EPISODE 3

Act 2, Scene 3 - a few minutes later, sunrise on Monday morning in Friar Lawrence’s garden
Enter Friar Lawrence alone, with a basket.
FRI. L.
The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,
Check’ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels.
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer and night’s dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb;
And from her womb children of diverse kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find:
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities;
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice sometime by action dignified.
Enter Romeo.
Within the infant rind of this weak flower
Poison hath residence and medicine power;
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part,
Being tasted, stays 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.
ROM.
Good morrow, father.
FRI. L.
Benedicite!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distempered head
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art up-rous’d with some distemp’rature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right—
Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.
ROM.
That last is true—the sweeter rest was mine.
FRI. L.
God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?
ROM.
With Rosaline? My ghostly father, no;
I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.
FRI. L.
That’s my good son, but where hast thou been then?
ROM.
I’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
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.
I bear no hatred, blessed man, for lo
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
FRI. L.
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift,
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
ROM.
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 combin’d, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When and where and how
We met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow,
I’ll tell thee as we pass, but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us today.
FRI. L.
Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine
Hath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans yet ringing in mine ancient ears;
Lo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.
If e’er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
And art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.
ROM.
Thou chidst me oft for loving Rosaline.
FRI. L.
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
ROM.
And badst me bury love.
FRI. L.
Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
ROM.
I pray thee chide me not. Her I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
FRI. L.
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’ rancor to pure love.
ROM.
O, let us hence, I stand on sudden haste.
FRI. L.
Wisely and slow, they stumble that run fast.
Exeunt.


Act 2, Scene 4 - later on Monday morning. A street in Verona
Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.
MER.
Where the dev’l should this Romeo be?
Came he not home tonight?
BEN.
Not to his father’s, I spoke with his man.
MER.
Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
BEN.
Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father’s house.
MER.
A challenge, on my life.
BEN.
Romeo will answer it.
MER.
Any man that can write may answer a letter.
BEN.
Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dar’d.
MER.
Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabb’d with a white wench’s black eye, run through the ear with a love-song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
BEN.
Why, what is Tybalt?
MER.
More than Prince of Cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; he rests his minim rests, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado, the punto reverso, the hay!
BEN.
The what?
MER.
The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting phantasimes, these new tuners of accent! “By Jesu, a very good blade! A very tall man! A very good whore!”
Enter Romeo.
BEN.
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
MER.
Without his roe, like a dried herring: O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Signior Romeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
ROM.
Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
MER.
The slip, sir, the slip, can you not conceive?
ROM.
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.


MER.
That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
ROM.
Meaning to cur’sy.
MER.
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
ROM.
A most courteous exposition.
MER.
Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
ROM.
Pink for flower.
MER.
Right.
ROM.
Why then is my pump well flower’d.
MER.
Sure wit! Follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, solely singular.
ROM.
O single-sol’d jest, solely singular for the singleness!
MER.
Come between us, good Benvolio, my wits faints.
ROM.
Swits and spurs, swits and spurs, or I’ll cry a match.
MER.
Nay, if our wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done; for thou hast more of the wild goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose?
ROM.
Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose.
MER.
I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
ROM.
Nay, good goose, bite not.
MER.
Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.
ROM.
And is it not then well serv’d in to a sweet goose?
MER.
O, here’s a wit of cheverel, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!
ROM.
I stretch it out for that word “broad,” which, added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
MER.
Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature, for this drivelling love is like a great natural that runs lolling up and down to hide his bable in a hole.
BEN.
Stop there, stop there.
MER.
Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
BEN.
Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
MER.
O, thou art deceiv’d; I would have made it short, for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer.
ROM.
Here’s goodly gear!
Enter Nurse and her man, Peter.
A sail, a sail!
MER.
Two, two: a shirt and a smock.
NURSE.
Peter!
PET.
Anon!
NURSE.
My fan, Peter.
MER.
Good Peter, to hide her face, for her fan’s the fairer face.
NURSE.
God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
MER.
God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
NURSE.
Is it good den?
MER.
Tis no less, I tell ye, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
NURSE.
Out upon you, what a man are you?
ROM.
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made, himself to mar.
NURSE.
By my troth, it is well said; “for himself to mar,” quoth ’a! Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?
ROM.
I can tell you, but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.
NURSE.
You say well.
MER.
Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’ faith, wisely, wisely.
NURSE.
If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
BEN.
She will indite him to some supper.
MER.
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!



ROM.
What hast thou found?
MER.
No hare, sir, unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.
He walks by them and sings.
An old hare hoar,
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in Lent;
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a score,
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.
ROM.
I will follow you.
MER.
Farewell, ancient lady, farewell,
Singing.
“lady, lady, lady.”
Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
NURSE.
I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?
ROM.
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
NURSE.
And ’a speak any thing against me, I’ll take him down, and ’a were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I’ll find those that shall. Scurvy knave, I am none of his flirt-gills, I am none of his skains-mates.
And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!
PET.
I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.


NURSE.
Now, afore God, I am so vex’d that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, 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 in a fool’s paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young; and therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be off’red to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
ROM.
Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee—
NURSE.
Good heart, and, i’ faith, I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman.
ROM.
What wilt thou tell her, nurse? Thou dost not mark me.
NURSE.
I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a gentleman-like offer.
ROM.
Bid her devise
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon,
And there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell
Be shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.
NURSE.
No, truly, sir, not a penny.
ROM.
Go to, I say you shall.
NURSE.
This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
ROM.
And stay, good nurse—behind the abbey wall
Within this hour my man shall be with thee,
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains.
Farewell, commend me to thy mistress.
NURSE.
Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
ROM.
What say’st thou, my dear nurse?
NURSE.
Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,
“Two may keep counsel, putting one away”?
ROM.
Warrant thee, my man’s as true as steel.
NURSE.
Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady—Lord, Lord! When ’twas a little prating thing—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?
ROM.
Ay, nurse, what of that? Both with an R.
NURSE.
Ah, mocker, that’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it begins with some other letter—and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.
ROM.
Commend me to thy lady.
NURSE.
Ay, a thousand times.
Exit Romeo.
Peter!
PET.
Anon!
NURSE.
Before, and apace.
Exit after Peter.


Act 2, Scene 5 - noon on Monday at the Capulet house
Enter Juliet.
JUL.
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him—that’s not so.
O, she is lame! Love’s heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me.
But old folks—many feign as they were dead,
Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse and Peter.
O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
NURSE.
Peter, stay at the gate.
Exit Peter.
JUL.
Now, good sweet nurse—O Lord, why lookest thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
NURSE.
I am a-weary, give me leave a while.
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I!
JUL.
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news.
Nay, come, I pray thee speak, good, good nurse, speak.
NURSE.
Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay a while?
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
JUL.
How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that.
Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.
Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?
NURSE.
Well, you have made a simple choice, you know not how to choose a man. Romeo! No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels all men’s, and for a hand and a foot and a body, though they be not to be talk’d on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but I’ll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench, serve God. What, have you din’d at home?
JUL.
No, no! But all this did I know before.
What says he of our marriage? What of that?
NURSE.
Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I!
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back a’ t’ other side—ah, my back, my back!
Beshrew your heart for sending me about
To catch my death with jauncing up and down!



JUL.
I’ faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love?
NURSE.
Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
An’ a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And, I warrant, a virtuous—Where is your mother?
JUL.
Where is my mother! Why, she is within,
Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!
“Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
Where is your mother?’”
NURSE.
O God’s lady dear!
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow;
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
JUL.
Here’s such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?
NURSE.
Have you got leave to go to shrift today?
JUL.
I have.
NURSE.
Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell,
There stays a husband to make you a wife.
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church, I must another way,
To fetch a ladder, by the which your love
Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
Go, I’ll to dinner, hie you to the cell.
JUL.
Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.
Exeunt.


Act 2, Scene 6 - a few minutes later at Friar Lawrence’s cell
Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.
FRI. L.
So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!
ROM.
Amen, amen! But come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight.
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare,
It is enough I may but call her mine.
FRI. L.
These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately: long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter Juliet.
Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint;
A lover may bestride the gossamers
That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
JUL.
Good even to my ghostly confessor.
FRI. L.
Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
JUL.
As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
ROM.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbor air, and let rich music’s tongue
Unfold the imagin’d happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JUL.
Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament;
They are but beggars that can count their worth,
But my true love is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
FRI. L.
Come, come with me, and we will make short work,
For by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
Till Holy Church incorporate two in one.
Exeunt.


Act 3, Scene 1 - the same Monday afternoon out in the street
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Men.
BEN.
I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire.
The day is hot, the Capels are abroad,
And if we meet we shall not scape a brawl,
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
MER.
Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, “God send me no need of thee!” and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
BEN.
Am I like such a fellow?
MER.
Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon mov’d to be moody, and as soon moody to be mov’d.
BEN.
And what to?
MER.
Nay, and there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarreling. Thou hast quarrell’d with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath waken’d thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? With another for tying his new shoes with old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarreling!
BEN.
And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
MER.
The fee-simple! O simple!
Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.
BEN.
By my head, here comes the Capulets.
MER.
By my heel, I care not.
TYB.
Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den, a word with one of you.
MER.
And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something, make it a word and a blow.
TYB.
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion.
MER.
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYB.
Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo—
MER.
Consort! What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s that shall make you dance. ’Zounds, consort!
BEN.
We talk here in the public haunt of men.
Either withdraw unto some private place,
Or reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MER.
Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.
Enter Romeo.
TYB.
Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.
MER.
But I’ll be hang’d, sir, if he wear your livery.
Marry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;
Your worship in that sense may call him man.
TYB.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this: thou art a villain.
ROM.
Tybalt, the reason that 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.
TYB.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.
ROM.
I do protest I never injuried thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise,
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love,
And so, good Capulet—which name I tender
As dearly as mine own—be satisfied.
MER.
O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!
Alia stoccato carries it away.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
TYB.
What wouldst thou have with me?
MER.
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
TYB.
I am for you.
ROM.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
MER.
Come, sir, your passado.
ROM.
Draw, Benvolio, beat down their weapons.
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath
Forbid this bandying in Verona streets.
Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!
Exeunt Tybalt with his followers.
MER.
I am hurt.
A plague a’ both houses! I am sped.
Is he gone and hath nothing?
BEN.
What, art thou hurt?
MER.
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch, marry, ’tis enough.
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
Exit Page.
ROM.
Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much.
MER.
No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door, but ’tis enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am pepper’d, I warrant, for this world. A plague a’ both your houses! ’Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the dev’l came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
ROM.
I thought all for the best.
MER.
Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague a’ both your houses!
They have made worms’ meat of me. I have it,
And soundly too. Your houses!
Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
ROM.
This gentleman, the Prince’s near ally,
My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain’d
With Tybalt’s slander—Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been my cousin! O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper soft’ned valor’s steel!
Enter Benvolio.
BEN.
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead!
That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
ROM.
This day’s black fate on more days doth depend,
This but begins the woe others must end.
Enter Tybalt.
BEN.
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
ROM.
He gone in triumph, and Mercutio slain!
Away to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the “villain” back again
That late thou gavest me, for Mercutio’s soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company.
Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.
TYB.
Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
ROM.
This shall determine that.
BEN.
Romeo, away, be gone!
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
Stand not amazed, the Prince will doom thee death
If thou art taken. Hence be gone, away!

ROM.
O, I am fortune’s fool!
BEN.
Why dost thou stay?
Exit Romeo.