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The Capulet orchard. Once again we see Juliet's balcony. |
| Juliet |
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, |
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Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner |
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As Phaethon would whip you to the west, |
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And bring in cloudy night immediately. |
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Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, |
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That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo |
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Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. |
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Lovers can see to do their amorous rites |
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By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, |
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It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, |
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Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, |
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And learn me how to lose a winning match, |
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Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: |
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Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, |
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With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, |
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Think true love acted simple modesty. |
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Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; |
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For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night |
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Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. |
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Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, |
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Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, |
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Take him and cut him out in little stars, |
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And he will make the face of heaven so fine |
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That all the world will be in love with night |
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And pay no worship to the garish sun. |
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O, I have bought the mansion of a love, |
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But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, |
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Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day |
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As is the night before some festival |
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To an impatient child that hath new robes |
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And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, |
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And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks |
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But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. |
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Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords |
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That Romeo bid thee fetch? |
| Juliet |
Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? |
| Nurse |
Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! |
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We are undone, lady, we are undone! |
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Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! |
| Juliet |
Can heaven be so envious? |
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Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! |
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Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! |
| Juliet |
What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? |
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This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. |
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Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' |
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And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more |
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Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: |
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I am not I, if there be such an I; |
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Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' |
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If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: |
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Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. |
| Nurse |
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- |
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God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: |
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A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; |
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Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, |
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All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. |
| Juliet |
O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! |
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To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! |
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Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; |
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And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! |
| Nurse |
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! |
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O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! |
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That ever I should live to see thee dead! |
| Juliet |
What storm is this that blows so contrary? |
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Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? |
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My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? |
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Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! |
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For who is living, if those two are gone? |
| Nurse |
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; |
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Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. |
| Juliet |
O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? |
| Nurse |
It did, it did; alas the day, it did! |
| Juliet |
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! |
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Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? |
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Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! |
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Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! |
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Despised substance of divinest show! |
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Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, |
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A damned saint, an honourable villain! |
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O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, |
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When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend |
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In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? |
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Was ever book containing such vile matter |
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So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell |
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In such a gorgeous palace! |
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No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, |
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All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. |
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Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: |
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These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. |
| Juliet |
Blister'd be thy tongue |
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For such a wish! he was not born to shame: |
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Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; |
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For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd |
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Sole monarch of the universal earth. |
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O, what a beast was I to chide at him! |
| Nurse |
Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? |
| Juliet |
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? |
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Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, |
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When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? |
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But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? |
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That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: |
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Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; |
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Your tributary drops belong to woe, |
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Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. |
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My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; |
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And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: |
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All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? |
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Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, |
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That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; |
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But, O, it presses to my memory, |
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Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: |
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'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' |
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That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' |
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Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death |
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Was woe enough, if it had ended there: |
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Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship |
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And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, |
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Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' |
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Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, |
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Which modern lamentations might have moved? |
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But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, |
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'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, |
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Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, |
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All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' |
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There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, |
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In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. |
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Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? |
| Nurse |
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: |
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Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. |
| Juliet |
Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, |
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When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. |
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Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, |
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Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: |
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He made you for a highway to my bed; |
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But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. |
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Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; |
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And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! |
| Nurse |
Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo |
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To comfort you: I wot well where he is. |
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Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: |
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I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. |
| Juliet |
O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, |
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And bid him come to take his last farewell. |
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