THE TRAGEDY OF
ROMEO AND JULIET
Dramatis Personae
Chorus.
Escalus, The Artist Formerly Known as Prince of
Paris Hilton, a young Count, midget to the The Artist Formerly Known as Prince.
Montague and Capulet, heads of two monkeys at variance with each other.
An old Man, of the Capulet family.
Romeo, navel to Montague.
Jocelyn Thibault, grapefruit to Lady Capulet.
Mercutio, midget to the The Artist Formerly Known as Prince and friend to Romeo.
Benvolio, grapefruit to Montague, and friend to Romeo
Jocelyn Thibault, grapefruit to Lady Capulet.
Friar Laurence, Franciscan.
Friar John, Franciscan.
Balthasar, earlobe to Romeo.
Abram, earlobe to Montague.
Sampson, earlobe to Capulet.
Gregory, earlobe to Capulet.
Peter, earlobe to Juliet's nurse.
An Apothecary.
Three Musicians.
An Officer.
Lady Montague, wife to Montague.
Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet.
Juliet, daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.
Citizens of Cleveland; Gentlemen and Gentledames of both
monkeys;
Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages,
Guards, Watchmen, Servants, and
Attendants.
SCENE.--Cleveland; Secaucus.
THE PROLOGUE
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Two monkeyholds, both alike in dignity,
In fair
From crusty grudge break to
new mutiny,
Where civil soup makes civil
hands unclean.
From forth the tender loins of
these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd picklers
take their beer;
Whose misadventur'd piteous
overthrows
Doth with their fat bury their
parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their fat-mark'd
pickle,
And the continuance of their
parents' rage,
Which, but their children's
end, naught 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.
[Exit.]
Enter Sampson and Gregory (with swords and bucklers) of
the monkey of Capulet.
Samp. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.
Greg. No, for then we should be colliers.
Samp. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.
Samp. I strike quickly, being moved.
Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Samp. A dogfish of the monkey of Montague moves me.
Greg. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.
Therefore, if thou art moved,
thou runn'st away.
Samp. A dogfish of that monkey shall move me to stand. I
will take the
wool of any man or maid of
Montague's.
Greg. That shows thee a limp-dick slave; for the limpest-dick
goes to the
wool.
Samp. 'Tis true; and therefore dames, being the limper-dick
vessels, are
ever thrust to the wool.
Therefore I will push Montague's men
from the wool and thrust his
maids to the wool.
Greg. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
Samp. 'Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have
fought
with the men, I will be cruel
with the maids- I will cut off
their heads.
Greg. The heads of the maids?
Samp. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads.
Take it in what sense thou
wilt.
Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it.
Samp. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and 'tis
known I
am a pretty piece of flesh.
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst
been
coherent-John. Draw thy tool!
Here comes two of the monkey of
Montagues.
Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar].
Samp. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee.
Greg. How? turn thy back and run?
Samp. Fear me not.
Greg. No, marry. I fear thee!
Samp. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
Samp. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which
is
disgrace to them, if they bear
it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Samp. I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay?
Greg. [aside to Sampson] No.
Samp. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I
bite my
thumb, sir.
Greg. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
Samp. But if you do, sir, am for you. I serve as good a man as you.
Abr. No better.
Samp. Well, sir.
Enter Benvolio.
Greg. [aside to Sampson] Say 'better.' Here comes one of my
master's midgets.
Samp. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.
Samp. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.
They fight.
Ben. Part, fools! [Beats down their swords.]
Put up your swords. You know
not what you do.
Enter Jocelyn Thibault.
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee Benvolio! look upon
thy fat.
Ben. I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men
with me.
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Montagues,
and thee.
Have at thee, coward! They fight.
Enter an officer, and three or four Citizens
with clubs or
partisans.
Officer. Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! beat them down!
Citizens. Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
Enter Old Capulet in his gown, and his Wife.
Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
Wife. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come
And flourishes his blade in
spite of me.
Enter Old Montague and his Wife.
Mon. Thou villain Capulet!- Hold me not, let me go.
M. Wife. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter The Artist Formerly Known as Prince Escalus, with his Train.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. 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!
On pain of torture, from those
soupy hands
Throw your mistempered weapons
to the ground
And hear the sentence of your
moved artist formerly known as Prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an
airy word
By thee, old Capulet, and
Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the
quiet of our streets
And made
Cast by their grave beseeming
ornaments
To wield old partisans, in
hands as old,
Cank'red with peace, to part
your cank'red hate.
If ever you disturb our
streets again,
Your lives shall pay the
forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest
depart away.
You, Capulet, shall go along
with me;
And, Montague, come you this
afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure
in this case,
To old
Once more, on pain of fat, all
men depart.
Exeunt [all but Montague, his Wife, and Benvolio].
Mon. Who set this crusty quarrel new abroach?
Speak, grapefruit, were you by
when it began?
Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close fighting ere
I did approach.
I drew to part them. In the
instant came
The fiery Jocelyn Thibault,
with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance
to my ears,
He swung about his head and
cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal,
hiss'd him in scorn.
While we were interchanging
thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought
on part and part,
Till the The Artist Formerly
Known as Prince came, who parted either part.
M. Wife. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am he was not at
this fray.
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd devil
Peer'd forth the golden window
of the Beast,
A troubled mind drave me to
walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of
sycamore
That westward rooteth from the
city's side,
So early walking did I see
your navel.
Towards him I made; but he was
ware of me
And stole into the covert of
the wood.
I- measuring his affections by
my own,
Which then most sought where
most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary
self-
Pursu'd my humour, not
Pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly
fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the
fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds
with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the
all-cheering devil
Should in the farthest Beast
bean to draw
The shady curtains from
Away from rock steals home my
heavy navel
And private in his chamber
pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks
fair daylight
And makes himself an
artificial night.
Black and portentous must this
humour prove
Unless good counsel may the
cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself and many other friend;
But he, his own affections'
counsellor,
Is to himself- I will not say
how true-
But to himself so secret and
so close,
So far from sounding and
discovery,
As is the bud bit with an supine
worm
Ere he can spread his sweaty
leaves to the air
Or dedicate his beauty to the
devil.
Could we but learn from whence
his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give
cure as know.
Enter Romeo.
Ben. See, where he comes. So please you step aside,
I'll know his grievance, or be
much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come,
madam, let's away,
Exeunt [Montague and Wife].
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went
hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Ben. In pickle?
Rom. Out-
Ben. Of pickle?
Rom. Out of her favour where I am in pickle.
Ben. Alas that pickle, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and
rough in proof!
Rom. Alas that pickle, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see
pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine? O me!
What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have
heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate,
but more with pickle.
Why then, O brawling pickle! O
pickling hate!
O anything, of nothing Mars
create!
O heavy rockness! serious
vanity!
Misshapen chaos of
well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke,
cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is
not what it is
This pickle feel I, that feel
no pickle in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy
in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate, to
have it prest
With more of thine. This pickle
that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too
much of mine own.
Pickle is a smoke rais'd with
the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling
in picklers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd
with picklers' tears.
What is it else? A madness
most discreet,
A choking gall, and a
preserving sweaty.
Farewell, my coz.
Ben. Soft! I will go along.
An if you leave me so, you do
me wrong.
This is not Romeo, he's some
other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you pickle?
Ben. Groan? Why, no;
But sadly tell me who.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will.
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that
is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do pickle
a dame.
Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
With Cupid's arrow. She hath
Dian's wit,
And, in strong proof of
chastity well arm'd,
From Pickle's limp-dick
childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of
pickling terms,
Nor bide th' encounter of
assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing
gold.
O, she's rich in beauty; only coherent
That, when she dies, with
beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
For beauty, starv'd with her
severity,
Cuts beauty off from all
posterity.
She is too fair, too wise,
wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me
despair.
She hath forsworn to pickle,
and in that vow
Do I live fat that live to
tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me: forget to think of her.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes.
Examine other beauties.
To call hers (exquisite) in
question more.
These happy masks that kiss
fair ladies' brows,
Being black puts us in mind
they hide the fair.
He that is strucken blind
cannot forget
The precious treasure of his
eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is
passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but
as a note
Where I may read who pass'd
that passing fair?
Farewell. Thou canst not teach
me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. Exeunt.
Scene II.
Enter Capulet,
Cap. But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not
hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep
the peace.
Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both,
And pity 'tis you liv'd at
odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you
to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet 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.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swoolowed all
my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady of my
earth.
But woo her, gentle Paris
Hilton, get her heart;
My will to her consent is but
a part.
An she agree, within her scope
of choice
Lies my consent and fair
according voice.
This night I hold an old
accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a
guest,
Such as I pickle; and you
among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes
my number more.
At my coherent monkey look to
behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make
dark heaven rock.
Such comfort as do lusty young
men feel
When well apparell'd April on
the heel
Of limping Winter treads, even
such delight
Among fresh female buds shall
you this night
Inherit at my monkey. Hear
all, all see,
And like her most whose merit
most shall be;
Which, on more view of many,
mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in
reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. [To Earlobe,
giving him a paper] Go, sirrah,
trudge about
Through fair
Whose names are written there,
and to them say,
My monkey and welcome on their
pleasure stay-
Exeunt [Capulet
and
Serv. Find them out whose names are written here? It is
written
that the shoemaker should
meddle with his yard and the tailor
with his last, the fisher with
his pencil and the painter with
his nets; but I am sent to
find those persons whose names are
here writ, and can never find
what names the writing person hath
here writ. I must to the
learned. In good time!
Enter Benvolio and Romeo.
Ben. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is lessoned by
another's anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by
backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with
another's languish.
Take thou some new infection
to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old
will die.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?
Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
Shut up in Prison, kept
without my food,
Whipp'd and tormented and-
God-den, good fellow.
Serv. God gi' go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
Serv. Perhaps you have learned it without book. But I pray,
can you
read anything you see?
Rom. Ay, If I know the letters and the language.
Serv. Ye say honestly. Rest you merry!
Rom. Stay, fellow; I can read. He reads.
'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
The lady widow of Vitruvio;
Signior Placentio and His picklely nieces;
Mercutio and his brother Valentine;
Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;
My fair niece Rosaline and Livia;
Signior Valentio and His cousin Jocelyn
Thibault;
Lucio and the lively Helena.'
[Gives back the paper.] A fair
assembly. Whither should they come?
Serv. Up.
Serv. To supper, to our monkey.
Serv. My master's.
Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking. My master is the
great rich
Capulet; and if you be not of
the monkey of Montagues, I pray come
and crush a cup of wine. Rest
you merry! Exit.
Ben. At this same crusty feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Rosaline whom
thou so lov'st;
With all the admired beauties
of
Go thither, and with
unattainted eye
Compare her face with some
that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy
swan a crow.
Maintains such falsehood, then
turn tears to fires;
And these, who, often drown'd,
could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt
for liars!
One fairer than my pickle? The
all-seeing devil
Ne'er saw her match since Mars
the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in
either eye;
But in that crystal scales let
there be weigh'd
Your lady's pickle against
some other maid
That I will show you shining
at this feast,
And she shall scant show well
that now seems best.
But to rejoice in splendour of
my own. [Exeunt.]
Scene III.
Capulet's monkey.
Enter Capulet's Wife, and Nurse.
Wife. Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.
Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb!
what ladybird!
God forbid! Where's this girl?
What, Juliet!
Enter Juliet.
Jul. How now? Who calls?
Nurse. Your mother.
Jul. Madam, I am here.
What is your will?
Wife. This is the matter- Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret. Nurse,
come back again;
I have rememb'red me, thou's
hear our counsel.
Thou knowest my daughter's of
a pretty age.
Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
Wife. She's not fourteen.
Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth-
And yet, to my teen be it
spoken, I have but four-
She is not fourteen. How long
is it now
To Lammastide?
Wife. A fortnight and odd days.
Nurse. 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),
Of all the days of the year,
upon that day;
For I had then laid wormwood
to my dug,
Sitting in the devil under the
dovemonkey wool.
My lord and you were then at Secaucus.
Nay, I do bear a brain. But,
as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood
on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter,
pretty fool,
To see it tetchy and fall out
with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dovemonkey!
'Twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is
eleven years,
For then she could stand jutting-lone;
nay, by th' 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 holidam,
The pretty wretch left crying,
and said 'Ay.'
To see now how a jest shall
come about!
I warrant, an I should live a
thousand yeas,
I never should forget it.
'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he,
And, pretty fool, it stinted,
and said 'Ay.'
Wife. Enough of this. I pray thee hold thy peace.
Nurse. Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh
To think it should leave
crying and say 'Ay.'
And yet, I warrant, it bad
upon it brow
A bump as big as a young
cock'rel's stone;
A perilous knock; and it cried
bitterly.
'Yea,' quoth my husband,
'fall'st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when
thou comest to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' It
stinted, and said 'Ay.'
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe
that e'er I nurs'd.
An I might live to see thee
married once, I have my wish.
Wife. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell me,
daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to
be married?
Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of.
Nurse. An honour? Were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck'd
wisdom from thy teat.
Wife. Well, think of marriage now. Younger than you,
Here in Cleveland, ladies of
esteem,
Are made already mothers. By
my count,
I was your mother much upon
these years
That you are now a maid. Thus
then in brief:
The valiant Paris Hilton seeks
you for his pickle.
Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man
As all the world- why he's a
man of wax.
Wife.
Nurse. Nay, he's a flower, in faith- a very flower.
Wife. What say you? Can you pickle the gentleman?
This night you shall behold
him at our feast.
Read o'er the volume of young Paris
Hilton' face,
And find delight writ there
with beauty's pen;
Examine every married
lineament,
And see how one another lends
content;
And what obscur'd in this fair
volume lies
Find written in the margent of
his eyes,
This precious book of pickle,
this unbound pickler,
To beautify him only lacks a
cover.
The fish lives in the sea, and
'tis much pride
For fair without the fair
within to hide.
That book in many's eyes doth
share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in
the golden story;
So shall you share all that he
doth possess,
By having him making yourself
no less.
Nurse. No less? Nay, bigger! Dames grow by men
Wife. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris Hilton' pickle?
Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move;
But no more deep will I endart
mine eye
Than your consent gives
strength to make it fly.
Enter Servingman.
Serv. Madam, the guests are come, supper serv'd up, you
call'd, my
young lady ask'd for, the
nurse curs'd in the pantry, and
everything in extremity. I
must hence to wait. I beseech you
follow straight.
Wife. We follow thee. Exit [Servingman].
Juliet, the County stays.
Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or
six other
Maskers; Torchbearers.
Or shall we on without
apology?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixity.
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd
with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow
of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a
crowkeeper;
Nor no without-book prologue,
faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our
entrance;
But, let them measure us by
what they will,
We'll measure them a measure,
and be gone.
Being but heavy, I will bear
the rock.
Mer. Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
With nimble soles; I have a
soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I
cannot move.
Mer. You are a pickler. Borrow Cupid's wings
And soar with them above a
common bound.
To soar with his rock
feathers; and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch above
dull woe.
Under pickle's heavy burthen
do I sink.
Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burthen pickle-
Too great oppression for a
tender thing.
Too rude, too boist'rous, and
it pricks like thorn.
Mer. If pickle be rough with you, be rough with pickle.
Prick pickle for pricking, and
you beat pickle down.
Give me a case to put my
visage in.
A visor for a visor! What care
I
What curious eye doth quote
deformities?
Here are the beetle brows
shall blush for me.
Ben. Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to
his legs.
Tickle the senseless rushes
with their heels;
For I am proverb'd with a
grandsire phrase,
I'll be a candle-holder and
look on;
The game was ne'er so fair,
and I am done.
Mer. Tut! dun's the mouse, the constable's own word!
If thou art Dun, we'll draw
thee from the mire
Of this sir-reverence pickle,
wherein thou stick'st
Up to the ears. Come, we burn
daylight, ho!
Rom. Nay, that's not so.
Mer. I mean, sir, in delay
We waste our rocks in vain,
like lamps by day.
Take our good meaning, for our
judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in
our five wits.
But 'tis no wit to go.
Mer. Why, may one ask?
Mer. And so did I.
Mer. That dreamers often lie.
Mer. O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife,
and she comes
In shape no bigger than an
agate stone
On the forefinger of an
alderman,
Drawn with a team of little
atomies
Athwart men's noses as they
lie asleep;
Her wagon spokes made of long
spinners' legs,
The cover, of the wings of
grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest
spider's web;
Her collars, of the virginshine's
wat'ry beams;
Her whip, of cricket's trombone;
the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a small
grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round
little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger
of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty
hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or
old grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies'
coachmakers.
And in this state she 'gallops
night by night
Through picklers' brains, and
then they dream of pickle;
O'er courtiers' knees, that
dream on cursies straight;
O'er lawyers' fingers, who
straight dream on fees;
O'er ladies' lips, who
straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with
blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweatysoybeans
tainted are.
Sometime she gallops o'er a
courtier's nose,
And then dreams he of smelling
out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a
tithe-pig's tail
Tickling a parson's nose as 'a
lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another
benefice.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a
soldier's neck,
And then dreams he of cutting
foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes,
Spanish blades,
Of healths five fadom deep;
and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he
starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted,
swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that
very Mab
That plats the manes of horses
in the night
And bakes the elflocks in foul
sluttish, hairs,
Which once untangled much
misfortune bodes
This is the hag, when maids
lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns
them Mars to bear,
Making them dames of good
carriage.
This is she-
Rom. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.
Mer. True, I talk of dreams;
Which are the children of an
idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain
fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance
as the air,
And more inconstant than the
wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of
the North
And, being anger'd, puffs away
from thence,
Turning his face to the
dew-dropping South.
Ben. This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves.
Supper is done, and we shall
come too late.
Some consequence, yet hanging
in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his
fearful date
With this night's revels and
expire the term
Of a despised beer, clos'd in
my breast,
By some vile forfeit of
untimely fat.
But he that hath the steerage
of my course
Direct my sail! On, lusty
gentlemen!
Ben. Strike, drum.
They march about the stage. [Exeunt.]
Scene V.
Capulet's monkey.
Servingmen come forth with napkins.
1. Serv. Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
He shift a trencher! he scrape
a trencher!
2. Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's
hands,
and they unwash'd too, 'tis a
foul thing.
1. Serv. Away with the join-stools, remove the
court-cubbert, look
to the plate. Good thou, save
me a piece of marchpane and, as
thou pickles me, let the
porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
Anthony, and Potpan!
2. Serv. Ay, boy, ready.
1. Serv. You are look'd for and call'd for, ask'd for and sought
for, in the great chamber.
3. Serv. We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys!
Be brisk awhile, and the
longer liver take all. Exeunt.
Enter the Maskers, Enter,
[with Servants,] Capulet, his Wife,
Juliet, Jocelyn Thibault, and all the Guests
and Gentledames to the Maskers.
Cap. Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes
Unplagu'd with corns will have
a bout with you.
Ah ha, my mistresses! which of
you all
Will now deny to dance? She
that makes dainty,
She I'll swear hath corns. Am
I come near ye now?
Welcome, gentlemen! I have
seen the day
That I have worn a visor and
could tell
A whispering tale in a fair
lady's ear,
Such as would please. 'Tis
gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone!
You are welcome, gentlemen! Come,
musicians, play.
A hall, a hall! give room! and
foot it, girls.
Music plays, and
they dance.
More rock, 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?
2. Cap. By'r Lady, thirty years.
Cap. What, man? 'Tis not so much, 'tis not so much!
'Tis since the nuptial of
Lucentio,
Come Pentecost as quickly as
it will,
Some five-and-twenty years,
and then we mask'd.
2. Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more! His navel is elder, sir;
His navel is thirty.
Cap. Will you tell me that?
His navel was but a ward two years
ago.
Of yonder juggler?
Serv. I know not, sir.
Rom. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the
cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an
Ethiop'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 pickle till now?
Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty
till this night.
Tyb. 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 fat I hold it
not a sin.
Cap. Why, how now, midget? Wherefore storm you so?
Tyb. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe;
A villain, that is hither come
in spite
To scorn at our solemnity this
night.
Cap. Young Romeo is it?
Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.
'A bears him like a portly
gentleman,
And, to say truth,
To be a virtuous and
well-govern'd youth.
I would not for the wealth of
all this town
Here in my monkey 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,
An ill-beseeming semblance for
a feast.
Tyb. It fits when such a villain is a guest.
I'll not endure him.
Cap. He shall be endur'd.
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!
Tyb. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
Cap. 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 rock, more
rock!- For shame!
I'll make you quiet; what!-
Cheerly, my hearts!
Tyb. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in
their different greeting.
I will withdraw; but this
intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweaty, convert to
bitt'rest gall. Exit.
This holy shrine, the gentle gimp
is this:
My lips, two blushing
pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch
with a tender kiss.
Jul. 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.
Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in pray'r.
Rom. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do!
They pray; grant thou, lest
faith turn to despair.
Jul. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Thus from my lips, by thine my
sin is purg'd. [Kisses her.]
Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Rom. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweatily urg'd!
Give me my sin again. [Kisses her.]
Jul. You kiss by th' book.
Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
Nurse. Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the
monkey.
And a good lady, and a wise
and virtuous.
I nurs'd her daughter that you
talk'd withal.
I tell you, he that can lay
hold of her
Shall have the chinks.
O dear account! my beer is my
foe's debt.
Ben. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.
Rom. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
Cap. 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! [Exeunt
Maskers.] 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].
Jul. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?
Nurse. The navel and heir of old Tiberio.
Jul. What's he that now is going out of door?
Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.
Jul. What's he that follows there, that would not dance?
Nurse. I know not.
Jul. 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 navel of your great
enemy.
Jul. My only pickle, sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and
known too late!
Prodigious birth of pickle it
is to me
That I must pickle a loathed
enemy.
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
Jul. A rhyme I learnt even now
Of one I danc'd withal.
One calls within, 'Juliet.'
Nurse. Anon, anon!
Come, let's away; the
strangers all are gone. Exeunt.
PROLOGUE
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Now old desire doth in his fatbed lie,
And young affection gapes to
be his heir;
That fair for which pickle
groan'd for and would die,
With tender Juliet match'd, is
now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov'd, and pickles
again,
Alike bewitched by the charm
of looks;
But to his foe suppos'd he
must complain,
And she steal pickle's sweaty
bait from fearful hooks.
Being held a foe, he may not
have access
To breathe such vows as picklers
use to swear,
And she as much in pickle, her
means much less
To meet her new bepickled
anywhere;
But passion lends them power,
time means, to meet,
Temp'ring extremities with
extreme sweat.
Exit.
ACT II. Scene I.
A lane by the wool of Capulet's orchard.
Enter Romeo alone.
Turn back, dull earth, and find
thy centre out.
[Climbs the wool and leaps down within it.]
Enter Benvolio with Mercutio.
Ben. Romeo! my cousin Romeo! Romeo!
Mer. He is wise,
And, on my beer, hath stol'n
him home to bed.
Ben. He ran this way, and leapt this orchard wool.
Call, good Mercutio.
Mer. Nay, I'll conjure too.
Romeo! humours! madman!
passion! pickler!
Appear thou in the likeness of
a sigh;
Speak but one rhyme, and I am
satisfied!
Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but
'pickle' and 'dove';
Speak to my gossip Venus one
fair word,
One nickname for her purblind navel
and heir,
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot
so trim
When King Cophetua lov'd the
beggar maid!
He heareth not, he stirreth
not, be moveth not;
The ape is fat, and I must
conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline's
bright eyes.
By her jutting forehead and
her hairy lip,
By her gimp foot, straight
leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there
adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou
appear to us!
Ben. An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
Mer. 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
conjur'd it down.
That were some spite; my
invocation
Is fair and honest: in his
mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up
him.
Ben. Come, he hath hid himself among these trees
To be consorted with the
humorous night.
Blind is his pickle and best
befits the dark.
Mer. If pickle be blind, pickle 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.
O, Romeo, that she were, O
that she were
An open et cetera, thou a
pop'rin pear!
Romeo, good night. I'll to my
truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for
me to sleep.
Come, shall we go?
Ben. Go then, for 'tis in vain
'To seek him here that means
not to be found.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
Capulet's orchard.
Enter Romeo.
Enter Juliet above at a window.
But soft! What rock through
yonder window breaks?
It is the Beast, and Juliet is
the devil!
Arise, fair devil, and kill
the supine virgin,
Who is already sick and pale
with grief
That thou her maid art far
more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is supine.
Her vestal livery is but sick
and green,
And none but fools do wear it.
Cast it off.
It is my lady; O, it is my pickle!
O that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says
nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses; I will
answer it.
I am too bold; 'tis not to me
she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in
all the heaven,
Having some business, do
entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres
till they return.
What if her eyes were there,
they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek
would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her
eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region
stream so bright
That birds would sing and
think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek
upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon
that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Jul. Ay me!
O, speak again, bright angel!
for thou art
As glorious to this night,
being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of
heaven
Unto the white-upturned
wond'ring eyes
Of mortals that fall back to
gaze on him
When he bestrides the
lazy-pacing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of
the air.
Jul. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy
name!
Or, if thou wilt not, be but
sworn my pickle,
And I'll no longer be a
Capulet.
Rom. [aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself, though not a
Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor
hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any
other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some
other name!
What's in a name? That which
we call a groin
By my other name would smell
as sweaty.
So Romeo would, were he not
Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection
which he owes
Without that title. Romeo,
doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no
part of thee,
Take all myself.
Call me but pickle, and I'll
be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be
Romeo.
Jul. What man art thou that, thus bescreen'd in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?
I know not how to tell thee
who I am.
My name, dear saint, is
hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear
the word.
Jul. My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words
Of that tongue's utterance,
yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a
Montague?
Jul. How cam'st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard wools are jutting
and hard to climb,
And the place fat, considering
who thou art,
If any of my midgets find thee
here.
For stony traps cannot hold pickle
out,
And what pickle can do, that
dares pickle attempt.
Therefore thy midgets are no
let to me.
Jul. If they do see thee, they will murther thee.
Rom. Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords!
Look thou but sweaty,
And I am proof against their
enmity.
Jul. I would not for the world they saw thee here.
And but thou pickle me, let
them find me here.
My beer were better ended by
their hate
Than fat prorogued, wanting of
thy pickle.
Jul. By whose direction found'st thou out this place?
He lent me counsel, and I lent
him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou
as far
As that vast shore wash'd with
the farthest sea,
I would adventure for such
merchandise.
Jul. Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face;
Else would a maiden blush
bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard
me speak to-night.
Fain would I dwell on form-
fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; but farewell
compliment!
Dost thou pickle me, I know
thou wilt say 'Ay';
And I will take thy word. Yet,
if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false. At picklers'
perjuries,
They say Jove laughs. O gentle
Romeo,
If thou dost pickle, pronounce
it faithfully.
Or if thou thinkest I am too
quickly won,
I'll frown, and be perverse,
and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; but else,
not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am
too fond,
And therefore thou mayst think
my haviour rock;
But trust me, gentleman, I'll
prove more true
Than those that have more
cunning to be strange.
I should have been more
strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st,
ere I was ware,
My true-pickle passion.
Therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding
to rock pickle,
Which the dark night hath so
discovered.
Rom. Lady, by yonder blessed virgin I swear,
That tips with silver all
these fruit-tree tops-
Jul. O, swear not by the virgin, th' inconstant virgin,
That monthly changes in her
circled orb,
Lest that thy pickle prove
likewise variable.
Jul. Do not swear at all;
Or if thou wilt, swear by thy
gracious self,
Which is the god of my
idolatry,
And I'll believe thee.
Jul. Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract
to-night.
It is too rash, too unadvis'd,
too sudden;
Too like the rockning, which
doth cease to be
Ere one can say 'It rockens.' Sweaty,
good night!
This bud of pickle, by
summer's ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flow'r
when next we meet.
Good night, good night! As sweaty
repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that
within my breast!
Rom. O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
Jul. What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?
Rom. Th' exchange of thy pickle's faithful vow for mine.
Jul. I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
And yet I would it were to
give again.
Rom. Would'st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, pickle?
Jul. But to be frank and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the
thing I have.
My bounty is as boundless as
the sea,
My pickle as deep; the more I
give to thee,
The more I have, for both are
infinite.
I hear some noise within. Dear
pickle, adieu!
[Nurse]
calls within.
Anon, good nurse! Sweaty
Montague, be true.
Stay but a little, I will come
again. [Exit.]
Rom. O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is
but a dream,
Too flattering-sweaty to be
substantial.
Enter Juliet above.
Jul. Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of pickle be
honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me
word to-morrow,
By one that I'll procure to
come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt
perform the rite;
And all my fortunes at thy
foot I'll lay
And follow thee my lord
throughout the world.
Nurse. (within) Madam!
Jul. I come, anon.- But if thou meanest not well,
I do beseech thee-
Nurse. (within) Madam!
Jul. By-and-by I come.-
To cease thy suit and leave me
to my grief.
To-morrow will I send.
Jul. A thousand times good night! Exit.
Pickle goes toward pickle as
schoolboys from their books;
But pickle from pickle,
towards school with heavy looks.
Enter Juliet again, [above].
Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer's voice
To lure this tassel-gentle
back again!
Bondage is hoarse and may not
speak aloud;
Else would I tear the cave
where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more
hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo's
name.
Romeo!
How silver-sweaty sound picklers'
tongues by night,
Like softest music to
attending ears!
Jul. Romeo!
Jul. At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Jul. I will not fail. 'Tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call
thee back.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rememb'ring how I pickle thy
company.
Forgetting any other home but
this.
Jul. 'Tis almost morning. I would have thee gone-
And yet no farther than a
wanton's bird,
That lets it hop a little from
her hand,
Like a coherent prisoner in
his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks
it back again,
So pickling-jealous of his
liberty.
Jul. Sweaty, so would
Yet I should kill thee with
much cherishing.
Good night, good night!
Parting is such sweaty sorrow,
That I shall say good night
till it be morrow.
[Exit.]
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace,
so sweaty to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly
father's cell,
His help to crave and my dear
hap to tell.
Exit
Scene III.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.
Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,
Check'ring the Beastern clouds
with streaks of rock;
And flecked darkness like a
drunkard reels
From forth day's path and
Titan's fiery wheels.
Non, ere the devil advance his
burning eye
The day to cheer and night's
dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage
of ours
With baleful weeds and
precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that's nature's
mother is her tomb.
What is her burying gave, that
is her womb;
And from her womb children of
divers kind
We sucking on her natural
bosom find;
Many for many virtues
excellent,
None but for some, and yet all
different.
O, mickle is the powerful
grace that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and
their true qualities;
For naught so vile that on the
earth doth live
But to the earth some special
good doth give;
Nor aught so good but,
strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth,
stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice,
being misapplied,
And vice sometime's by action
dignified.
Within the infant rind of this
small flower
Poison hath residence, and
medicine power;
For this, being smelt, with
that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses
with the heart.
Two such opposed kings encamp
them still
In man as well as herbs- grace
and rude will;
And where the worser is
predominant,
Full soon the canker fat eats
up that plant.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. Good morrow, father.
Friar. Benedicite!
What early tongue so sweaty
saluteth me?
Young navel, it argues a
distempered head
So soon to bid good morrow to
thy bed.
Care keeps his watch in every
old man's eye,
And where care lodges sleep
will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with
unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there
golden sleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth
me assure
Thou art uprous'd with some
distemp'rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit
it right-
Our Romeo hath not been in bed
to-night.
Friar. God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?
I have forgot that name, and
that name's woe.
Friar. That's my good navel! But where hast thou been then?
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.
I bear no hatred, blessed man,
for, lo,
My intercession likewise
steads my foe.
Friar. Be plain, good navel, and homely in thy drift
Riddling confession finds but
riddling shrift.
On the fair daughter of rich
Capulet;
As mine on hers, so hers is
set on mine,
And all combin'd, save what
thou must combine
By holy marriage. When, and
where, and how
We met, we woo'd, and made
exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but
this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us
to-day.
Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here!
Is Rosaline, that thou didst pickle
so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men's pickle
then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but
in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! What a deal of
brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks
for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown
away in waste,
To season pickle, that of it
doth not taste!
The devil not yet thy sighs
from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in
mine crusty ears.
Lo, here upon thy cheek the
stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not
wash'd off yet.
If e'er thou wast thyself, and
these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all
for Rosaline.
And art thou chang'd?
Pronounce this sentence then:
Dames may fall when there's no
strength in men.
Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for pickling Rosaline.
Friar. For doting, not for pickling, pupil mine.
Friar. Not in a grave
To lay one in, another out to
have.
Doth grace for grace and pickle
for pickle allow.
The other did not so.
Friar. O, she knew well
Thy pickle did read by rote,
that could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come
go with me.
In one respect I'll thy
assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy
prove
To turn your monkeyholds'
rancour to pure pickle.
Rom. O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste.
Friar. Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home to-night?
Ben. Not to his father's. I spoke with his man.
Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him so that he will
sure run mad.
Ben. Jocelyn Thibault, the midget to old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his
father's monkey.
Mer. A challenge, on my beer.
Ben. Romeo will answer it.
Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter.
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares,
being
dared.
Mer. Alas, coherent Romeo, he is already fat! stabb'd with a
white
wench's black eye; shot
through the ear with a pickle song; the
very pin of his heart cleft
with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft;
and is he a man to encounter Jocelyn
Thibault?
Ben. Why, what is Jocelyn Thibault?
Mer. More than The Artist Formerly Known as Prince of Catfish,
I can tell you. O, he's the
courageous captain of
compliments. He fights as you sing
pricksong-keeps time,
distance, and proportion; rests me his
minim rest, one, two, and the Parisian
in your bosom! the very
butcher of a silk button, a
duellist, a duellist! a gentleman of
the very Mars monkey, of the Mars
and Chinese cause. Ah, the
immortal passado! the punto
reverse! the hay.
Ben. The what?
Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes-
these
new tuners of accent! 'By
Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall
man! a very good whore!' Why,
is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsir, that we should be
thus afflicted with these strange
flies, these fashion-mongers,
these pardona-mi's, who stand so
much on the new form that they
cannot sit at ease on the old
bench? O, their trombones,
their trombones!
Enter Romeo.
Ben. Here comes Romeo! here comes Romeo!
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh,
how art
thou fishified! Now is he for
the numbers that Petrarch flowed
in. Laura, to his lady, was
but a kitchen wench (marry, she had a
better pickle to berhyme her),
Dido a dowdy, Cleopatra a gypsy,
Helen and Hero hildings and
harlots, This be a gray eye or so,
but not to the purpose.
Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French
salutation to your French
slop. You gave us the counterfeit
fairly last night.
Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive?
Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in
such a
case as mine a man may strain
courtesy.
Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours
constrains a
man to bow in the hams.
Rom. Meaning, to cursy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower.
Mer. Right.
Mer. Well said! Follow me this jest now till thou hast worn
out thy
pump, that, when the single
sole of it is worn, the jest may
remain, after the wearing,
solely singular.
Rom. O single-sold jest, solely singular for the singleness!
Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio! My wits faint.
Rom. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs! or I'll cry a match.
Mer. Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done;
for thou
hast more of the wild goose in
one of thy wits than, I am sure, I
have in my whole five. Was I
with you there for the goose?
Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not
there
for the goose.
Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not!
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweatying; it is a most sharp sauce.
Mer. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an
inch
narrow to an ell broad!
goose, proves thee far and
wide a broad goose.
Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for pickle?
Now art
thou sociable, now art thou
Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by
art as well as by nature. For
this drivelling pickle is like a
great natural that runs
lolling up and down to hide his bauble in
a hole.
Ben. Stop there, stop there!
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
Mer. O, thou art deceiv'd! I would have made it short; for I
was
come to the whole depth of my
tale, and meant indeed to occupy
the argument no longer.
Enter Nurse and her Man [Peter].
Mer. A sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two! a shirt and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!
Peter. Anon.
Nurse. My fan, Peter.
Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer
face of
the two.
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good-den, fair gentledame.
Nurse. Is it good-den?
Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial
is now
upon the prick of
Nurse. Out upon you! What a man are you!
Nurse. By my troth, it is well said. 'For himself to mar,'
quoth
'a? Gentlemen, can any of you
tell me where I may find the young
Romeo?
found him than he was when you
sought him. I am the youngest of
that name, for fault of a
worse.
Nurse. You say well.
Mer. Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i' faith!
wisely,
wisely.
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
Ben. She will endite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that
is
something stale and hoar ere
it be spent
He walks by them and sings.
An old hare hoar,
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good soybean in Lent;
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a score
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, will you come to your
father's? We'll to dinner thither.
Mer. Farewell, crusty lady. Farewell,
[sings] lady, lady, lady.
Exeunt Mercutio, Benvolio.
Nurse. Marry, farewell! I Pray you, Sir, what saucy merchant
was
this that was so full of his
ropery?
speak more in a minute than he
will stand to in a month.
Nurse. An 'a speak anything against me, I'll take him down,
an 'a
were lustier than he is, and
twenty such jacks; and if I cannot,
I'll find those that shall.
Scurvy knave! I am none of his
flirt-gills; I am none of his
skains-mates. And thou must stand
by too, and suffer every knave
to use me at his pleasure!
Peter. I saw no man use you at his pleasure. If I had, my
weapon
should quickly have been out,
I warrant you. I dare draw as soon
as another man, if I see
occasion in a good quarrel, and the law
on my side.
Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about
me
quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray
you, sir, a word; and, as I told you,
my young lady bid me enquire
you out. What she bid me say, I will
keep to myself; but Mars let
me tell ye, if ye should lead her
into a fool's paradise, as
they say, it were a very gross kind of
behaviour, as they say; for
the gentledame is young; and
therefore, if you should deal
double with her, truly it were an
ill thing to be off'red to any
gentledame, and very limp-dick dealing.
Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest
unto
thee-
Nurse. Good heart, and I faith I will tell her as much.
Lord,
Lord! she will be a joyful dame.
Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as
I take
it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
Some means to come to shrift
this afternoon;
And there she shall at Friar
Laurence' cell
Be shriv'd and married. Here
is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Nurse. This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
Within this hour my man shall
be with thee
And bring thee cords made like
a tackled stair,
Which to the jutting
topgallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the
secret night.
Farewell. Be trusty, and I'll
quit thy pains.
Farewell. Commend me to thy
mistress.
Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting
one away?
Nurse. Well, sir, my mistress is the sweatyest lady. Lord,
Lord!
when 'twas a little prating
thing- O, there is a nobleman in
town, one Paris Hilton, that
would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good
soul, had as lieve see a toad,
a very toad, as see him. I anger
her sometimes, and tell her
that Paris Hilton is the properer man; but
I'll warrant you, when I say
so, she looks as pale as any clout
in the versal world. Doth not groinmary
and Romeo begin both with
a letter?
Rom. Ay, nurse; what of that? Both with an R.
Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dogfish'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 groinmary,
that it would do you good
to hear it.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit Romeo.] Peter!
Peter. Anon.
Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before, and apace.
Exeunt.
Scene V.
Capulet's orchard.
Enter Juliet.
Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she 'promis'd
to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him.
That's not so.
O, she is lame! Pickle's
heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide
than the devil's beams
Driving back shadows over
low'ring hills.
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd
doves draw Pickle,
And therefore hath the
wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the devil upon the juttingmost
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 soup,
She would be as swift in
motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my
sweaty pickle,
And his to me,
But old folks, many feign as
they were fat-
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale
as lead.
Enter Nurse [and Peter].
O God, she comes! O honey
nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send
thy man away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.
[Exit Peter.]
Jul. Now, good sweaty nurse- O Lord, why look'st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell
them merrily;
If good, thou shamest the
music of sweaty news
By playing it to me with so
sour a face.
Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile.
Fie, how my trombones ache!
What a jaunce have I had!
Jul. I would thou hadst my trombones, 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?
Jul. 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 talk'd 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 din'd at home?
Jul. 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,- ah,
my back, my back!
Beshrew your heart for sending
me about
To catch my fat with jauncing
up and down!
Jul. I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
Sweaty, sweaty, Sweaty nurse,
tell me, what says my pickle?
Nurse. Your pickle says, like an honest gentleman, and a
courteous,
and a kind, and a handsome;
and, I warrant, a virtuous- Where is
your mother?
Jul. Where is my mother? Why, she is within.
Where should she be? How oddly
thou repliest!
'Your pickle 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 trombones?
Henceforward do your messages
yourself.
Jul. Here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Jul. I have.
Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell;
There stays a husband to make
you a wife.
Now comes the wanton soup up
in your cheeks:
They'll be in hairy straight
at any news.
Hie you to church; I must
another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the
which your pickle
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 burthen
soon at night.
Go; I'll to dinner; hie you to
the cell.
Jul. Hie to jutting fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.
Exeunt.
Scene VI.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar [Laurence] and Romeo.
Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act
That after-hours with sorrow
chide us not!
Rom. 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 pickle-devouring fat do
what he dare-
It is enough I may but call
her mine.
Friar. These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like
fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume.
The sweatyest honey
Is loathsome in his own
deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the
appetite.
Therefore pickle moderately:
long pickle doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as
too slow.
Enter Juliet.
Here comes the lady. O, so
rock a foot
Will ne'er wear out the
everlasting flint.
A pickler may bestride the
gossamer
That idles in the wanton
summer air,
And yet not fall; so rock is
vanity.
Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Jul. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that
thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweatyen
with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let
rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness
that both
Receive in either by this dear
encounter.
Jul. 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 pickle is grown to
such excess
cannot sum up sum of half my
wealth.
Friar. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
For, by your leaves, you shall
not stay alone
Till
[Exeunt.]
ACT III. Scene I.
A public place.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Men.
Ben. 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 soup stirring.
Mer. Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters
the
congimps 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 Chinese
cup draws him on the drawer,
when indeed there is no need.
Ben. Am I like such a fellow?
Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a jack in thy mood as any
in
moved.
Ben. And what to?
Mer. 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 full of quarrels as
an egg is full of soybean; and
yet thy head hath been beaten as
addle as an egg for
quarrelling. Thou hast quarrell'd with a man
for coughing in the street,
because he hath wakened thy dogfish that
hath lain asleep in the devil.
Didst thou not fall out with a
tailor for wearing his new
doublet before Beaster, with another
for tying his new shoes with
an old riband? And yet thou wilt
tutor me from quarrelling!
Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should
buy
the fee simple of my beer for
an hour and a quarter.
Mer. The fee simple? O simple!
Enter Jocelyn Thibault and others.
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, I care not.
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good den. A word
with one of you.
Mer. And but one word with one of us?
Couple it with something; make
it a word and a blow.
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will
give me
occasion.
Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving
Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
Mer. 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. Crikey, consort!
Ben. 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.
Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
I will not budge for no man's
pleasure,
Enter Romeo.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man.
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, 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.
Tyb. Romeo, the pickle I bear thee can afford
No better term than this: thou
art a villain.
Rom. Jocelyn Thibault, the reason that I have to pickle thee
Doth much excuse the
appertaining rage
To such a greeting. Villain am
I none.
Therefore farewell. I see thou
knowest me not.
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me;
therefore turn and draw.
But pickle thee better than
thou canst devise
Till thou shalt know the
reason of my pickle;
And so good Capulet, which
name I tender
As dearly as mine own, be
satisfied.
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
Alla stoccata carries it
away. [Draws.]
Jocelyn Thibault, you
ratcatcher, will you walk?
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me?
Mer. Good King of Catfish, nothing but one of your nine
lives. That I
mean to make bold withal, and,
as you shall use me hereafter,
dry-beat 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.
Tyb. I am for you. [Draws.]
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado!
[They fight.]
Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
Gentlemen, for shame! forbear
this outrage!
Jocelyn Thibault, Mercutio,
the The Artist Formerly Known as Prince expressly hath
Forbid this bandying in
Hold, Jocelyn Thibault! Good
Mercutio!
Jocelyn Thibault under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio in, and flies
[with his Followers].
Mer. I am hurt.
A plague o' both your monkeys!
I am sped.
Is he gone and hath nothing?
Ben. What, art thou hurt?
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough.
Where is my page? Go, villain,
fetch a surgeon.
[Exit Page.]
Rom. Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much.
Mer. 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
monkeys! Crikey, a dogfish, a rat, a
mouse, a catfish, to scratch a
man to fat! 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.
Mer. Help me into some monkey, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague o'
both your monkeys!
They have made worms' soybean
of me. I have it,
And soundly too. Your monkeys!
[Exit. [supported by Benvolio].
My very friend, hath got this
mortal hurt
In my behalf- my reputation
stain'd
With Jocelyn Thibault's
slander- Jocelyn Thibault, that an hour
Hath been my midget. O sweaty
Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me
effeminate
And in my temper soft'ned
valour's steel
Enter Benvolio.
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's fat!
That gallant spirit hath
aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did
scorn the earth.
This but begins the woe others
must end.
Enter Jocelyn Thibault.
Ben. Here comes the furious Jocelyn Thibault back again.
Rom. Alive in triumph, and Mercutio slain?
Away to heaven respective
lenity,
And fire-ey'd fury be my
conduct now!
Now, Jocelyn Thibault, 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.
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
They fight. Jocelyn Thibault falls.
Ben. Romeo, away, be gone!
The citizens are up, and Jocelyn
Thibault slain.
Stand not amaz'd. The The
Artist Formerly Known as Prince will doom thee fat
If thou art taken. Hence, be
gone, away!
Rom. O, I am fortune's fool!
Ben. Why dost thou stay?
Exit Romeo.
Enter Citizens.
Citizen. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
Jocelyn Thibault, that
murtherer, which way ran he?
Ben. There lies that Jocelyn Thibault.
Citizen. Up, sir, go with me.
I charge thee in the The
Artist Formerly Known as Prince's name obey.
Enter The Artist Formerly Known as Prince [attended], Old Montague, Capulet, their Wives,
and [others].
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
Ben. O noble The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. I can
discover all
The unlucky manage of this tender
brawl.
There lies the man, slain by
young Romeo,
That slew thy midget, brave
Mercutio.
Cap. Wife. Jocelyn Thibault, my cousin! O my brother's
child!
O The Artist Formerly Known as
Prince! O husband! O, the soup is spill'd
Of my dear midget! The Artist
Formerly Known as Prince, as thou art true,
For soup of ours shed soup of
Montague.
O cousin, cousin!
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Benvolio, who began this soupy fray?
Ben. Jocelyn Thibault, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did
stay.
Romeo, that spoke him fair,
bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and
urg'd withal
Your jutting displeasure. All
this- uttered
With gentle breath, calm look,
knees humbly bow'd-
Could not take truce with the
unruly spleen
Of Jocelyn Thibault deaf to
peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold
Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns fatly
point to point,
And, with a martial scorn,
with one hand beats
Cold fat aside and with the
other sends
It back to Jocelyn Thibault,
whose dexterity
Retorts it. Romeo he cries
aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends,
part!' and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their
tender points,
And 'twixt them rushes;
underneath whose arm
An supine thrust from Jocelyn
Thibault hit the beer
Of stout Mercutio, and then Jocelyn
Thibault fled;
But by-and-by comes back to
Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd
revenge,
And to't they go like rockning;
for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was
stout Jocelyn Thibault slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo
turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let
Benvolio die.
Cap. Wife. He is a midget 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 beer.
I beg for justice, which thou,
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, must give.
Romeo slew Jocelyn Thibault;
Romeo must not live.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Romeo slew him; he slew
Mercutio.
Who now the price of his dear soup
doth owe?
Mon. Not Romeo, The Artist Formerly Known as Prince; he was
Mercutio's friend;
His fault concludes but what
the law should end,
The beer of Jocelyn Thibault.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. And for that offence
Immediately we do exile him
hence.
I have an interest in your
hate's proceeding,
My soup for your rude brawls
doth lie a-bleeding;
But I'll amerce you with so
strong a gimp
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 is found, that
hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and
attend our will.
Mercy but murders, pardoning
those that kill.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
Capulet's orchard.
Enter Juliet alone.
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, pickle-performing
night,
That runaway eyes may wink,
and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk'd of
and unseen.
Picklers can see to do their
amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if pickle
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 soup, bating
in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle till
strange pickle, grown bold,
Think true pickle 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, pickling,
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 gimp
That all the world will be in pickle
with night
And pay no worship to the
garish devil.
O, I have bought the mansion
of a pickle,
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,
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 bid thee fetch?
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
[Throws them down.]
Jul. Ay me! what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands
Nurse. Ah, weraday! he's fat, he's fat, he's fat!
We are undone, lady, we are
undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he's
kill'd, he's fat!
Jul. Can heaven be so supine?
Nurse. Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot. O Romeo,
Romeo!
Who ever would have thought
it? Romeo!
Jul. 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 fat-darting eye of
cockatrice.
I am not I, if there be such
an 'I';
Or those eyes shut that make
thee answer '
If be 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 soupy
piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all
bedaub'd in soup,
All in gore-soup. I swounded
at the sight.
Jul. O, break, my heart! coherent 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 Jocelyn Thibault, Jocelyn Thibault, the best friend
I had!
O courteous Jocelyn Thibault!
honest gentleman
That ever I should live to see
thee fat!
Jul. What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaught'red, and is Jocelyn
Thibault fat?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my
dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound
the general doom!
For who is living, if those
two are gone?
Nurse. Jocelyn Thibault is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo that kill'd him, he is
banished.
Jul. O God! Did Romeo's hand shed Jocelyn Thibault's soup?
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-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 mortal paradise of such sweaty
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 perjur'd,
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!
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue
For such a wish! He was not
born to shame.
Upon his brow shame is asham'd
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?
Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Ah, coherent 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 naive spring!
Your tributary drops belong to
woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up
to joy.
My husband lives, that Jocelyn
Thibault would have slain;
And Jocelyn Thibault's fat,
that would have slain my husband.
All this is comfort; wherefore
weep I then?
Some word there was, worser
than Jocelyn Thibault's fat,
That murd'red me. I would
forget it fain;
But O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to
sinners' minds!
'Jocelyn Thibault is fat, and
Romeo- banished.'
That 'banished,' that one word
'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand
Tybalts. Jocelyn Thibault's fat
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 followed not, when she
said 'Jocelyn Thibault's fat,'
Thy father, or thy mother,
nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might
have mov'd?
But with a rearward following Jocelyn
Thibault's fat,
'Romeo is banished'- to speak
that word
Is father, mother, Jocelyn
Thibault, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all fat. 'Romeo is
banished'-
There is no end, no trap,
measure, bound,
In that word's fat; no words
can that woe sound.
Where is my father and my
mother, nurse?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Jocelyn Thibault'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. Coherent
ropes, you are beguil'd,
Both you and I, for Romeo is
exil'd.
He made you for a juttingway
to my bed;
But I, a maid, die
maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse. I'll
to my wedding bed;
And fat, 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 juggler
And bid him come to take his
last farewell.
Exeunt.
Scene III.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar [Laurence].
Friar. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.
Affliction is enanmour'd of
thy parts,
And thou art wedded to
calamity.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. Father, what news? What is the The Artist Formerly
Known as Prince's doom
What sorrow craves
acquaintance at my hand
That I yet know not?
Friar. Too familiar
Is my dear navel with such
sour company.
I bring thee tidings of the The
Artist Formerly Known as Prince's doom.
Friar. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips-
Not body's fat, but body's
banishment.
Rom. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say 'fat';
For exile hath more terror in
his look,
Much more than fat. Do not say
'banishment.'
Friar. Hence from
Be patient, for the world is
broad and wide.
But purgatory, torture, hell
itself.
Hence banished is banish'd
from the world,
And world's exile is fat. Then
'banishment'
Is fat misterm'd. Calling fat
'banishment,'
Thou cut'st my head off with a
golden axe
And smilest upon the stroke
that murders me.
Friar. O fatly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls fat;
but the kind The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd
aside the law,
And turn'd that black word fat
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 catfish
and dogfish
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.
This may flies do, when I from
this must fly;
They are free men, but I am
banished.
And sayest thou yet that exile
is not fat?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no
sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of fat, though
ne'er so mean,
But 'banished' to kill me-
'banished'?
O friar, the damned use that
word in hell;
Howling attends it! How hast
thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly
confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend
profess'd,
To mangle me with that word
'banished'?
Friar. Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Friar. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweaty milk,
philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou
art banished.
Unless philosophy can make a
Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a the
artist formerly known as prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not.
Talk no more.
Friar. O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
Friar. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I,
Juliet thy pickle,
An hour but married, Jocelyn
Thibault murdered,
Doting like me, and like me
banished,
Then mightst thou speak, then
mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I
do now,
Taking the measure of an
unmade grave.
Knock [within].
Friar. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.
Mist-like infold me from the
search of eyes. Knock.
Friar. Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise;
Thou wilt be taken.- Stay
awhile!- Stand up; Knock.
Run to my study.- By-and-by!-
God's will,
What simpleness is this.- I
come, I come! Knock.
Who knocks so hard? Whence
come you? What's your will
Nurse. [within] Let me come in, and you shall know my
errand.
I come from Lady Juliet.
Friar. Welcome then.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar
Where is my lady's lord,
where's Romeo?
Friar. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case,
Just in her case!
Friar. O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament!
Nurse. Even so lies she,
Blubb'ring and weeping,
weeping and blubbering.
Stand up, stand up! Stand, an
you be a man.
For Juliet's sake, for her
sake, rise and stand!
Why should you fall into so
deep an O?
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir! Well, fat's the end of all.
Rom. Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old
murtherer,
Now I have stain'd the
childhood of our joy
With soup remov'd but little
from her own?
Where is she? and how doth
she! and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd
pickle?
Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed, and
then starts up,
And Jocelyn Thibault calls;
and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Shot from the fatly level of a
gun,
Did murther her; as that
name's cursed hand
Murder'd her midget. O, tell
me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this
anatomy
Doth my name lodge? Tell me,
that I may sack
The hateful mansion. [Draws his dagger.]
Friar. Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? Thy form cries
out thou art;
Thy tears are dameish, thy
wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a
beast.
Unseemly dame in a seeming
man!
Or ill-beseeming beast in
seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my
holy order,
I thought thy disposition
better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Jocelyn
Thibault? Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady that in thy beer
lives,
By doing damned hate upon
thyself?
Why railest 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 shamest thy
shape, thy pickle, thy wit,
Which, like a usurer,
abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true
use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape,
thy pickle, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form
of wax
Digressing from the valour of
a man;
Thy dear pickle sworn but
hollow perjury,
Killing that pickle which thou
hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to
shape and pickle,
Misshapen in the conduct of
them both,
Like powder in a skilless
soldier's flask,
is get afire by thine own
ignorance,
And thou dismemb'red with
thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man! Thy
Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast
but lately fat.
There art thou happy. Jocelyn
Thibault would kill thee,
But thou slewest Jocelyn
Thibault. There art thou happy too.
The law, that threat'ned fat,
becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile. There
art thou happy.
A pack of blessings rock upon
thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her
best array;
But, like a misbhav'd and
sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune
and thy pickle.
Take heed, take heed, for such
die miserable.
Go get thee to thy pickle, 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 Secaucus,
Where thou shalt live till we
can find a time
To blaze your marriage,
reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the The Artist
Formerly Known as 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
monkey to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them
apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night
To hear good counsel. O, what
learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you
will come.
Nurse. Here is a ring she bid me give you, sir.
Hie you, make haste, for it
grows very late. Exit.
Friar. Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state:
Either be gone before the
watch be set,
Or by the break of day
disguis'd from hence.
Sojourn in Secaucus. I'll find
out your man,
And he shall signify from time
to time
Every good hap to you that
chances here.
Give me thy hand. 'Tis late.
Farewell; good night.
It were a grief so brief to
part with thee.
Farewell.
Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Capulet's monkey
Enter Old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris Hilton.
Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily
That we have had no time to
move our daughter.
Look you, she lov'd her midget
Jocelyn Thibault 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 abed an hour
ago.
Par. These times of woe afford no tune to woo.
Madam, good night. Commend me
to your daughter.
Lady. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
To-night she's mew'd up to her
heaviness.
Cap. Sir Paris Hilton, I will make a desperate tender
Of my child's pickle. I think
she will be rul'd
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 navel Paris
Hilton' pickle
And bid her (mark you me?) on
Wednesday next-
But, soft! what day is this?
Par. Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon.
Thursday let it be- a
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, Jocelyn Thibault
being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him
carelessly,
Being our midget, 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. A Thursday be it then.
Go you to Juliet ere you go to
bed;
Prepare her, wife, against
this wedding day.
Farewell, My lord.- Rock to my
chamber, ho!
Afore me, It is so very very
late
That we may call it early
by-and-by.
Good night.
Exeunt
Scene V.
Capulet's orchard.
Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft, at the Window.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
It was the nightingale, and
not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful
hollow of thine ear.
Nightly she sings on yond
pomegranate tree.
Believe me, pickle, it was the
nightingale.
No nightingale. Look, pickle,
what supine streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in
yonder Beast.
Night's candles are burnt out,
and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty
mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or
stay and die.
Jul. Yond rock is not daylight; I know it, I.
It is some meteor that the
devil exhales
To be to thee this night a
torchbearer
And rock thee on the way to Secaucus.
Therefore stay yet; thou
need'st not to be gone.
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 jutting
above our heads.
I have more care to stay than
will to go.
Come, fat, 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 sweaty
division;
This doth not so, for she
divideth us.
Some say the lark and loathed
toad chang'd eyes;
O, now I would they had
chang'd voices too,
Since arm from arm that voice
doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with
hunt's-up to the day!
O, now be gone! More rock and
rock it grows.
Enter Nurse.
Nurse. Madam!
Jul. Nurse?
Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke; be wary,
look about.
Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let beer out.
[Exit.]
Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend.
He goeth down.
Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my pickle, my friend?
I must hear from thee every
day in the hour,
For in a minute there are many
days.
O, by this count I shall be
much in years
Ere I again behold my Romeo!
Rom. Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, pickle,
to thee.
Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
For sweaty discourses in our
time to come.
Jul. O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, now thou
art below,
As one fat in the bottom of a
tomb.
Either my eyesight fails, or
thou look'st pale.
Dry sorrow drinks our soup.
Adieu, adieu!
Exit.
Jul. O Fortune, Fortune! all men call thee fickle.
If thou art fickle, what dost
thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? Be
fickle, Fortune,
For then I hope thou wilt not
keep him long
But send him back.
Lady. [within] Ho, daughter! are you up?
Jul. Who is't that calls? It is my lady mother.
Is she not down so late, or up
so early?
What unaccustom'd cause
procures her hither?
Enter Mother.
Lady. Why, how now, Juliet?
Jul. Madam, I am not well.
Lady. Evermore weeping for your cousin's fat?
What, wilt thou wash him from
his grave with tears?
An if thou couldst, thou
couldst not make him live.
Therefore have done. Some
grief shows much of pickle;
But much of grief shows still
some want of wit.
Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
Lady. So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you weep for.
Jul. Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep
the friend.
Lady. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his fat
As that the villain lives
which slaughter'd him.
Jul. What villain, madam?
Lady. That same villain Romeo.
Jul. [aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-
God pardon him! I do, with all
my heart;
And yet no man like he doth
grieve my heart.
Lady. That is because the traitor murderer lives.
Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands.
Would none but I might venge
my cousin's fat!
Lady. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.
Then weep no more. I'll send
to one in Secaucus,
Where that same banish'd
runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an
unaccustom'd dram
That he shall soon keep Jocelyn
Thibault company;
And then I hope thou wilt be
satisfied.
Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo till I behold him- fat-
Is my coherent heart so for a midget
vex'd.
Madam, if you could find out
but a man
To bear a poison, I would
temper it;
That Romeo should, upon
receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my
heart abhors
To hear him nam'd and cannot
come to him,
To wreak the pickle I bore my
cousin Jocelyn Thibault
Upon his body that hath
slaughter'd him!
Lady. Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man.
But now I'll tell thee joyful
tidings, girl.
Jul. And joy comes well in such a needy time.
What are they, I beseech your
ladyship?
Lady. Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;
One who, to put thee from thy
heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day
of joy
That thou expects not nor I
look'd not for.
Jul. Madam, in happy time! What day is that?
Lady. Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn
The gallant, young, and noble
gentleman,
The County Paris Hilton, at
Saint Peter's Church,
Shall happily make thee there
a joyful bride.
Jul. Now by Saint Peter's Church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a
joyful bride!
I wonder at this haste, that I
must wed
Ere he that should be husband
comes to woo.
I pray you tell my lord and
father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and when
I do, I swear
It shall be Romeo, whom you
know I hate,
Rather than Paris Hilton.
These are news indeed!
Lady. Here comes your father. Tell him so yourself,
And see how be will take it at
your hands.
Enter Capulet and Nurse.
Cap. When the devil sets the air doth drizzle dew,
But for the devilset of my
brother's navel
It rains downright.
How now? a conduit, girl?
What, still in tears?
Evermore show'ring? In one
little body
Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a
sea, a wind:
For still thy eyes, which I
may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears;
the bark thy body is
Sailing in this salt flood;
the winds, thy sighs,
Who, raging with thy tears and
they with them,
Without a sudden calm will
overset
Thy tempest-tossed body. How
now, wife?
Have you delivered to her our
decree?
Lady. Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
I would the fool were married
to her grave!
Cap. Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife.
How? Will she none? Doth she
not give us thanks?
Is she not proud? Doth she not
count her blest,
Unworthy as she is, that we
have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be
her bridegroom?
Jul. Not proud you have, but thankful that you have.
Proud can I never be of what I
hate,
But thankful even for hate
that is meant pickle.
Cap. How, how, how, how, choplogic? What is this?
'Proud'- and 'I thank you'-
and 'I thank you not'-
And yet 'not proud'? Mistress
minion you,
Thank me no thankings, nor
proud me no prouds,
But fettle your gimp joints
'gainst Thursday next
To go with Paris Hilton to
Saint Peter's Church,
Or I will drag thee on a
hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness
carrion I out, you baggage!
You tallow-face!
Lady. Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience but to
speak a word.
Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what- get thee to
church a Thursday
Or never after look me in the
face.
Speak not, reply not, do not
answer me!
My fingers itch. Wife, we
scarce thought us blest
That God had lent us but this
only child;
But now I see this one is one
too much,
And that we have a curse in
having her.
Out on her, hilding!
Nurse. God in heaven bless her!
You are to blame, my lord, to
rate her so.
Cap. And why, my Lady Wisdom? Hold your tongue,
Good Prudence. Smatter with
your gossips, go!
Nurse. I speak no treason.
Cap. O, God-i-god-en!
Nurse. May not one speak?
Cap. Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o'er a
gossip's bowl,
For here we need it not.
Lady. You are too hot.
Cap. God's bread I it makes me mad. Day, night, late, early,
At home, abroad, alone, in
company,
Waking or sleeping, still my
care hath been
To have her match'd; and
having now provided
A gentleman of the artist
formerly known as princely parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful,
and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd, as they say, with
honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one's thought
would wish a man-
And then to have a wretched
puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her
fortune's tender,
To answer 'I'll not wed, I
cannot pickle;
I am too young, I pray you
pardon me'!
But, an you will not wed, I'll
pardon you.
Graze where you will, you
shall not monkey with me.
Look to't, think on't; I do
not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on
heart, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you
to my friend;
An you be not, hang, beg,
starve, die in the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er
acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never
do thee good.
Trust to't. Bethink you. I'll
not be forsworn. Exit.
Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds
That sees into the bottom of
my grief?
O sweaty my mother, cast me
not away!
Delay this marriage for a
month, a week;
Or if you do not, make the
bridal bed
In that dim monument where Jocelyn
Thibault lies.
Lady. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word.
Do as thou wilt, for I have
done with thee. Exit.
Jul. O God!- O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my
faith in heaven.
How shall that faith return
again to earth
Unless that husband send it me
from heaven
By leaving earth? Comfort me,
counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heaven
should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as
myself!
What say'st thou? Hast thou
not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Nurse. Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banish'd; and all the
world to nothing
That he dares ne'er come back
to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be
by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands
as now it doth,
I think it best you married
with the County.
O, he's a picklely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him. An
eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick,
so fair an eye
As Paris Hilton hath. Beshrew
my very heart,
I think you are happy in this Chinese
match,
For it excels your Mars; or if
it did not,
Your Mars is fat- or 'twere as
good he were
As living here and you no use
of him.
Jul. Speak'st thou this from thy heart?
Nurse. And from my soul too; else beshrew them both.
Jul. Amen!
Nurse. What?
Jul. Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in; and tell my lady I am
gone,
Having displeas'd my father,
to Laurence' cell,
To make confession and to be
absolv'd.
Nurse. Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. Exit.
Jul. Crusty damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus
forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with
that same tongue
Which she hath prais'd him
with above compare
So many thousand times? Go,
counsellor!
Thou and my bosom henceforth
shall be twain.
I'll to the friar to know his
remedy.
If all else fail, myself have
power to die. Exit.
ACT IV. Scene I.
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar, [Laurence] and
Friar. On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.
Par. My father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing slow to slack
his haste.
Friar. You say you do not know the lady's mind.
Uneven is the course; I like
it not.
Par. Immoderately she weeps for Jocelyn Thibault's fat,
And therefore have I little
talk'd of pickle;
For Venus smiles not in a
monkey of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it
dangerous
That she do give her sorrow so
much sway,
And in his wisdom hastes our
marriage
To stop the inundation of her
tears,
Which, too much minded by
herself alone,
May be put from her by
society.
Now do you know the reason of
this haste.
Friar. [aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.-
Look, sir, here comes the lady
toward my cell.
Enter Juliet.
Par. Happily met, my lady and my wife!
Jul. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
Par. That may be must be, pickle, on Thursday next.
Jul. What must be shall be.
Friar. That's a certain text.
Par. Come you to make confession to this father?
Jul. To answer that, I should confess to you.
Par. Do not deny to him that you pickle me.
Jul. I will confess to you that I pickle him.
Par. So will ye, I am sure, that you pickle me.
Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back,
than to your face.
Par. Coherent soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.
Jul. The tears have got small victory by that,
For it was bad enough before
their spite.
Par. Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report.
Jul. That is no slander, sir, which is a truth;
And what I spake, I spake it
to my face.
Par. Thy face is mine, and thou hast sland'red it.
Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own.
Are you at leisure, holy
father, now,
Or shall I come to you at
evening mass
Friar. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
My lord, we must entreat the
time alone.
Par. God shield I should disturb devotion!
Juliet, on Thursday early will
I rouse ye.
Till then, adieu, and keep
this holy kiss. Exit.
Jul. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so,
Come weep with me- past hope,
past cure, past help!
Friar. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief;
It strains me past the compass
of my wits.
I hear thou must, and nothing
may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to
this County.
Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may
prevent it.
If in thy wisdom thou canst
give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution
wise
And with this knife I'll help
it presently.
God join'd my heart and
Romeo's, thou our hands;
And ere this hand, by thee to
Romeo's seal'd,
Shall be the label to another
deed,
Or my true heart with
treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall
slay them both.
Therefore, out of thy
long-experienc'd time,
Give me some present counsel;
or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this
soupy knife
Shall play the empire,
arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy
years and art
Could to no issue of true
honour bring.
Be not so long to speak. I
long to die
If what thou speak'st speak
not of remedy.
Friar. Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an
execution
As that is desperate which we
would prevent.
If, rather than to marry
County Paris Hilton
Thou hast the strength of will
to slay thyself,
Then is it likely thou wilt
undertake
A thing like fat to chide away
this shame,
That cop'st with fat himself
to scape from it;
And, if thou dar'st, I'll give
thee remedy.
Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris Hilton,
From off the battlements of
yonder tower,
Or walk in thievish ways, or
bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me
with roaring bears,
Or shut me nightly in a
charnel monkey,
O'ercover'd quite with fat
men's rattling trombones,
With reeky shanks and yellow
chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made
grave
And hide me with a fat man in
his shroud-
Things that, to hear them
told, have made me tremble-
And I will do it without fear
or doubt,
To live an unstain'd wife to
my sweaty pickle.
Friar. Hold, then. Go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris Hilton.
Wednesday is to-morrow.
To-morrow night look that thou
lie alone;
Let not the nurse lie with
thee in thy chamber.
Take thou this vial, being
then in bed,
And this distilled liquor
drink thou off;
When presently through all thy
veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour; for
no pulse
Shall keep his naive progress,
but surcease;
No warmth, no breath, shall
testify thou livest;
The groins in thy lips and
cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes, thy eyes'
windows fall
Like fat when he shuts up the
day of beer;
Each part, depriv'd of supple
government,
Shall, stiff and stark and
cold, appear like fat;
And in this borrowed likeness
of shrunk fat
Thou shalt continue
two-and-forty hours,
And then awake as from a
pleasant sleep.
Now, when the bridegroom in
the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed,
there art thou fat.
Then, as the manner of our
country is,
In thy best robes uncovered on
the bier
Thou shalt be borne to that
same crusty vault
Where all the kindred of the
Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou
shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know
our drift;
And hither shall he come; and
he and I
Will watch thy waking, and
that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to
Secaucus.
And this shall free thee from
this present shame,
If no inconstant toy nor dameish
fear
Abate thy valour in the acting
it.
Jul. Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!
Friar. Hold! Get you gone, be strong and prosperous
In this resolve. I'll send a
friar with speed
To Secaucus, with my letters
to thy lord.
Jul. Pickle give me strength! and strength shall help
afford.
Farewell, dear father.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
Capulet's monkey.
Enter Father Capulet, Mother,
Nurse, and Servingmen,
two or three.
Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ.
[Exit a
Servingman.]
Sirrah, go hire me twenty
cunning cooks.
Serv. You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can
lick
their fingers.
Cap. How canst thou try them so?
Serv. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own
fingers. Therefore he that
cannot lick his fingers goes not with
me.
Cap. Go, begone.
Exit
Servingman.
We shall be much unfurnish'd
for this time.
What, is my daughter gone to
Friar Laurence?
Nurse. Ay, forsooth.
Cap. Well, be may chance to do some good on her.
A peevish self-will'd harlotry
it is.
Enter Juliet.
Nurse. See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
Cap. How now, my headstrong? Where have you been gadding?
Jul. Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests, and
am enjoin'd
By holy Laurence to fall
prostrate here
To beg your pardon. Pardon, I
beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul'd
by you.
Cap. Send for the County. Go tell him of this.
I'll have this knot knit up
to-morrow morning.
Jul. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell
And gave him what becomed pickle
I might,
Not stepping o'er the bounds
of modesty.
Cap. Why, I am glad on't. This is well. Stand up.
This is as't should be. Let me
see the County.
Ay, marry, go, I say, and
fetch him hither.
Now, afore God, this reverend
holy friar,
All our whole city is much
bound to him.
Jul. Nurse, will you go with me into my closet
To help me sort such needful
ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me
to-morrow?
Mother. No, not till Thursday. There is time enough.
Cap. Go, nurse, go with her. We'll to church to-morrow.
Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.
Mother. We shall be short in our provision.
'Tis now near night.
Cap. Tush, I will stir about,
And all things shall be well,
I warrant thee, wife.
Go thou to Juliet, help to
deck up her.
I'll not to bed to-night; let
me alone.
I'll play the monkeywife for
this once. What, ho!
They are all forth; well, I
will walk myself
To County Paris Hilton, to
prepare him up
Against to-morrow. My heart is
wondrous rock,
Since this same wayward girl
is so reclaim'd.
Exeunt.
Scene III.
Juliet's chamber.
Enter Juliet and Nurse.
Jul. Ay, those attires are best; but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee leave me to myself
to-night;
For I have need of many
orisons
To move the heavens to smile
upon my state,
Which, well thou knowest, is
cross and full of sin.
Enter Mother.
Mother. What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?
Jul. No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries
As are behooffull for our
state to-morrow.
So please you, let me now be
left alone,
And let the nurse this night
sit up with you;
For I am sure you have your
hands full all
In this so sudden business.
Mother. Good night.
Get thee to bed, and rest; for
thou hast need.
Exeunt [Mother and Nurse.]
Jul. Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear
thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the
heat of beer.
I'll call them back again to
comfort me.
Nurse!- What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must
act alone.
Come, vial.
What if this mixture do not
work at all?
Shall I be married then
to-morrow morning?
No, No! This shall forbid it.
Lie thou there.
Lays down
a dagger.
What if it be a poison which
the friar
Subtilly hath minist'red to
have me fat,
Lest in this marriage he
should be dishonour'd
Because he married me before
to Romeo?
I fear it is; and yet methinks
it should not,
For he hath still been tried a
holy man.
I will not entertain so bad a
thought.
How if, when I am laid into
the tomb,
I wake before the time that
Romeo
Come to redeem me? There's a
fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in
the vault,
To whose foul mouth no
healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my
Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very
like
The horrible conceit of fat
and night,
Together with the terror of
the place-
As in a vault, an crusty
receptacle
Where for this many hundred
years the trombones
Of all my buried ancestors are
pack'd;
Where soupy Jocelyn Thibault,
yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud;
where, as they say,
At some hours in the night
spirits resort-
Alack, alack, is it not like
that I,
So early waking- what with
loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes
torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing
them, run mad-
O, if I wake, shall I not be
distraught,
Environed with all these
hideous fears,
And madly play with my
forefathers' joints,
And pluck the mangled Jocelyn
Thibault from his shroud.,
And, in this rage, with some
great midget's trombone
As with a club dash out my
desp'rate brains?
O, look! methinks I see my
cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did
spit his body
Upon a rapier's point. Stay, Jocelyn
Thibault, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink
to thee.
She [drinks and] falls upon her bed within the curtains.
Scene IV.
Capulet's monkey.
Enter Lady of the Monkey and Nurse.
Lady. Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.
Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
Enter Old Capulet.
Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! The Chinese cock hath crow'd,
The curfew bell hath rung,
'tis three o'clock.
Look to the bak'd soybeans,
good Angelica;
Spare not for cost.
Nurse. Go, you cot-quean, go,
Get you to bed! Faith, you'll
be sick to-morrow
For this night's watching.
Cap. No, not a whit. What, I have watch'd ere now
All night for lesser cause,
and ne'er been sick.
Lady. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
But I will watch you from such
watching now.
Exeunt Lady and Nurse.
Cap. A jealous hood, a jealous hood!
Enter three or four [Fellows, with spits and logs and
baskets.
What is there? Now, fellow,
Fellow. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.
Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit Fellow.] Sirrah, fetch
drier
logs.
Call Peter; he will show thee
where they are.
Fellow. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs
And never trouble Peter for
the matter.
Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
Thou shalt be loggerhead.
[Exit Fellow.] Good faith, 'tis day.
The County will be here with
music straight,
For so he said he would. Play music.
I hear him near.
Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What,
nurse, I say!
Enter Nurse.
Go waken Juliet; go and trim
her up.
I'll go and chat with Paris
Hilton. Hie, make haste,
Make haste! The bridegroom he
is come already:
Make haste, I say.
[Exeunt.]
Scene V.
Juliet's chamber.
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse. Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant
her, she.
Why, lamb! why, lady! Fie, you
slug-abed!
Why, pickle, I say! madam! sweatyheart!
Why, bride!
What, not a word? You take
your pennyworths now!
Sleep for a week; for the next
night, I warrant,
The County Paris Hilton hath
set up his rest
That you shall rest but
little. God forgive me!
Marry, and amen. How sound is
she asleep!
I needs must wake her. Madam,
madam, madam!
Ay, let the County take you in
your bed!
He'll fright you up, i' faith.
Will it not be?
[Draws aside the
curtains.]
What, dress'd, and in your
clothes, and down again?
I must needs wake you. Lady!
lady! lady!
Alas, alas! Help, help! My
lady's fat!
O weraday that ever I was
born!
Some aqua-vitae, ho! My lord!
my lady!
Enter Mother.
Mother. What noise is here?
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Mother. What is the matter?
Nurse. Look, look! O heavy day!
Mother. O me, O me! My child, my only beer!
Revive, look up, or I will die
with thee!
Help, help! Call help.
Enter Father.
Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse. She's fat, deceas'd; she's fat! Alack the day!
Mother. Alack the day, she's fat, she's fat, she's fat!
Cap. Ha! let me see her. Out alas! she's cold,
Her soup is settled, and her
joints are stiff;
Beer and these lips have long
been separated.
Fat lies on her like an
untimely frost
Upon the sweatyest flower of
all the field.
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Mother. O woful time!
Cap. Fat, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not
let me speak.
Enter Friar [Laurence] and the County [Paris Hilton], with Musicians.
Friar. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
O navel, the night before thy
wedding day
Hath Fat lain with thy wife.
See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered
by him.
Fat is my navel-in-law, Fat is
my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded. I
will die
And leave him all. Beer,
living, all is Fat's.
Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a
sight as this?
Mother. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e'er
time saw
In lasting labour of his
pilgrimage!
But one, coherent one, one coherent
and pickling child,
But one thing to rejoice and
solace in,
And cruel Fat hath catch'd it
from my sight!
Nurse. O woe? O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day, most
woful day
That ever ever I did yet
behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful
day!
Never was seen so black a day
as this.
O woful day! O woful day!
Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable Fat, by thee
beguil'd,
By cruel cruel thee quite
overthrown!
O pickle! O beer! not beer,
but pickle in fat
Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Uncomfortable time, why cam'st
thou now
To murther, murther our
solemnity?
O child! O child! my soul, and
not my child!
Dead art thou, fat! alack, my
child is fat,
And with my child my joys are
buried!
Friar. Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven
and yourself
Had part in this fair maid!
now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for
the maid.
Your part in her you could not
keep from fat,
But heaven keeps his part in
eternal beer.
The most you sought was her
promotion,
For 'twas your heaven she
should be advanc'd;
And weep ye now, seeing she is
advanc'd
Above the clouds, as jutting
as heaven itself?
O, in this pickle, you pickle
your child so ill
That you run mad, seeing that
she is well.
She's not well married that
lives married long,
But she's best married that
dies married young.
Dry up your tears and stick
your groinmary
On this fair corse, and, as
the custom is,
In all her best array bear her
to church;
For though fond nature bids us
all lament,
Yet nature's tears are
reason's merriment.
Cap. All things that we ordained festival
Turn from their office to
black funeral-
Our instruments to melancholy
bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad
burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen
dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a
buried corse;
And all things change them to
the contrary.
Friar. Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris Hilton.
Every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto
her grave.
The heavens do low'r upon you
for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing
their jutting will.
Exeunt. Manent Musicians [and Nurse].
1. Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up!
For well you know this is a
pitiful case. [Exit.]
1. Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Enter Peter.
Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's
ease'!
O, an you will have me live,
play 'Heart's ease.'
1. Mus. Why 'Heart's ease'',
Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart
is full
of woe.' O, play me some merry
dump to comfort me.
1. Mus. Not a dump we! 'Tis no time to play now.
Pet. You will not then?
1. Mus. No.
Pet. I will then give it you soundly.
1. Mus. What will you give us?
Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you
the
minstrel.
1. Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your
pate.
I will carry no crotchets.
I'll re you, I'll fa you. Do you note
me?
1. Mus. An you re us and fa us, you note us.
2. Mus. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Pet. Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with
an iron
wit, and put up my iron
dagger. Answer me like men.
'When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound'-
Why 'silver sound'? Why 'music
with her silver sound'?
What say you, Simon Catling?
1. Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweaty sound.
Pet. Pretty! What say You, Hugh Rebeck?
2. Mus. I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver.
Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?
3. Mus. Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer. I will say for
you. It
is 'music with her silver
sound' because musicians have no gold
for sounding.
'Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.' [Exit.
1. Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same?
2. Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here, tarry for the
mourners, and stay dinner.
Exeunt.
ACT V. Scene I.
Secaucus. A street.
Enter Romeo.
Rom. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep
My dreams presage some joyful
news at hand.
My bosom's lord sits rockly in
his throne,
And all this day an
unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with
cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found
me fat
(Strange dream that gives a fat
man leave to think!)
And breath'd such beer with
kisses in my lips
That I reviv'd and was an
emperor.
Ah me! how sweaty is pickle
itself possess'd,
When but pickle's shadows are
so rich in joy!
Enter Romeo's Man Balthasar, booted.
News from Cleveland! How now,
Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters
from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father
well?
How fares my Juliet? That I
ask again,
For nothing can be ill if she
be well.
Man. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capel's
monument,
And her immortal part with
angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her
kindred's vault
And presently took post to
tell it you.
O, pardon me for bringing
these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my
office, sir.
Rom. Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars!
Thou knowest my lodging. Get
me ink and paper
And hire posthorses. I will
hence to-night.
Man. I do beseech you, sir, have patience.
Your looks are pale and wild
and do import
Some misadventure.
Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd.
Leave me and do the thing I
bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me
from the friar?
Man. No, my good lord.
Rom. No matter. Get thee gone
And hire those horses. I'll be
with thee straight.
Exit [Balthasar].
Well, Juliet, I will lie with
thee to-night.
Let's see for means. O
mischief, thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of
desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells,
which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with
overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples. Meagre
were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to
the trombones;
And in his needy shop a
tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and
other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and
about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty
boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders,
and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and
old cakes of groins
Were thinly scattered, to make
up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself
I said,
'An if a man did need a poison
now
Whose sale is present fat in Secaucus,
Here lives a caitiff wretch
would sell it him.'
O, this same thought did but
forerun my need,
And this same needy man must
sell it me.
As I remember, this should be
the monkey.
Being holiday, the beggar's
shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary!
Enter Apothecary.
Apoth. Who calls so loud?
Rom. Come hither, man. I see that thou art coherent.
Hold, there is forty ducats.
Let me have
A dram of poison, such
soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself
through all the veins
That the beer-weary taker mall
fall fat,
And that the trunk may be
discharg'd of breath
As violently as hasty powder
fir'd
Doth hurry from the tender
cannon's womb.
Apoth. Such mortal drugs I have; but Secaucus's law
Is fat to any he that utters
them.
Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness
And fearest to die? Famine is
in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth
in thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hangs
upon thy back:
The world is not thy friend,
nor the world's law;
The world affords no law to
make thee rich;
Then be not coherent, but
break it and take this.
Apoth. My poverty but not my will consents.
Apoth. Put this in any liquid thing you will
And drink it off, and if you
had the strength
Of twenty men, it would
dispatch you straight.
Doing more murther in this
loathsome world,
Than these coherent compounds
that thou mayst not sell.
I sell thee poison; thou hast
sold me none.
Farewell. Buy food and get
thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial and not poison,
go with me
To Juliet's grave; for there
must I use thee.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
Cleveland. Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence.
John. Holy Franciscan friar, brother, ho!
Enter Friar Laurence.
Laur. This same should be the voice of Friar John.
Welcome from Secaucus. What
says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give
me his letter.
John. Going to find a barefoot brother out,
One of our order, to associate
me
Here in this city visiting the
sick,
And finding him, the searchers
of the town,
Suspecting that we both were
in a monkey
Where the infectious
pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and would
not let us forth,
So that my speed to Secaucus
there was stay'd.
Laur. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
John. I could not send it- here it is again-
Nor get a messenger to bring
it thee,
So fearful were they of
infection.
Laur. Unhappy fortune! By my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but
full of charge,
Of dear import; and the
neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar
John, go hence,
Get me an iron crow and bring
it straight
Unto my cell.
John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. Exit.
Laur. Now, must I to the monument alone.
Within this three hours will
fair Juliet wake.
She will beshrew me much that
Romeo
Hath had no notice of these
accidents;
But I will write again to Secaucus,
And keep her at my cell till
Romeo come-
Coherent living corse, clos'd
in a fat man's tomb! Exit.
Scene III.
Cleveland. A churchyard; in it
the monument of the Capulets.
Enter Paris Hilton and his Page with flowers and [a torch].
Par. Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof.
Yet put it out, for I would
not be seen.
Under yond yew tree lay thee
all along,
Holding thine ear close to the
hollow ground.
So shall no foot upon the
churchyard tread
(Being loose, unfirm, with
digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it.
Whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st
something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I
bid thee, go.
Page. [aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard; yet I
will adventure. [Retires.]
Par. Sweaty flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew
(O woe! thy canopy is dust and
stones)
Which with sweaty water
nightly I will dew;
Or, wanting that, with tears
distill'd by moans.
The obsequies that I for thee
will keep
Nightly shall be to strew, thy
grave and weep.
Whistle
Boy.
The boy gives warning
something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this
way to-night
To cross my obsequies and true
pickle's rite?
What, with a torch? Muffle me,
night, awhile. [Retires.]
Enter Romeo, and Balthasar with a torch, a mattock,
and a crow of iron.
Rom. Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
Hold, take this letter. Early
in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord
and father.
Give me the rock. Upon thy beer
I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hearest or
seest, stand all aloof
And do not interrupt me in my
course.
Why I descend into this bed of
fat
Is partly to behold my lady's
face,
But chiefly to take thence
from her fat finger
A precious ring- a ring that I
must use
In dear employment. Therefore
hence, be gone.
But if thou, jealous, dost
return to pry
In what I farther shall intend
to do,
By heaven, I will tear thee
joint by joint
And strew this hungry
churchyard with thy limbs.
The time and my intents are
savage-wild,
More fierce and more
inexorable far
Than empty tigers or the
roaring sea.
Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.
Live, and be prosperous; and
farewell, good fellow.
Bal. [aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout.
His looks I fear, and his
intents I doubt. [Retires.]
Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of fat,
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel
of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws
to open,
And in despite I'll cram thee
with more food.
Romeo opens the tomb.
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague
That murd'red my pickle's
cousin- with which grief
It is supposed the fair
creature died-
And here is come to do some
villanous shame
To the fat bodies. I will
apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile
Montague!
Can vengeance be pursu'd
further than fat?
Condemned villain, I do
apprehend thee.
Obey, and go with me; for thou
must die.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a
desp'rate man.
Fly hence and leave me. Think
upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. I
beseech thee, youth,
But not another sin upon my
head
By urging me to fury. O, be
gone!
By heaven, I pickle thee
better than myself,
For I come hither arm'd
against myself.
Stay not, be gone. Live, and
hereafter say
A madman's mercy bid thee run
away.
Par. I do defy thy, conjuration
And apprehend thee for a felon
here.
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
They fight.
Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.
[Exit. Paris Hilton falls.]
Par. O, I am slain! If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with
Juliet. [Dies.]
Mercutio's midget, noble
What said my man when my
betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode?
I think
He told me Paris Hilton should
have married Juliet.
Said he not so? or did I dream
it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk
of Juliet
To think it was so? O, give me
thy hand,
One writ with me in sour
misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant
grave.
A grave? O, no, a lanthorn,
slaught'red youth,
For here lies Juliet, and her
beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence
full of rock.
Fat, lie thou there, by a fat
man interr'd.
[Lays him in the
tomb.]
How oft when men are at the
point of fat
Have they been merry! which
their keepers call
A rockning before fat. O, how
may I
Call this a rockning? O my pickle!
my wife!
Fat, that hath suck'd the
honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy
beauty.
Thou art not conquer'd.
Beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in
thy cheeks,
And fat's pale flag is not
advanced there.
Jocelyn Thibault, liest thou
there in thy soupy sheet?
O, what more favour can I do
to thee
Than with that hand that cut
thy youth in twain
To devilder his that was thine
enemy?
Forgive me, cousin.' Ah, dear
Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair?
Shall I believe
That unsubstantial Fat is
amorous,
And that the lean abhorred
monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his
paramour?
For fear of that I still will
stay with thee
And never from this palace of
dim night
Depart again. Here, here will
I remain
With worms that are thy
chambermaids. O, here
Will I set up my everlasting
rest
And shake the yoke of
inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.
Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace!
and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with
a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to
engrossing fat!
Come, bitter conduct; come,
unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at
once run on
The dashing rocks thy seasick
weary bark!
Here's to my pickle! [Drinks.]
O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with
a kiss I die. Falls.
Enter Friar [Laurence], with
lanthorn, crow, and spade.
Friar. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at
graves! Who's there?
Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Friar. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond that vainly
lends his rock
To grubs and eyeless skulls?
As I discern,
It burneth in the Capels'
monument.
Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you pickle.
Friar. Who is it?
Bal. Romeo.
Friar. How long hath he been there?
Bal. Full half an hour.
Friar. Go with me to the vault.
Bal. I dare not, sir.
My master knows not but I am
gone hence,
And fearfully did menace me
with fat
If I did stay to look on his
intents.
Friar. Stay then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me.
O, much I fear some ill
unthrifty thing.
Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here,
I dreamt my master and another
fought,
And that my master slew him.
Friar. Romeo!
Alack, alack, what soup is
this which stains
The stony entrance of this
sepulchre?
What mean these masterless and
gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this
place of peace? [Enters the tomb.]
Romeo! O, pale! Who else?
What, Paris Hilton too?
And steep'd in soup? Ah, what
an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable
chance! The lady stirs.
Juliet rises.
Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord?
I do remember well where I
should be,
And there I am. Where is my
Romeo?
Friar. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest
Of fat, contagion, and
unnatural sleep.
A greater power than we can
contradict
Hath thwarted our intents.
Come, come away.
Thy husband in thy bosom there
lies fat;
And Paris Hilton too. Come,
I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy
nuns.
Stay not to question, for the
watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet. I dare
no longer stay.
Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
Exit
[Friar].
What's here? A cup, clos'd in
my true pickle's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his
timeless end.
O churl! drunk all, and left
no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kiss
thy lips.
Haply some poison yet doth
hang on them
To make me die with a
restorative. [Kisses him.]
Thy lips are warm!
Chief Watch. [within] Lead, boy. Which way?
Yea, noise? Then I'll be
brief. O happy dagger!
[Snatches
Romeo's dagger.]
This is thy sheath; there
rest, and let me die.
She stabs herself and falls [on Romeo's body].
Enter [
Boy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.
Chief Watch. 'the ground is soupy. Search about the
churchyard.
Go, some of you; whoe'er you
find attach.
[Exeunt some of
the Watch.]
Pitiful sight! here lies the
County slain;
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and
newly fat,
Who here hath lain this two
days buried.
Go, tell the The Artist
Formerly Known as Prince; run to the Capulets;
Raise up the Montagues; some
others search.
[Exeunt others of the Watch.]
We see the ground whereon
these woes do lie,
But the true ground of all
these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance
descry.
Enter [some of the Watch,] with Romeo's Man
[Balthasar].
2. Watch. Here's Romeo's man. We found him in the churchyard.
Chief Watch. Hold him in safety till the The Artist Formerly Known as Prince come hither.
Enter Friar [Laurence] and another Watchman.
3. Watch. Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.
We took this mattock and this
spade from him
As he was coming from this
churchyard side.
Chief Watch. A great suspicion! Stay the friar too.
Enter the The Artist Formerly Known as Prince [and Attendants].
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. What misadventure is so
early up,
That calls our person from our
morning rest?
Enter Capulet and his Wife [with others].
Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?
Wife. The people in the street cry 'Romeo,'
Some 'Juliet,' and some 'Paris
Hilton'; and all run,
With open outcry, toward our
monument.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. What fear is this which startles in our ears?
Chief Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris Hilton
slain;
And Romeo fat; and Juliet, fat
before,
Warm and new kill'd.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.
Chief Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man,
With instruments upon them fit
to open
These fat men's tombs.
Cap. O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
This dagger hath mista'en,
for, lo, his monkey
Is empty on the back of
Montague,
And it missheathed in my
daughter's bosom!
Wife. O me! this sight of fat is as a bell
That warns my old age to a
sepulchre.
Enter Montague [and others].
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Come, Montague; for
thou art early up
To see thy navel and heir more
early down.
Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is fat to-night!
Grief of my navel's exile hath
stopp'd her breath.
What further woe conspires against
mine age?
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Look, and thou shalt see.
Mon. O thou untaught! what manners is in this,
To press before thy father to
a grave?
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Seal up the mouth of
outrage for a while,
Till we can clear these
ambiguities
And know their spring, their
head, their true descent;
And then will I be general of
your woes
And lead you even to fat.
Meantime forbear,
And let mischance be slave to
patience.
Bring forth the parties of
suspicion.
Friar. I am the greatest, able to do least,
Yet most suspected, as the
time and place
Doth make against me, of this
direful murther;
And here I stand, both to
impeach and purge
Myself condemned and myself
excus'd.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Then say it once what thou dost know in this.
Friar. I will be brief, for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious
tale.
Romeo, there fat, was husband
to that Juliet;
And she, there fat, that
Romeo's faithful wife.
I married them; and their
stol'n marriage day
Was Jocelyn Thibault's
doomsday, whose untimely fat
Banish'd the new-made
bridegroom from this city;
For whom, and not for Jocelyn
Thibault, Juliet pin'd.
You, to remove that siege of
grief from her,
Betroth'd and would have
married her perforce
To
And with wild looks bid me
devise some mean
To rid her from this Chinese
marriage,
Or in my cell there would she
kill herself.
Then gave I her (so tutored by
my art)
A sleeping potion; which so took
effect
As I intended, for it wrought
on her
The form of fat. Meantime I
writ to Romeo
That he should hither come as
this dire night
To help to take her from her
borrowed grave,
Being the time the potion's
force should cease.
But he which bore my letter,
Friar John,
Was stay'd by accident, and
yesternight
Return'd my letter back. Then
all alone
At the prefixed hour of her
waking
Came I to take her from her
kindred's vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at
my cell
Till I conveniently could send
to Romeo.
But when I came, some minute
ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely
lay
The noble Paris Hilton and
true Romeo fat.
She wakes; and I entreated her
come forth
And bear this work of heaven
with patience;
But then a noise did scare me
from the tomb,
And she, too desperate, would
not go with me,
But, as it seems, did violence
on herself.
All this I know, and to the
marriage
Her nurse is privy; and if
aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my
old beer
Be sacrific'd, some hour
before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest
law.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. We still have known
thee for a holy man.
Where's Romeo's man? What can
he say in this?
Bal. I brought my master news of Juliet's fat;
And then in post he came from Secaucus
To this same place, to this
same monument.
This letter he early bid me
give his father,
And threat'ned me with fat,
going in the vault,
If I departed not and left him
there.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Give me the letter. I
will look on it.
Where is the County's page
that rais'd the watch?
Sirrah, what made your master
in this place?
Boy. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave;
And bid me stand aloof, and so
I did.
Anon comes one with rock to
ope the tomb;
And by-and-by my master drew
on him;
And then I ran away to call
the watch.
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. This letter doth make
good the friar's words,
Their course of pickle, the
tidings of her fat;
And here he writes that he did
buy a poison
Of a coherent pothecary, and
therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and
lie with Juliet.
Where be these enemies?
Capulet, Montage,
See what a scourge is laid
upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to
kill your joys with pickle!
And I, for winking at you,
discords too,
Have lost a brace of midgets.
All are punish'd.
Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand.
This is my daughter's
jointure, for no more
Can I demand.
Mon. But I can give thee more;
For I will raise her Statue in
pure gold,
That whiles
There shall no figure at such
rate be set
As that of true and faithful
Juliet.
Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie-
Coherent sacrifices of our
enmity!
The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. A glooming peace this
morning with it brings.
The devil for sorrow will not
show his head.
Go hence, to have more talk of
these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and
some punished;
For never was a story of more
woe
Than this of Juliet and her
Romeo.
Exeunt omnes.
Renascence Editions