Romeo & Juliet (2021)

[bunniefuu]

Did my heart love till now?

For swear it, sight,

For I ne'er saw true beauty

till this night.

Next on "Great Performances,"

Shakespeare's classic tale

starring Josh O'Connor as Romeo

and Jessie Buckley as Juliet,

two young lovers with passions

that rise above

their family's feud.

Be some other name!

Star-crossed lovers.

In an original film

produced during London's

performance shutdown,

stage and screen are fused

as backstage rehearsals

transform into

a cinematic experience...

- Let me be ta'en.

- capturing the iconic lovers

on their fateful journey

to immortality.

Romeo.

This day's black fate

on more days doth depend,

This but begins

the woe others must end.

The National Theatre's

"Romeo & Juliet" is next.

Major funding

for "Great Performances"

is provided by...

and by contributions

to your PBS station

from viewers like you.

Thank you.

Two households,

both alike in dignity

In fair Verona,

where we lay our scene

From ancient grudge

break to new mutiny

Where civil blood

makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins

of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers

take their life;

Whose misadventured

piteous overthrows

Do with their death,

bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage

of their death mark'd love,

And the continuance

of their parents' rage,

Which, but their children's

end, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic

of our stage;

Here comes one of the house

of Montague.

Quarrel, I will back thee.

I strike quickly, being moved.

But thou art not quickly

moved to strike.

Do you quarrel, sir?

Quarrel sir!

No, sir.

But if you do, sir,

I am for you.

Part, fools!

Put up your swords,

you know not what you do.

What, art thou drawn

among these heartless hinds?

I do but keep the peace.

Put up thy sword.

What, drawn, and talk of peace?

I hate the word,

As I hate hell,

all Montagues and thee.

Have at thee, coward!

Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

Hold me not, let me go!

Aah!

Aah!

- Hey, hey!

- Stop!

- Aah!

- Oh!

Get, get.

You beasts!

On pain of t*rture,

from your bloody hands

Throw your mistempered weapon

to the ground

And hear the sentence

of your moved prince.

Three civil brawls bred

of an airy word,

By thee, both Montague,

and Capulet,

Have thrice disturbed

the quiet of our streets

And made

Verona's ancient citizens

Cast by their grave-beseeming

ornaments,

To wield old partisans

in hands as old,

Cankered with peace,

to part your cankered 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 my further pleasure

in this case.

Once more, on pain of death,

all men depart.

Who set this quarrel

new abroach?

Speak, nephew,

were you by when it began?

The fiery Tybalt,

with his sword prepared.

And where is Romeo?

Black and portentous

must this humour prove,

Unless good counsel

may the cause remove.

Do you know the cause?

I neither know it

nor can learn of him.

Have you entreated him

by any means?

Both by myself

and many other friends;

But he, his own affections'

counsellor,

Is to himself

too secret and too close.

I'll know his grievance,

or be much denied.

What sadness lengthens

Romeo's hours?

Not having that which, having,

makes them short.

- In love?

- Out.

Of love?

Out of her favour,

where I am in love.

Here's much to do with hate,

but more with love.

Why, then, O brawling love,

O loving hate,

O anything of nothing

first create?

Farewell, my coz.

Soft, I will go along;

If you do me so,

you do me wrong.

I have lost myself.

I am not here.

This is not Romeo,

he's some otherwhere.

Tell me in sadness,

who is that you love.

In sadness, cousin,

I do love a woman.

I aimed so near

when I supposed you loved.

A right good mark,

and she's fair I love.

A right fair mark, fair coz,

is soonest hit.

Be ruled by me,

forget to think of her.

Farewell, my coz.

Thou canst not

teach me to forget.

I pray, sir, can you read?

Ay, mine own fortune

in my misery.

Perhaps you have learned it

without book.

But, I pray, can you

read anything you see?

Ay.

If I know the letters

and the language.

I am sent to trudge about

through fair Verona,

and find them out

whose names are written here,

but can never find what names

the writing person

here has writ.

I must to the learned.

Rest you merry!

Stay, lady, I can read.

Signior Martino and his wife

and daughters;

Mercutio and his brother

Valentine;

Mine uncle Capulet,

his wife and daughters;

My fair niece Rosaline,

and Livia;

Signior Valentino

and his cousin Tybalt;

A fair assembly.

Whither should they come?

- To our house.

- Whose house?

My mistress is the great

Capulet,

and if you be not of

the house of Montagues,

I pray come

and crush a cup of wine.

But Montague is bound

as well as I,

In penalty alike,

and 'tis not hard, I think,

For those so old as we

to keep the peace.

Of honourable reckoning

are you both,

And pity 'tis you lived

at odds so long.

But now, Lady,

what say you to my suit?

But saying o'er what

I have said before,

That too soon marred

are those so quickly married:

My child is yet a stranger

to this world.

She is the hopeful lady

of my earth.

But woo her, gentle Paris,

get her heart.

My will to her consent

is but a part,

Tonight we hold

an old accustomed feast,

Whereto

we have invited many a guest

Such as we love;

and you among the store

One more, most welcome,

makes my number more.

- How now, who calls?

- Your mother.

Madam, I am here.

What is your will?

This is the matter -

Nurse, give leave awhile,

We must talk in secret.

Nurse, come back again.

I have remembered me,

thou's hear our counsel.

Thou knowest my daughter's

of a pretty age.

Faith, I can tell her age

unto an hour.

That can I, marry!

I remember it well.

'Tis since the earthquake

now so many years,

And she was weaned,

I never shall forget it,

Of all the days in the year

upon that day.

Your lord and you were then

at Mantua.

For then she could stand alone;

nay, by the 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,

He 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?'

Enough of this, I pray thee,

hold thy peace.

And stint thou too,

I pray thee, Nurse, say I.

Peace, I have done.

God mark thee to his grace,

Thou wast the prettiest babe

that e'er I nursed.

An I might live to see thee

married once, I have my wish.

Marry, that 'marry' is the

very theme I came to talk of.

Tell me, daughter Juliet,

How stands your disposition

to be married?

It is an honour

that I dream not of.

Well, think of marriage now.

Younger than you Here in Verona,

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

seeks you for his love.

Oh, a man, young lady;

lady, such a man

As all the world...

Why, he's a man of wax.

Verona's summer

hath not such a flower.

Nay, he's a flower,

in faith, a very flower.

What say you,

can you love the gentleman?

This night you shall behold him

at our feast.

Read o'er the volume

of young Paris' face,

And find delight writ there

with beauty's pen;

Speak briefly.

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.

- Come, knock and enter.

- And no sooner in

But every man

betake him to his legs.

Nay, gentle Romeo,

we must have you dance.

Not I, believe me.

You have dancing shoes

With nimble soles,

I have a soul of lead

So stakes me to the ground

I cannot move.

You are a lover,

borrow Cupid's wings,

And soar with them

above a common bound.

And we mean well

in going to this masque,

But 'tis no wit to go.

- Why, may one ask?

- I dreamt a dream to-night.

- And so did I.

- Well, what was yours?

That dreamers often lie.

In bed asleep

while they do dream things true.

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 atomi

Over men's noses

as they lie asleep.

Her chariot is an empty hazelnut

Made by the joiner

squirrel or old grub;

Her wagon-spokes have

long spinners' legs,

Her wagoner

a small grey-coated gnat.

And in this state

she gallops night by night

Through lovers' brains,

and then they dream of love;

O'er lawyers' fingers,

who straight dream on fees;

O'er ladies' lips,

who straight on kisses dream,

Sometime she driveth

o'er a soldier's neck,

Then dreams

he of cutting foreign throats,

Of breaches, ambushes,

Spanish blades,

Of healths five fathoms 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 - -

Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace,

Thou talk'st of nothing.

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 woos

Even now the frozen bosom

of the north.

And then, being angered,

puffs away from thence

And turns his face

to the dew-dropping South.

This wind you talk of blows us

from ourselves;

Supper is done,

and we shall come too late.

I fear too early,

for my mind misgives

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 life

closed in my breast

By some vile forfeit

of untimely death.

But he that hath

the steerage of my course

Direct my suit.

On, lusty gentlemen.

To Rosaline.

What lady is that?

I know not, cousin.

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear it, sight,

For I ne'er saw true beauty

till this night.

This by his voice

should be a Montague.

What dares the sl*ve

Come hither,

covered with an antic face,

To fleer and scorn

at our solemnity?

Now by the stock

and honour of my kin,

To strike him dead

I hold it not a sin.

Fetch me my knife.

Why, how now, kinsman,

wherefore storm you so?

Dear aunt, this is a Montague,

our foe,

Young Romeo is it?

'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

I would not for the wealth

of all this town

Here in my house

do him disparagement.

Therefore be patient,

take no note of him.

It is my will.

I'll not endure him.

He shall be endured.

Am I the mistress here or you,

go to!

You'll not endure him?

God shall mend my soul,

You'll make a mutiny

among my guests,

Why my aunt, 'tis a shame.

Go to, go to.

You must cross me!

You are a princox, go,

Be quiet, or for shame,

I'll make you quiet.

If I profane

with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine,

the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims,

ready stand

To smooth that rough touch

with a tender kiss.

Good pilgrim, you do wrong

your hand too much,

Which mannerly devotion

shows in this,

For saints have hands

pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm

is holy palmers' kiss.

Have not saints lips

and holy palmers too?

Ay, pilgrim,

lips that

they must use in prayer.

O then, dear saint,

let lips do what hands do...

They pray; grant thou,

lest faith turn to despair.

Saints do not move,

though grant for prayers' sake.

Then move not,

while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips, by yours,

my sin is purged.

Then have my lips the sin

that they have took.

O trespass sweetly urged!

Give me my sin again.

Madam!

Madam, Madam, Madam, Madam,

your mother craves a word.

What is her mother?

Her mother is the lady

of the house.

She is a Capulet?

O dear account!

My life is my foe's debt.

Away, be gone.

His name is Romeo,

and a Montague,

The only son

of your great enemy.

- Romeo!

- Shh! Shh!

My cousin Romeo, Romeo!

Nay, I'll conjure him.

Romeo, humours, madman,

passion, lover.

Ah!

Appear thou

in the likeness of a sigh.

He heareth not,

he stirreth not, he moveth not.

Romeo, good night:

I'll to my truckle-bed;

Whee!

This field-bed is too cold

for me.

Come, shall we go?

Can I go forward

when my heart is here?

Turn back, dull earth,

and find thy centre out.

Romeo, Romeo,

wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father

and refuse thy name,

Or if thou wilt not,

be but sworn my love,

And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

'Tis but thy name

that is mine 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 rose

By any other word

would smell as sweet;

So Romeo would,

were he not Romeo called,

Retain that dear perfection

which he owes

Without that title.

Romeo, doff thy name,

And for thy name,

which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.

I take thee at thy word.

Call me but love

and I'll be new baptized.

Henceforth

I never will be Romeo.

What man art thou?

By a name I know not

how to tell thee who I am.

Art thou not Romeo

and a Montague?

Neither, fair maid,

if either thee dislike.

How cam'st thou hither,

tell me, and wherefore?

This place is death,

considering who thou art,

If any of my kinsmen

find thee here.

With love's light wings

did I o'erperch these walls,

For stony limits

cannot hold love out.

And what love can do

that dares love attempt;

Therefore thy kinsmen

are no stop to me.

If they do see thee,

they will m*rder thee.

I have night's cloak

to hide me from their sight;

And but thou love me,

let them find me here:

My life were better

ended by their hate,

Than death prorogued,

wanting of thy love.

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 tonight.

Dost thou love me?

I know thou wilt say 'Ay, '

And I will take thy word;

yet if thou swear'st,

Thou mayst prove false.

Gentle Romeo,

If thou dost love,

pronounce it faithfully.

By yonder blessed moon I vow,

That tips with silver

all the fruit-tree tops...

O swear not by the moon,

th'inconstant moon,

That monthly changes

in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove

likewise variable.

What shall I swear by?

Do not swear at all,

Although I joy in thee, I have

no joy of this contract tonight;

It is too rash,

too unadvised, too sudden,

Too like the lightning,

which doth cease to be

Ere one can say 'it lightens'.

Sweet, good night.

O, wilt thou leave me

so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction canst

thou have tonight?

The exchange of thy love's

faithful vow for mine.

I gave thee mine

before thou didst request it,

And yet I would it

were to give again.

Wouldst thou withdraw it?

For what purpose, love?

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 love as deep;

the more I give to thee,

The more I have,

for both are infinite.

I hear some noise within;

dear love, adieu!

Anon, good Nurse!

Sweet Montague, be true,

Stay but a little,

I will come again.

I am afeard.

Being in night,

all this is but a dream,

Too flattering-sweet

to be substantial.

If that thy bent of love

be honourable,

Thy purpose marriage,

send word for me tomorrow

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.

- Madam!

- A-A-Anon, I come!

Romeo!

My dear?

At what o'clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?

- By the hour of nine.

- I will not fail.

Within the infant rind

of this small flower

Poison hath residence

and medicine power,

For this, being smelled,

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 death

eats up that plant.

- Good morrow, father.

- Benedicite.

What early tongue

so sweet saluteth me?

My friend,

it argues a distempered head

So soon to bid good morrow

to thy bed.

Therefore thy earliness

doth me assure

Thou art uproused

by some distemperature.

Or if not so,

then here I hit it right,

Our Romeo hath not been

in bed tonight.

That last is true,

the sweeter rest was mine.

God pardon sin!

Wast thou with Rosaline?

With Rosaline, ghostly father?

No, I have forgot that name

and that name's woe.

That's my good son;

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.

Be plain, good son,

and homely in thy drift;

Riddling confession finds

but riddling shrift.

Then plainly know

my heart's dear love is set

On the fair daughter

of rich Capulet.

As mine on hers,

so hers is set on mine,

And all combined,

save what thou must combine

By holy marriage.

Holy Saint Francis,

what a change is here!

Is Rosaline,

that thou didst love so dear,

So soon forsaken?

Thou chid'st me oft

for loving Rosaline.

Her I love now

Doth grace for grace

and love for love allow;

The other did not so.

O, she knew well

Thy love 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 households' rancour

to pure love.

Where the devil

should this Romeo be?

Came he not home tonight?

Not to his father's;

I spoke with his man.

Tybalt, the kinsman

to the Capulets,

Hath sent a letter

to his father's house.

A challenge.

Romeo will answer it.

And is he a man

to encounter Tybalt?

- Why, what is Tybalt?

- More than Prince of Cats.

O, he's the courageous captain

of compliments:

he fights as you sing, keeps

time, distance, proportion.

One, two,

and the third in your bosom.

- Uh...

- Oh. Signior Romeo.

You gave us the counterfeit

fairly last night.

Good morrow to you both.

What counterfeit did I give you?

The slip, sir, the slip!

Pardon, good Mercutio,

my business was great,

and in such a case as mine

a man may strain courtesy.

That's as much as to say,

such a case

as yours constrains

a man to bow in the hams.

- Peta!

- Anon.

My fan, Peta.

Good Peta, to hide her face,

for her fan's the fairer face.

God ye good morrow, gentlemen.

God ye good den,

fair gentlewoman.

- Is it good den?

- 'Tis no less, I tell ye,

for the bawdy hand of the dial

is now upon the prick of noon.

Out upon you!

Can either of you tell me

where I may find

the young Romeo?

She will indite him

to some supper.

So h*!

Romeo, will you come?

- I will follow you.

- Farewell, ancient lady,

farewell lady, lady.

Scurvy Knaves!

Pray you, sir, a word;

my young lady bid me

inquire you out.

What she bid me say

I will keep to myself.

But first 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.

Nurse, commend me to thy lady

and mistress.

I protest unto thee...

Good heart, and, I'faith I will

tell her as much.

Lord, Lord,

she will be a joyful woman.

What wilt thou tell her, nurse?

Thou dost not mark me.

I will tell her, sir,

that you do protest,

which, as I take it,

is a gentlemanlike offer.

Bid her devise some means to

come to shrift this afternoon,

And there she shall at Friar

Laurence' cell

Be shrived and married.

This afternoon, sir?

Well, she shall be there.

Farewell, commend me

to thy mistress.

Now God in heaven bless thee!

Hark you, sir.

- Commend me to thy lady.

- Ay, a thousand times.

Peta!

Anon.

My fan, Peta.

O honey Nurse, what news?

Hast thou met with him?

Now, good sweet nurse...

O Lord, why lookest thou sad?

I'm aweary,

give me leave awhile.

Nay, come, I pray thee,

speak, good, good Nurse, speak.

Jesu, what haste?

Can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see

I am out of breath?

How art thou out of breath

when thou hast breath

To say to me

that thou art out of breath?

Is thy news good or bad?

Answer to that.

Well, you have made

a simple choice.

You know not how

to choose a man.

Romeo?

No, not he.

What says he of our marriage,

what of that?

O Lord, how my head aches!

What a head have I!

Beshrew your heart

for sending me about

To catch my death

with jaunting up and down!

Come, what says Romeo?

Have you got leave

to go to shrift today?

I have.

Then hie you hence

to Friar Laurence' cell.

There stays a husband

to make you a wife.

Good even to

my ghostly confessor.

Come, come,

and we'll make short work,

For, by your leaves,

you shall not stay alone

Till holy church incorporate

two in one.

Mercutio, thou consortest

with Romeo.

'Consort'!

What, dost thou

make us minstrels?

Zounds, 'consort'!

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.

Men's eyes were made to look,

and let them gaze.

I will not budge

for no man's pleasure, I.

Well, peace be with you, sir,

here comes my man.

But I'll be hanged, sir,

if he wear your livery.

Romeo, the love

I bear thee can afford

No better term than this:

thou art a villain.

Tybalt, the reason

I have to love thee

Doth much excuse

the appertaining rage

To such a greeting.

Villain am I none,

Therefore farewell;

I see thou knowest me not.

This shall not excuse

the injuries

That thou hast done me;

therefore turn and draw.

I protest I never injured thee,

But love thee more

than thou canst devise

Till thou shalt know

the reason of my love.

And so, good Capulet,

which name I tender

As dearly as my own...

be satisfied.

O calm, dishonourable,

vile submission!

Peace!

Tybalt, you rat-catcher,

will you walk?

- What wouldst thou have with me?

- Good king of cats,

nothing

but one of your nine lives.

I am for you.

Come, sir, your passado.

Oh!

Away, Tybalt!

I am hurt.

Why the devil

came you between us?

A plague on both your houses.

A plague on both your houses.

Gallop apace,

you fiery-footed steeds,

Towards Phoebus' lodging.

Such a wagoner

As Phaeton would

whip you to the west

And bring in cloudy night

immediately.

Spread thy close curtain,

love-performing night,

That runaways' eyes

may wink and Romeo

Leap to these arms,

untalked of and unseen.

O sweet Juliet,

Thy beauty

hath made me effeminate

And in my temper

softened valour's steel!

Lovers can see

to do their amorous rites

By their own beauties;

or, if love be blind,

It best agrees with night.

Come, civil night,

Come.

Thou sober-suited matron,

all in black,

Hood my unmanned blood,

bating in my cheeks,

With thy black mantle,

till strange love grow bold,

Think true love

acted simple modesty.

This day's black fate

on more days doth depend,

This but begins

the woe others must end.

Alive, in triumph,

and Mercutio slain!

Away to heaven,

respective lenity,

And fire-eyed fury

be my conduct now.

Now, Tybalt.

Romeo, the prince

will doom thee death,

If thou art taken:

Hence, be gone, away!

Come, gentle night, come,

loving black-browed night,

Give me my Romeo.

And when I shall die

Take him and cut him out

in little stars,

And he will make

the face of heaven so fine

That all the world

will be in love with night

And pay no worship

to the garish sun.

Where are the vile beginners

of this fray?

There lies the man.

Slain by young Romeo.

That slew thy kinsman,

brave Mercutio.

Prince, as thou art true,

For blood of ours

shed blood of Montague.

Yes!

Benvolio, who began

this bloody fray?

Tybalt, here slain,

whom Romeo's hand did slay,

Romeo, that spoke him fair,

bade him bethink

How slight the quarrel was,

and urged withal

Your high displeasure.

All this, uttered

With calm breath, gentle look,

knees humbly bowed,

Could not take truce

with the unruly spleen

Of Tybalt deaf to peace,

but that he tilts

With piercing steel

at bold Mercutio's breast.

An envious thrust from Tybalt

hit the life

Of stout Mercutio, and then

Tybalt fled;

He is a kinsman to the Montague.

Affection makes him false;

he speaks not true.

I beg for justice, which thou,

prince, must give:

Romeo slew him,

he slew Mercutio,

Who now the price

of his dear blood doth owe?

Not Romeo, prince,

he was Mercutio's friend.

His fault compels

with what the law doth end,

The life of Tybalt.

And for that offence

Immediately

we do exile him hence.

Prince, no...

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.

Why dost thou wring thy hands?

Ah weraday, he's dead,

he's dead, he's dead!

We are undone, lady,

we are undone.

O courteous Tybalt,

honest gentleman,

That ever I should live

to see thee dead!

What storm is this that blows

so contrary?

Tybalt is gone

and Romeo banished,

Romeo that k*lled him,

he is banished.

O God.

Did Romeo's ha... hand

shed Tybalt's blood?

Serpent heart,

hid with a flowering face!

O nature,

what hadst thou to do in hell

When thou didst bower

the spirit of a fiend

In moral paradise

of such sweet flesh?

Was ever book containing

such vile matter

So fairly bound?

Shame come to Romeo!

Blistered be thy tongue

For such a wish!

He was not born to shame.

Will you speak well of him

that k*lled your cousin?

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,

have mangled it?

But, wherefore, villain,

didst thou k*ll my cousin?

That villain cousin would have

k*lled 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 comfort.

Wherefore weep I then?

Some word there was,

worser than Tybalt's death,

That m*rder*d me.

I would forget it fain,

But O, it presses to my memory

Like damned guilty deeds

to sinner's minds.

Tybalt is dead

and Romeo is banished;

That 'banished',

that one word 'banished'

Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts.

Tybalt's death

Was woe enough,

if it had ended there;

But with a rearward following

Tybalt's death,

'Romeo is banished.'

Stay here in your chamber.

I'll find Romeo

To comfort you.

I'll keep.

I wot well where he is.

Hark ye, your Romeo

will be here at night.

I'll to him.

Hence from Verona

art thou banished.

There is no world

without Verona walls.

But... purgatory,

t*rture, hell itself.

Hence banished is banished

from the world,

And world's exile is death;

then 'banished',

Is death mistermed.

Calling death 'banished',

Thou cutt'st my head off

with a golden axe

And smilest upon the stroke

that murders me.

This is dear mercy,

and thou seest it not.

Tis t*rture and not mercy.

Heaven is here

where Juliet lives.

O thou fond mad man,

hear me a little speak.

Thou wilt speak

again of banishment.

Who is it that knocks so hard?

Whence come you?

What is your will?

Let me come in

and I will tell my errand.

I come from Lady Juliet.

- Comest thou from Juliet?

- Oh.

Where is she, and how doth she,

and what says

My concealed lady

to our cancelled love?

O, she says nothing, sir,

but weeps and weeps,

And now falls on her bed,

and then starts up,

And Tybalt calls,

and then gainst Romeo cries.

As if that name,

Shot from

the deadly level of a g*n,

Did m*rder her,

as that name's cursed hand

m*rder*d her kinsman.

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.

Hold thy desperate hand!

Hast thou slain Tybalt?

Wilt thou slay thyself,

And slay thy lady

that in thy life lives,

By doing damned

hate upon thyself?

What, rouse thee, man!

Thy Juliet is alive,

For whose dear sake thou wast

but lately dead:

There art thou happy.

Tybalt would k*ll thee,

But thou slew'st Tybalt;

there art thou happy:

The law that threatened death

becomes thy friend

Turns it to exile:

there art thou happy.

Happiness courts thee

in her best array,

A pack of blessings lights

up upon thy back,

But like a misbehaved

and sullen wench

Thou pouts upon thy fortune

and thy love.

Take heed, take heed,

for such die miserable.

Go, get thee to thy love

as was decreed.

Ascend her chamber, hence,

and comfort her,

But look thou stay not

till the watch be set,

For then thou canst

not pass to Mantua,

Where thou shalt live,

till we can find a time

To blaze your marriage,

reconcile your friends,

Beg pardon of the Prince

and call thee back

With twenty hundred

thousand times more joy

Than thou went'st forth

in lamentation.

Go before, Nurse.

Commend me to thy lady

Bid her hasten all the house

to bed,

Which heavy sorrow

makes them apt unto.

Romeo is coming.

Either be gone

before the watch be set,

Or by the break of day

disguised from hence.

Sojourn in Mantua.

Meanwhile, I'll seek your man,

Benvolio,

And he shall signify

from time to time

Every good hap to you

that chances here.

Give me your hand.

'Tis late.

Farewell.

Farewell.

Things have fallen out, sir,

so unluckily,

That we have had no time

to move our daughter

'Tis very late;

she'll not come down tonight.

I promise you,

but for your company,

I would have been abed

an hour ago.

These times of woe afford

no time to woo.

Commend me to your daughter.

We will, and know her mind

early tomorrow.

Tonight she's mewed up

to her heaviness.

Sir Paris, I will make

a desperate tender

Of my child's love.

I think she will be ruled

In all respects by me;

nay, more, I doubt it not.

I shall speak with her

ere I go to bed;

Acquaint her here of valiant

Paris' love,

And bid her, mark you me,

on Wednesday next...

But, soft, what day is this?

- Monday, my lady.

- Monday! Ha, ha.

Well, Wednesday is too soon.

A Thursday let it be,

a Thursday, I say,

She shall be married

to this noble earl.

Will you be ready?

Do you like this haste?

Lady, I would that

Thursday were tomorrow.

Well get you gone,

a' Thursday be it then.

Farewell, my lord.

It is so late that we

May call it early by and by.

I must be gone and live,

or stay and die.

Yond light is not daylight;

I know it, I.

It is some meteor

that the sun exhales

To be to thee

this night a torchbearer

And light thee

on thy way to Mantua.

Therefore stay yet;

thou need'st not to be gone.

Let me be ta'en,

let me be put to death.

I am content so thou

wilt have it so.

I have more care to stay

than will to go.

Come, death, and welcome!

Juliet wills it so.

How is't, my soul?

Let's talk; it is not day.

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.

O, now be gone!

More light and light it grows.

More light and light,

more dark and dark our woes!

Farewell.

One kiss, and I'll descend.

- Why, how now, Juliet?

- Father, I am not well.

Evermore weeping

for your cousin's death?

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 love,

But much of grief shows

still some want of wit.

Yet let me weep

for such a feeling loss.

Well girl, thou weep'st not

so much for his death

As that the villain lives

which slaughtered him.

But now I'll tell thee

joyful tidings, girl.

What are they,

beseech your lordship?

Well, well, thou hast

a careful mother, child,

One who, to put thee

from thy heaviness,

Hath sorted out

a sudden day of joy.

Marry, my child,

early next Thursday morn,

The gallant, young

and noble gentleman,

The County Paris,

at Saint Peter's Church

Shall happily make thee there

a joyful bride.

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 marry

Ere he that should be husband

comes to woo.

I will not marry yet;

and when I do, I swear

It shall be Romeo,

whom you know I hate,

Rather than Paris.

These are news indeed!

How now, a conduit, girl?

What, still in tears,

Evermore showering?

How now, my Lord,

Have you delivered

to her my decree?

Ay, Ma'am, but she will none,

she gives you thanks.

Are you not proud?

Do you not count yourself

blessed,

Unworthy as you are,

that I have wrought

So worthy a gentleman

to be your bride?

Not proud you have,

but thankful that you have.

Proud can I never be

of what I hate.

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 fine joints

'gainst Thursday next

To go with Paris

to Saint Peter's Church,

Or I will drag thee

on a hurdle thither.

Good mother,

I beseech you on my knees,

Hear me with patience

but to speak a word.

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.

Shh!

Lord, we scarce

thought us blessed

That God had lent us

but this only child,

But now I see this one

is one too much.

God in heaven bless her!

You are to blame, Lady,

to rate her so.

- Hold thy tongue!

- I speak no treason.

- O, God!

- Can not one speak?

Peace!

You mumbling fool!

Day, night, hour, tide,

time, work, play,

Alone, in company,

still my care has been

To have thee matched;

and having now provided,

To answer

'I'll not wed, I cannot love,

I am too young,

I pray you pardon me.'

But, as you will not wed,

I'll pardon you.

Graze where you will,

you shall not house with me.

Thursday is near.

Lay hand on heart, advise.

An you be mine,

I'll give you to my friend;

And you be not, hang, beg,

starve, die in the streets,

For, by my soul,

I'll ne'er acknowledge thee.

Is there no pity

sitting in the clouds

That can see into the bottom

of my grief?

O sweet my mother,

cast me not away!

Delay this marriage by a month,

a week;

Or if thou do not,

make my bridal bed

In that dim monument

where Tybalt lies.

Talk not to me,

for I'll not speak a word.

Romeo is banished,

and all the world to nothing

He dares ne'er come back

to challenge you;

Or if he do,

it must be done 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 lovely gentleman!

I think you happy

in this second match,

For it excels your first;

or if it did not,

Your first is dead,

or 'twere as good he were.

Speakest thou from thy heart?

And from my soul too,

or else beshrew them both.

Amen.

What?

Well, you have comforted

me marvellous much.

Go in, and tell my lady

I am gone,

Having displeased my mother,

to Laurence' cell,

To make confession

and to be absolved.

Marry, that I will,

and this is wisely done.

On Thursday, sir?

The time is very short.

The lady Capulet

will have it so,

And I am nothing slow

to slack her haste.

You say you do not know

Juliet's mind?

Uneven is the course;

I like it not.

Now, sir, her mother

counts it dangerous

That she do give her sorrow

so much sway,

And in her 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 for this haste.

Happily met,

my lady and my wife!

That may be, sir,

when I may be a wife.

That may be must be, love,

on Thursday next.

What must be shall be.

That's a certain text.

Come you to make confession

to this father?

To answer that,

I should confess to you.

Do not deny to him

that you love me.

I will confess to you

that I love him.

So will ye, I am sure,

that you love me.

If I do so,

it will be of more price,

Being spoke behind your back

than to your face.

Poor soul, thy face

is much abused with tears.

Thy face is mine,

and thou hast slandered it.

That 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?

My leisure serves me,

pensive daughter, now.

My lord, we must entreat

the time alone.

God shield I should

disturb devotion!

Juliet, on Thursday early

will I rouse ye;

Till then, adieu,

and keep this holy kiss.

Past hope, past cure, past help.

O Juliet,

I already know thy grief;

I hear thou must,

and nothing may prorogue it,

On Thursday next be married

to young Paris.

Tell me not, Friar,

that thou hearest 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 joined my heart

and Romeo's, thou our hands;

And ere this hand,

by thee to Romeo sealed,

Shall become the label

to another deed,

Or my true heart with

treacherous revolt

Turn to another,

this shall slay them both.

Therefore,

Give me some present counsel,

or behold, 'Twixt my extremes

and me this bloody knife

Shall play the umpire.

O, I long to die,

If what thou speak'st speak

not of remedy.

Hold, daughter,

I do spy a kind of hope.

If rather than to marry

County Paris

Thou hast the strength

of will to slay thyself,

Then is it likely

thou wilt undertake

A thing like death

to chide away this shame;

And, if thou dar'st,

I'll give thee remedy.

O, bid me leap,

rather than marry Paris.

Hold then:

go home, be merry, give consent

To marry Paris.

Wednesday is tomorrow.

Tomorrow 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 distilling

liquor drink thou off,

When presently through

all thy veins shall run

A cold and drowsy humour,

for no pulse

Shall keep his native progress,

but surcease.

And in this borrowed

likeness of shrunk death

Thou shalt continue

two-and-twenty 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 dead.

Then, as the manner

of our country is,

Thou shalt be borne

to that same ancient vault

Where all the kindred

of the Capulets lie.

In the meantime,

again thou shalt awake,

Shall Romeo by my visit

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 Mantua.

And this shall free thee

from this present shame,

If no inconstant toy

nor childish fear

Abate thy valour

in the acting it.

O, tell not me of fear!

Hold!

Be gone,

be strong and prosperous

In this resolve:

Tomorrow morning I will speed

To Mantua, with this message

to thy lord.

Love will give me strength,

and strength will help afford.

How now, my headstrong,

where have you been gadding?

Where I have learned me

to repent the sin

Of disobedient opposition

To you and your behests,

and am enjoined

By holy Laurence

to fall prostrate here

And beg your pardon.

Pardon, I beseech you;

Henceforward

I am ever ruled by you.

Call for young Paris,

go tell him of this.

I'll have this knot

knit up tomorrow morning.

No, not till Thursday;

there is time enough.

Ay, marry, go,

I say, and fetch him hither.

We shall be short

in our provision:

'Tis now near night.

Tush, I will stir about,

And all things shall be well,

I warrant thee.

My heart is wondrous light

against tomorrow.

That this same wayward girl

is so reclaimed.

Go, Nurse, go with her;

we'll to church tomorrow.

No, gentle Nurse, I pray thee

leave me to myself tonight.

So please you,

let me now be left alone,

And let the Nurse this night

sit up with you,

For I am sure

your hands are full, all,

In this so sudden business.

Good night.

Get thee to bed and rest,

for thou hast need.

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 life.

I'll call them back again

to comfort me.

Nurse!

Nurse!

My dismal scene

I needs must act alone.

Come, vial.

What if this mixture

do not work at all?

Shall I be married

then tomorrow morning?

What if it be a poison

which the Friar

Subtly hath ministered

to have me dead,

Lest in this marriage

he should be dishonoured,

Because he married me

before to Romeo?

I fear it is, and yet me thinks

it should not,

For he hath still been tried

a holy man.

How if, when I am laid

into the tomb,

I wake before the time

that Romeo

Comes to redeem me?

There's a fearful point.

Shall I not then be stifled

in the vault,

And there die strangled

ere my Romeo comes?

Or, if I live,

is it not very like

The horrible conceit

of death and night,

Together with the terror

of the place,

As in a vault,

an ancient receptacle

Where for these many hundred

years, the bones

Of all my buried ancestors

are packed:

where bloody Tybalt,

yet but green in earth,

Lies festering in his shroud,

where, as they say,

At some hours

in the night spirits resort,

And shriek like mandrakes

torn out of the earth

That living mortals,

hearing them, run mad:

Romeo.

Romeo.

Romeo.

Here's drink.

I drink to thee.

Mistress.

My bride.

Fie, you slug-a-bed!

Oh.

What, dressed, and in

your clothes, and down again?

I needs must wake you.

Lady.

Lady?

She's dead!

Help, help.

My lady's dead!

Juliet is dead.

My son, the night

before thy wedding day

Hath death lain with thy wife.

There she lies.

Have I thought long to see

this morning's face,

And doth it give me

such a sight as this?

Ha, let me see her.

Out, alas.

O child.

My child is dead,

And with my child

my joys are buried.

Peace, h*, 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.

Dry up your tears,

and place your rosemary

Upon this fair corpse,

and, as the custom is,

In all her best array,

bear her to church;

Every one prepare

To follow this fair corpse

unto her grave.

How now, Benvolio.

News from Verona!

If I may trust

the flattering truth of sleep,

My dreams presage

some joyful news at hand.

I dreamt my lady came

and found me dead...

Strange dream, that gives

a dead man leave to think...

And breathed such life

with kisses in my lips,

That I revived,

and was an emperor.

Tell me, how doth my lady?

Is my father well?

How doth my Juliet?

That I ask again,

For nothing can be ill

if she be well.

Juliet's body sleeps

in Capel's monument,

And her immortal part

with angels lives.

O, pardon me for bringing

these ill news.

Is it even so?

Then I defy you, stars!

Cousin, have patience!

Tush.

Thou art deceived.

Dost thou bring no message

from the Friar?

No, my good coz.

No matter:

Get thee gone.

O mischief, thou art swift

To enter in the thoughts

of desperate men.

Romeo!

Stop thy unhallowed toil,

vile Montague!

Condemned villain,

I do apprehend thee.

Obey and go with me,

for thou must die.

I must indeed.

I'll bury thee

in a triumphant grave.

A grave...

O, no, a lantern,

slaughtered youth.

For here lies Juliet,

and her beauty makes

This vault a feasting presence

full of light.

O my love...

my wife.

Why art thou yet so fair?

Shall I believe

That unsubstantial death

is amorous.

And that the lean abhorred

monster keeps

Thee here in the 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.

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 death.

Here's to my love.

Thus with a kiss I die.

What's here?

A cup, closed

in my true love's hand?

Oh.

No, no. No, no. No.

Poison, I see,

hath been his timeless end.

O churl, drank 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.

Thy lips are warm!

Romeo!

No!!!

O happy dagger!

This is thy sheath.

There rust...

and let me die.

See what a scourge

is laid upon your hate,

That heaven finds means

to k*ll your joys with love.

Seal up the mouth

of outrage for awhile

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 death.

Meantime forbear,

And let mischance

be sl*ve to patience.

For never was a story

of more woe

Than this of Juliet

and her Romeo.

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