Уильям Шекспир
Romeo & Juliet
ROMEO:
Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.
Nurse:
Ah. mocker! that’s the dog’s name; R is for the-No; I know it begins with some other letter:-and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.
ROMEO:
Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse:
Ay, a thousand times.
Exit Romeo
Peter!
PETER:
Anon!
Nurse:
Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace.
Exeunt
Scene 5
Capulet’s orchard.
Enter JULIET
JULIET:
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that’s not so. O, she is lame! love’s heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes!
Enter Nurse and PETER
O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse:
Peter, stay at the gate.
Exit PETER
JULIET:
Now, good sweet nurse,-O Lord, why look’st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse:
I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!
JULIET:
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.
Nurse:
Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath?
JULIET:
How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?
Nurse:
Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I’ll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home?
JULIET:
No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that?
Nurse:
Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o’ t’ other side,-O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down!
JULIET:
I’ faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?
Nurse:
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?
JULIET:
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?’
Nurse:
O 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.
JULIET:
Here’s such a coil! come, what says Romeo?
Nurse:
Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
JULIET:
I have.
Nurse:
Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence’ cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I’ll to dinner: hie you to the cell.
JULIET:
Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.
Exeunt
Scene 6
Friar Laurence’s cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO
FRIAR LAURENCE:
So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not!
ROMEO:
Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter JULIET
Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
JULIET:
Good even to my ghostly confessor.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
JULIET:
As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
ROMEO:
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap’d like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JULIET:
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one.
Exeunt
Act 3
Scene 1
A public place.
Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants
BENVOLIO:
I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
MERCUTIO:
Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says ’God send me no need of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
BENVOLIO:
Am I like such a fellow?
MERCUTIO:
Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
BENVOLIO:
And what to?
MERCUTIO:
Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
BENVOLIO:
An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
MERCUTIO:
The fee-simple! O simple!
BENVOLIO:
By my head, here come the Capulets.
MERCUTIO:
By my heel, I care not.
Enter TYBALT and others
TYBALT:
Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.
MERCUTIO:
And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
TYBALT:
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion.
MERCUTIO:
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYBALT:
Mercutio, thou consort’st with Romeo,- MERCUTIO:
Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here’s my fiddlestick; here’s that shall make you dance. ’Zounds, consort!
BENVOLIO:
We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MERCUTIO:
Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.
Enter ROMEO
TYBALT:
Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.
MERCUTIO:
But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him ’man.’
TYBALT:
Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,-thou art a villain.
ROMEO:
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.
TYBALT:
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
ROMEO:
I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,-which name I tender As dearly as my own,-be satisfied.
MERCUTIO:
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away.
Draws
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
TYBALT:
What wouldst thou have with me?
MERCUTIO:
Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
TYBALT:
I am for you.
Drawing
ROMEO:
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
MERCUTIO:
Come, sir, your passado.
They fight
ROMEO:
Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!
TYBALT under ROMEO’s arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers
MERCUTIO:
I am hurt. A plague o’ both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?
BENVOLIO:
What, art thou hurt?
MERCUTIO:
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, ’tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
Exit Page
ROMEO:
Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
MERCUTIO:
No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but ’tis enough, ’twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’ both your houses! ’Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
ROMEO:
I thought all for the best.
MERCUTIO:
Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses! They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses!
Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO
ROMEO:
This gentleman, the prince’s near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain’d With Tybalt’s slander,-Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften’d valour’s steel!
Re-enter BENVOLIO
BENVOLIO:
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
ROMEO:
This day’s black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
BENVOLIO:
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
ROMEO:
Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
Re-enter TYBALT
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio’s soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.
TYBALT:
Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence.
ROMEO:
This shall determine that.
They fight; TYBALT falls
BENVOLIO:
Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away!
ROMEO:
O, I am fortune’s fool!
BENVOLIO:
Why dost thou stay?
Exit ROMEO
Enter Citizens, amp;c
First Citizen:
Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
BENVOLIO:
There lies that Tybalt.
First Citizen:
Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey.
Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others
PRINCE:
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
BENVOLIO:
O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
LADY CAPULET:
Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin!
PRINCE:
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
BENVOLIO:
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, ’Hold, friends! friends, part!’ and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain’d revenge, And to ’t they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
LADY CAPULET:
He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
PRINCE:
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
MONTAGUE:
Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio’s friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.
PRINCE:
And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate’s proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he’s found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
Exeunt
Scene 2
Capulet’s orchard.
Enter JULIET
JULIET:
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus’ lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway’s eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And 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. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess’d it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy’d: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Enter Nurse, with cords
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch?
Nurse:
Ay, ay, the cords.
Throws them down
JULIET:
Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?
Nurse:
Ah, well-a-day! he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead!
JULIET:
Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse:
Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
JULIET:
What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but ’I,’ And that bare vowel ’I’ shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer ’I.’ If he be slain, say ’I’; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
Nurse:
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,- God save the mark!-here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.
JULIET:
O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne’er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
Nurse:
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead!
JULIET:
What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter’d, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone?
Nurse:
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
JULIET:
O God! did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?
Nurse:
It did, it did; alas the day, it did!
JULIET:
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace!
Nurse:
There’s no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where’s my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo!
JULIET:
Blister’d be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
Nurse:
Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?
JULIET:
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death, That murder’d me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds: ’Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished;’ That ’banished,’ that one word ’banished,’ Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank’d with other griefs, Why follow’d not, when she said ’Tybalt’s dead,’ Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death, ’Romeo is banished,’ to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. ’Romeo is banished!’ There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word’s death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
Nurse:
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
JULIET:
Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I’ll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse:
Hie to your chamber: I’ll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I’ll to him; he is hid at Laurence’ cell.
JULIET:
O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.
Exeunt
