
stands your disposition
to be married?
To marry?
It is an honour
that I dream not of.
An honour!
were not I thine
only nurse,
I would say thou
hadst suck'd wisdom
from thy teat.
Well, think of
marriage now;
younger than you,
Here in Verona,
ladies of esteem, Are
made already mothers.
Thus then in brief:
The valiant Paris seeks
you for his love.
But saying o'er
what I have said
before:
My child isyet a stranger in
the world; She hath
not seen the change
of fourteen years,
Let two more summers
wither in their
pride, Ere we may
think her ripe
to be a bride.
Younger than
she are happy
mothers made.
And too soon
marr'd are those
so early made.
The earth hath
swallow'd all my
hopes but she, But
woo her, gentle
Paris, get her
heart, This night
I hold an old
accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have
invited many a
guest, Such as I
love; and you, among
the store, One more,
most welcome, makes
my number more.
But my will to her
consent is but a part.
Madam, Juliet.
Come quickly.
What say you?
can you love
the gentleman?
This night you shall
behold him at our
feast; Read o'er
the volume of young
Paris' face, And
find delight writ
there with
beauty's pen;
I'll look to
like, if looking
liking move:
Butno more deep will I
endart mine eye Than
your consent gives
strength
to make it fly.
At this same
ancient feast of
Capulet's Sups the
fair Rosaline whom
thou so lovest,
I aim'd so near,
when I supposed
you loved.
A right fair
mark, fair coz,
is soonest hit.
Good evening
my lord.
Well, in that
hit you miss:
She'll not be hit
with Cupid's arrow;
she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof
of chastity well
arm'd, From love's
weak childish bow
she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay
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"Romeo and Juliet" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 Dec. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/romeo_and_juliet_17129>.
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