| ACT IV. | |
| Scene V. Juliet's Chamber; Juliet on the bed. | |
| [Enter Nurse.] |
| Nurse. | |
| Mistress!--what, mistress!--Juliet!--fast, I warrant her, she:-- |
| Why, lamb!--why, lady!--fie, you slug-abed!-- |
| Why, love, I say!--madam! sweetheart!--why, bride!-- |
| What, not a word?--you take your pennyworths now; |
| Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, |
| The County Paris 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? |
| 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 dead!-- |
| O, well-a-day that ever I was born!-- |
| Some aqua-vitae, ho!--my lord! my lady! |
| [Enter Lady Capulet.] |
| Lady Capulet | |
| What noise is here? |
| Nurse. | |
| O lamentable day! |
| Lady Capulet. | |
| What is the matter? |
| Nurse. | |
| Look, look! O heavy day! |
| Lady Capulet. | |
| O me, O me!--my child, my only life! |
| Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!-- |
| Help, help!--call help. |
| [Enter Capulet.] |
| Capulet. | |
| For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. |
| Nurse. | |
| She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the day! |
| Lady Capulet |
| Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! |
| Capulet. | |
| Ha! let me see her:--out alas! she's cold; |
| Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; |
| Life and these lips have long been separated: |
| Death lies on her like an untimely frost |
| Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. |
| Accursed time! unfortunate old man! |
| Nurse. | |
| O lamentable day! |
| Lady Capulet. | |
| O woful time! |
| Capulet. | |
| Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, |
| Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak. |
| [Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris, with Musicians.] |
| Friar. | |
| Come, is the bride ready to go to church? |
| Capulet. | |
| Ready to go, but never to return:-- |
| O son, the night before thy wedding day |
| Hath death lain with thy bride:--there she lies, |
| Flower as she was, deflowered by him. |
| Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; |
| My daughter he hath wedded: I will die. |
| And leave him all; life, living, all is death's. |
| Paris. | |
| Have I thought long to see this morning's face, |
| And doth it give me such a sight as this? |
| Lady Capulet. | |
| Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! |
| Most miserable hour that e'er time saw |
| In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! |
| But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, |
| But one thing to rejoice and solace in, |
| And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! |
| Nurse. | |
| O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! |
| Most lamentable day, most woeful 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 woeful day! O woeful day! |
| Paris. | |
| Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! |
| Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, |
| By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!-- |
| O love! O life!--not life, but love in death! |
| Capulet. | |
| Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!-- |
| Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now |
| To murder, murder our solemnity?-- |
| O child! O child!--my soul, and not my child!-- |
| Dead art thou, dead!--alack, my child is dead; |
| 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 death; |
| But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. |
| 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 high as heaven itself? |
| O, in this love, you love 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 rosemary |
| 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. |
| Capulet. | |
| 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;--every one prepare |
| To follow this fair corse unto her grave: |
| The heavens do lower upon you for some ill; |
| Move them no more by crossing their high will. |
| [Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.] |
| 1 Musician. | |
| 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 Musician. | |
| Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. |
| [Enter Peter.] |
| Peter. | |
| Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease': |
| O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' |
| 1 Musician. | |
| Why 'Heart's ease'? |
| Peter. | |
| O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is |
| full of woe': O, play me some merry dump to comfort me. |
| 1 Musician. | |
| Not a dump we: 'tis no time to play now. |
| Peter. | |
| You will not then? |
| 1 Musician. | |
| No. |
| Peter. | |
| I will then give it you soundly. |
| 1 Musician. | |
| What will you give us? |
| Peter. | |
| No money, on my faith; but the gleek,--I will give you the |
| minstrel. |
| 1 Musician. | |
| Then will I give you the serving-creature. |
| Peter. | |
| 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 Musician. | |
| An you re us and fa us, you note us. |
| 2 Musician. | |
| Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit. |
| Peter. | |
| 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 Musician. | |
| Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. |
| Peter. | |
| Pretty!--What say you, Hugh Rebeck? |
| 2 Musician. | |
| I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver. |
| Peter. | |
| Pretty too!--What say you, James Soundpost? |
| 3 Musician. | |
| Faith, I know not what to say. |
| Peter. | |
| 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 Musician. | |
| What a pestilent knave is this same! |
| 2 Musician. | |
| Hang him, Jack!--Come, we'll in here; tarry for the |
| mourners, and stay dinner. |
| [Exeunt.] |