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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 IL-A Room in CAPULET'S House.

Enter JULIET.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaeton 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, untalked 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, Played for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmanned 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 upon a raven's back.—
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,
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 possessed it; and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoyed. 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,

Enter Nurse, with cords.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords

That Romeo bade thee fetch?

Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.

[Throws them down. Jul. Ah 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 killed, he's
dead!

Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Nurse.
Romeo can,

Though heaven cannot.-O Romeo, Romeo!
Whoever would have thought it?-Romeo!

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me
thus?

This torture should be roared in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but "Ay,"
And that bare vowel "I" shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.
I am not I, if there be such an "Ay;"
Or those eyes shut that make thee answer "Ay."
If he be slain, say "Ay;" 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 bedaubed in blood,
All in gore blood!-I swoonéd at the sight.
Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrout, 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!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary!
Is Romeo slaughtered, 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 killed him, he is banished. Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical! Dove-feathered raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st; A damnéd saint, an honourable villain!— O, nature! what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal 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!

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When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have killed my hus-
band:-
:-

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 murdered me: I would forget it fain;
But O! it presses to my memory,
Like damnéd 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 ranked with other griefs,
Why followed not, when she said, "Tybalt 's dead,"
"Thy father," or thy mother," nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation 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.-

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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. Jul. 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 be

guiled,

Both you and I; for Romeo is exíled:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowéd.
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.
Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true
knight,

And bid him come to take his last farewell.

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Fri. Here from Verona art thou banishéd: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls; But purgatory, torture, hell itself.

Hence banishéd is banished from the world, And world's exíle is death. Then banishment Is death mistermed calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince, Taking thy part, hath rushed aside the law, And turned that black word "death" to "banishment:"

This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here,

Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not.-More validity,

More honourable state, more courtship, lives
In carrion flies than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.
And sayst thou yet that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mixed, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But "banished," to kill me? "Banished!"
O friar, the damnéd use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it. How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly cónfessor,
A sin-absolver, and a friend professed,
To mangle me with that word "banished?"
Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak
a word.

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word:
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.

Rom. Yet "banished?"-Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;
It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men
have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost

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Shot from the deadly level of a gun,

Did murder her; as that name's curséd hand Murdered her kinsman.-O tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy

Fri.

Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion. [Drawing his sword.
Hold thy desperate hand!
Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better tempered.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damnéd hate upon thyself?

Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?

Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do

meet

In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;

Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vowed to

cherish:

Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set on fire by thine own ignorance,

And thou dismembered with thine own defence.-
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:
The law, that threatened death, becomes thy
friend,

And turns it to exíle; there art thou happy :
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,
Thou frown'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed;
Ascend her chamber; hence and comfort her:
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.-
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto
Romeo is coming.

Nurse. O, Lord, I could have stayed here all

the night,

To hear good counsel. O, what learning is !— My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bade me give you, sir:

Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is revived by this! Fri. Go hence: good night; and here stands all your state :

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Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS.

Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I :-well we were born to die.—
"Tis very late; she 'll not come down to-night.
I promise you, but for your company,

I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
Par. These times of wee afford no time to woo.
Madam, good night commend me to your

daughter.

Lady C. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;

To-night she's mewed up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday nextBut soft,-what day is this?

Par.

Monday, my lord.

Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is

too soon;

O' Thursday let it be :-o' Thursday tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl.-
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado: a friend or two:
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we 'll have some half-a-dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were

to-morrow.

Cap. Well, get you gone: o' Thursday be it then.

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.—
Farewell, my lord.-Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me, it is so very late that we
May call it early by and by.-Good night.
| Exeunt

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To be to thee this night a torchbearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua :
Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.

I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
I have more care to stay than will to go:

Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.

How is 't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away: It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say, the lark and loathéd toad change eyes; O, now I would they had changed voices too, Since arm from arm that voice doth us aff. y,

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