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In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? -
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
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 vitæ :-
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
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. 0, what a beast was I to chide at him! [cousin ? Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your
Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Ah, poor, my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
When I, thy three-hours' wife, bave niangled it?-
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband :
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy:
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband :
All this is confort; Wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, 0! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
Tybalt is dead, and Romeombanished;
That-banished, that one
Halh slain ten thousand Tybalts.—Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there :
Or,-if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, -
Why follow'd not, when she said--Tyball's dead,
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have movid?
But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished,--to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead :-Romeo is banished,
There is no end, no liinit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. [spent,
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take
those cords :-Poor ropes, you are beguild,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exild:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a inaid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed ;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo
To comfort you.— I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell.
Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. FRIAR LAURENCE's Cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEO. Fri. Romeo, comeforth; come forth, thou fearful man; Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Is dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom.
Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom?
Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips; Not body's death, but body's banislıment.
Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say—death:
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much inore than death : do not say—banishment.
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exile is death :- then banishment
Is death mis-term'd: calling death-banishment,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn': ihat black word death to banishinent:
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: beaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and inay 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 land,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips ;
Who, even in pure and vestal inodesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, when I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished.
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
Hadst ihou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But-banished-to kill me; banished ?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend 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—banishment?
Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment,
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word;
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Rom. Yet banished? -Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom;
It helps not, it prevails not; talk no more.
Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. [eyes?
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as 1, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy And fall upon the ground, as I do now, [hair, Taking the measure of an unmade
grave. Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself.
(Knocking within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. (Knocking. Fri. Hark, how they knock!-Who's there?—Romeo,
arise; Thou wilt be taken :-Stay awhile: stand up;
Knocking. Run to my study :-By and by :-God's will! What wilfuluess is this? I come, I come. (Knocking Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your
will ? Nurse. [Within] Let me come in, and you shall I come from lady Juliet.
[know my errand; Fri.
Nurse. O holy friar, 0, tell me, holy friar,
Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo?
Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made
Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, [drunk. Just in her case! Fri.
O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament!
Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering :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 0?
Nurse. Ah sir! ah sir!-Well, death's the end of all.
Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth she not think me an old murderer,
Now I bave stain'd the childhood of our joy
With blood remov'd but little from her own?
Where is she? and how doth she? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cell'd lov
*Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed; and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Marder'd her kinsman. O tell friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomny
Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[Drawing his Sword. Fri.
Hold thy desperate hand : Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
by tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman, in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both! Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And slay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why railst thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie! thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed