EPISODE 4

Act 3, Scene 1 continued - the same Monday afternoon on the street in Verona
Enter Citizens.
1. CIT.
Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
BEN.
There lies that Tybalt.
1. CIT.
Up, sir, go with me;
I charge thee in the Prince’s name, obey.
Enter Prince, old Montague, Capulet, their Wives, and all.
PRIN.
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
BEN.
O noble Prince, I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
L. CAP.
Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!
O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d
Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
O cousin, cousin!
PRIN.
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
BEN.
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay!
Romeo that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal
Your high displeasure; all this, uttered
With gentle breath, calm 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,
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,
“Hold, friends! Friends, part!” and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain’d revenge,
And to’t they go like lightning, for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
L. CAP.
He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give:
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
PRIN.
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
MONT.
Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;
His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
PRIN.
And for that offense
Immediately we do exile him hence.
I have an interest in your hearts’ proceeding;
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
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.
Bear hence this body and attend our will;
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
Exeunt.


Act 3, Scene 2 - simultaneously at the Capulet house
Enter Juliet alone.
JUL.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging; such a wagoner
As Phaëton would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That th’ runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk’d of and unseen!
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,
Thou sober-suited matron all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle, till strange love grow bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come, night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night,
Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d 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.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess’d it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? The cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch?
NURSE.
Ay, ay, the cords.
JUL.
Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?
NURSE.
Ah, weraday, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!
We are undone, lady, we are undone!
Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead!
JUL.
Can heaven be so envious?
NURSE.
Romeo can,
Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo!
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
JUL.
What devil art thou that dost torment me thus?
This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but ay,
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.
I am not I, if there be such an ay,
Or those eyes shut, that makes thee answer ay.
If he be slain, say ay, or if not, no.
Brief sounds determine my weal or woe.
NURSE.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes—
God save the mark!—here on his manly breast.
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse,
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,
All in gore blood; I swooned at the sight.
JUL.
O, break, my heart, poor bankrupt, break at once!
To prison, eyes, ne’er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign, end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
NURSE.
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman,
That ever I should live to see thee dead!
JUL.
What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaught’red? And is Tybalt dead?
My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom,
For who is living, if those two are gone?
NURSE.
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
JUL.
O God, did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?
NURSE.
It did, it did, alas the day, it did!
JUL.
O serpent heart, hid with a flow’ring face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! Fiend angelical!
Dove-feather’d raven! Wolvish ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st,
A damned saint, an honorable villain!
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
NURSE.
There’s no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men, all perjur’d,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, where’s my man? Give me some aqua-vitae;
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!
JUL.
Blister’d be thy tongue
For such a wish! He was not born to shame:
Upon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;
For ’tis a throne where honor may be crown’d
Sole monarch of the universal earth.
O, what a beast was I to chide at him!
NURSE.
Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?
JUL.
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 kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill’d 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 murd’red me; I would forget it fain,
But O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds:
“Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.”
That “banished,” that one word “banished,”
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death
Was woe enough if it had ended there;
Or if sour woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank’d with other griefs,
Why followed not, when she said, “Tybalt’s dead,”
Thy father or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have moved?
But with a rearward following Tybalt’s death,
“Romeo is banished”: to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead: “Romeo is banished”!
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.
Where is my father and my mother, nurse?
NURSE.
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
JUL.
Wash they his wounds with tears? Mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,
Both you and I, for Romeo is exil’d.
He made you for a highway to my bed,
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords, come, nurse, I’ll to my wedding-bed,
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
NURSE.
Hie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo
To comfort you, I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.
I’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.
JUL.
O, find him! Give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
Exeunt.


Act 3, Scene 3 - late Monday afternoon at Friar Lawrence cell
Enter Friar Lawrence.
FRI. L.
Romeo, come forth, come forth, thou fearful man:
Affliction is enamor’d of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Enter Romeo.
ROM.
Father, what news? What is the Prince’s doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
FRI. L.
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company!
I bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom.
ROM.
What less than dooms-day is the Prince’s doom?
FRI. L.
A gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips—
Not body’s death, but body’s banishment.
ROM.
Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say “death”;
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death. Do not say “banishment”!
FRI. L.
Here from Verona art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
ROM.
There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence “banished” is banish’d from the world,
And world’s exile is death; then “banished”
Is death misterm’d. Calling death “banished,”
Thou cut’st my head off with a golden axe,
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
FRI. L.
O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rush’d aside the law,
And turn’d that black word ’death’ to “banishment.”
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
ROM.
Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here
Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her,
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honorable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo; they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not, he is banished.
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly;
They are free men, but I am banished:
And sayest thou yet that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,
But “banished” to kill me? “Banished”?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howling attends it. How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,
To mangle me with that word “banished”?
FRI. L.
Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
ROM.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
FRI. L.
I’ll give thee armor to keep off that word:
Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee though thou art banished.
ROM.
Yet “banished”? Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince’s doom,
It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more.
FRI. L.
O then I see that madmen have no ears.
ROM.
How should they when that wise men have no eyes?
FRI. L.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
ROM.
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Enter Nurse within and knock.


FRI. L.
Arise, one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.
ROM.
Not I, unless the breath of heart-sick groans
Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
Knock.
FRI. L.
Hark how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise,
Thou wilt be taken.—Stay a while!—Stand up;
Loud knock.
Run to my study.—By and by!—God’s will,
What simpleness is this?—I come, I come!
Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? What’s your will?
NURSE.
Within.
Let me come in, and you shall know my errant.
I come from Lady Juliet.
FRI. L.
Welcome then.
Enter Nurse.
NURSE.
O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar,
Where’s my lady’s lord? Where’s Romeo?
FRI. L.
There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
NURSE.
O, he is even in my mistress’ case,
Just in her case. O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament! Even so lies she,
Blubb’ring and weeping, weeping and blubb’ring.
Stand up, stand up, stand, and you be a man.
For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand;
Why should you fall into so deep an O?
ROM.
Nurse!
NURSE.
Ah sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all.
ROM.
Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain’d the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little from her own?
Where is she? And how doth she? And what says
My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?
NURSE.
O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
ROM.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her, as that name’s cursed hand
Murder’d her kinsman. O, 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.
FRI. L.
Hold thy desperate hand!
Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art;
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast.
Unseemly woman in a seeming man,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both,
Thou hast amaz’d me! By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper’d.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself,
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why railest thou on thy birth? The heaven and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit,
Which like a usurer abound’st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valor of a man;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismemb’red with thine own defense.
What, rouse thee, man! Thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead:
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slewest Tybalt: there art thou happy.
The law that threat’ned death becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile: there art thou happy.
A pack of blessings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her best array,
But like a mishaved 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,
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
NURSE.
O Lord, I could have sta’d here all the night
To hear good counsel. O, what learning is!
My lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.
ROM.
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
NURSE.
Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
ROM.
How well my comfort is reviv’d by this!
Exit Nurse.
FRI. L.
Go hence, good night; and here stands all your state:
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis’d from hence.
Sojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here.
Give me thy hand. ’Tis late; farewell, good night.
ROM.
But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee.
Farewell.
Exeunt.


Act 3, Scene 4 - late Monday evening at the Capulet house
Enter old Capulet, his Wife, and Paris.
CAP.
Things have fall’n out, sir, so unluckily
That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I. Well, we were born to die.
Tis very late, she’ll not come down tonight.
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
PAR.
These times of woe afford no times to woo.
Madam, good night, commend me to your daughter.
L. CAP.
I will, and know her mind early tomorrow;
Tonight she’s mewed up to her heaviness.
CAP.
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed,
Acquaint her here of my son Paris’ love,
And bid her—mark you me?—on We’n’sday next—
But soft, what day is this?


PAR.
Monday, my lord.
CAP.
Monday! Ha, ha! Well, We’n’sday is too soon,
A’ Thursday let it be—a’ Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl.
Will you be ready? Do you like this haste?
We’ll keep no great ado—a friend or two,
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
PAR.
My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.
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 late that we
May call it early by and by. Good night.
Exeunt.


Act 3, Scene 5 - almost dawn on Tuesday in Juliet’s room
Romeo; Juliet; Nurse; Lady Capulet; Capulet
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 day-light, I know it, I;
It is some meteor that the sun exhal’d
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer
And light thee on thy 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 change 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 hastily.
NURSE.
Madam!
JUL.
Nurse?
NURSE.
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke, be wary, look about.
Exit.
JUL.
Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
ROM.
Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I’ll descend.
JUL.
Art thou gone so, love, lord, ay, husband, 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 times to come.
JUL.
O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee now, thou art so low,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.
Either my eyesight fails, or thou lookest 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 renowm’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune:
For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back.