Romeo and Juliet Page #5

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,

And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.

Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.

Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;

For you and I are past our dancing days:

How long is't now since last yourself and I

Were in a mask?

Second Capulet

By'r lady, thirty years.

CAPULET:

What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much:

'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,

Come pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

Second Capulet

'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir;

His son is thirty.

CAPULET:

Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

ROMEO:

[To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth

enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Servant

I know not, sir.

ROMEO:

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,

As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,

And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

TYBALT:

This, by his voice, should be a Montague.

Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave

Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,

To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,

To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.

CAPULET:

Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

TYBALT:

Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,

A villain that is hither come in spite,

To scorn at our solemnity this night.

CAPULET:

Young Romeo is it?

TYBALT:

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET:

Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;

He bears him like a portly gentleman;

And, to say truth, Verona brags of him

To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:

I would not for the wealth of all the town

Here in my house do him disparagement:

Therefore be patient, take no note of him:

It is my will, the which if thou respect,

Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,

And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

TYBALT:

It fits, when such a villain is a guest:

I'll not endure him.

CAPULET:

He shall be endured:

What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;

Am I the master here, or you? go to.

You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

TYBALT:

Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

CAPULET:

Go to, go to;

You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed?

This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:

You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.

Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:

Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!

I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!

TYBALT:

Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting

Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw:
but this intrusion shall

Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.

Exit

ROMEO:

[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

JULIET:

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

ROMEO:

Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

JULIET:

Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

ROMEO:

O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

JULIET:

Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

ROMEO:

Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.

JULIET:

Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

ROMEO:

Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!

Give me my sin again.

JULIET:

You kiss by the book.

Nurse

Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

ROMEO:

What is her mother?

Nurse

Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous

I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal;

I tell you, he that can lay hold of her

Shall have the chinks.

ROMEO:

Is she a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

BENVOLIO:

Away, begone; the sport is at the best.

ROMEO:

Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

CAPULET:

Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.

Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all

I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.

More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed.

Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late:

I'll to my rest.

Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse

JULIET:

Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?

Nurse

The son and heir of old Tiberio.

JULIET:

What's he that now is going out of door?

Nurse

Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.

JULIET:

What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse

I know not.

JULIET:

Go ask his name:
if he be married.

My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse

His name is Romeo, and a Montague;

The only son of your great enemy.

JULIET:

My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

That I must love a loathed enemy.

Nurse

What's this? what's this?

JULIET:

A rhyme I learn'd even now

Of one I danced withal.

One calls within 'Juliet.'

Nurse

Anon, anon!

Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

Exeunt

ACT II:

PROLOGUE:

Enter Chorus

Chorus

Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie,

And young affection gapes to be his heir;

That fair for which love groan'd for and would die,

With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.

Now Romeo is beloved and loves again,

Alike betwitched by the charm of looks,

But to his foe supposed he must complain,

And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks:

Being held a foe, he may not have access

To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;

And she as much in love, her means much less

To meet her new-beloved any where:

But passion lends them power, time means, to meet

Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

Exit

SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEO

ROMEO:

Can I go forward when my heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO

BENVOLIO:

Romeo! my cousin Romeo!

MERCUTIO:

He is wise;

And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed.

BENVOLIO:

He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall:

Call, good Mercutio.

MERCUTIO:

Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;

Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;'

Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

One nick-name for her purblind son and heir,

Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim,

When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!

He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;

The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.

I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,

By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,

By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh

And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,

That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

BENVOLIO:

And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

MERCUTIO:

This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him

To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle

Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

Till she had laid it and conjured it down;

That were some spite: my invocation

Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name

I conjure only but to raise up him.

BENVOLIO:

Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,

To be consorted with the humorous night:

Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

MERCUTIO:

If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.

Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit

As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone.

Romeo, that she were, O, that she were

An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear!

Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed;

This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:

Come, shall we go?

BENVOLIO:

Go, then; for 'tis in vain

To seek him here that means not to be found.

Exeunt

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