Reading Help THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET
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.- Light 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, love, it was the nightingale. `
` Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn; `
` No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks `
` Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East. `
` 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 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 the way to Mantua. `
` Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. `
` Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death. `
` 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 high above our heads. `
` 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. `
` 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 sweet 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 light and light it grows. `
` Rom. More light and light- more dark and dark our woes! `
` `
` 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 life out. `
` [Exit.] `
` Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend. `
` He goeth down. `
` Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my love, 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, love, to thee. `
` Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? `
` Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve `
` For sweet 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 dead in the bottom of a tomb. `
` Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. `
` Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. `
` Dry sorrow drinks our blood. 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 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. `
` 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 death `
` 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 death! `
` Lady. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not. `
` Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, `
` Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, `
` Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram `
` That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; `
` And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. `
` Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied `
` With Romeo till I behold him- dead- `
` Is my poor heart so for a kinsman 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 love I bore my cousin Tybalt `
` 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, 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. 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 sun sets the air doth drizzle dew, `
` But for the sunset of my brother's son `
` 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 love. `
` 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 fine joints 'gainst Thursday next `
` To go with Paris 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. `
`
` Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed; `
` Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. `
` Farewell, My lord.- Light 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, love, it was the nightingale. `
` Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn; `
` No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks `
` Do lace the severing clouds in yonder East. `
` 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 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 the way to Mantua. `
` Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. `
` Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death. `
` 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 high above our heads. `
` 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. `
` 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 sweet 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 light and light it grows. `
` Rom. More light and light- more dark and dark our woes! `
` `
` 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 life out. `
` [Exit.] `
` Rom. Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend. `
` He goeth down. `
` Jul. Art thou gone so, my lord, my love, 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, love, to thee. `
` Jul. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? `
` Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve `
` For sweet 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 dead in the bottom of a tomb. `
` Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. `
` Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. `
` Dry sorrow drinks our blood. 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 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. `
` 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 death `
` 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 death! `
` Lady. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not. `
` Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, `
` Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, `
` Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram `
` That he shall soon keep Tybalt company; `
` And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied. `
` Jul. Indeed I never shall be satisfied `
` With Romeo till I behold him- dead- `
` Is my poor heart so for a kinsman 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 love I bore my cousin Tybalt `
` 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, 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. 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 sun sets the air doth drizzle dew, `
` But for the sunset of my brother's son `
` 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 love. `
` 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 fine joints 'gainst Thursday next `
` To go with Paris 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. `
`