EPISODE 5

Act 3, Scene 5 continued - just after dawn on Tuesday in Juliet’s room
L. CAP.
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 Capulet.
L. CAP.
Why, how now, Juliet?
JUL.
Madam, I am not well.
L. CAP.
Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
And 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.
L. CAP.
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.
L. CAP.
Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.
JUL.
What villain, madam?
L. CAP.
That same villain Romeo.
JUL.
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.
L. CAP.
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!
L. CAP.
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
Upon his body that hath slaughter’d him!
L. CAP.
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, beseech your ladyship?
L. CAP.
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?
L. CAP.
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!
L. CAP.
Here comes your father, tell him so yourself;
And see how he will take it at your hands.
Enter Capulet and Nurse.
CAP.
When the sun sets, the earth 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 counterfeits 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?
L. CAP.
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 bride?
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, chopp’d logic! 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! Out, you baggage!
You tallow-face!
L. CAP.
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.
Out on her, hilding!


NURSE.
God in heaven bless her!
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
CAP.
And why, my Lady Wisdom? Hold your tongue,
Good Prudence, smatter with your gossips, go.
NURSE.
I speak no treason.
CAP.
O, God-i-goden!
NURSE.
May not one speak?
CAP.
Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,
For here we need it not.
L. CAP.
You are too hot.
CAP.
God’s bread, it makes me mad! Day, night, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match’d; and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful and nobly lien’d,
Stuff’d, as they say, with honorable parts,
Proportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man,
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender,
To answer, “I’ll not wed, I cannot love;
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.”
But and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.
Look to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near, lay hand on heart, advise.
And 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,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good.
Trust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn.
Exit.
JUL.
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O sweet my mother, cast me not away!
Delay this marriage for a month, a week,
Or if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
L. CAP.
Talk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word.
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
Exit.
JUL.
O God!—O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven;
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me!
Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself!
What say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
NURSE.
Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banished, and all the world to nothing
That he dares ne’er come back to challenge you;
Or if he do, it needs must be 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!
Romeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are 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
As living here and you no use of him.
JUL.
Speak’st thou from thy heart?
NURSE.
And from my soul too, else beshrew them both.
JUL.
Amen!
NURSE.
What?
JUL.
Well, thou hast comforted me marvelous much.
Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell,
To make confession and to be absolv’d.
NURSE.
Marry, I will, and this is wisely done.
Exit.
JUL.
Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais’d him with above compare
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor,
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
I’ll to the friar to know his remedy;
If all else fail, myself have power to die.
Exit.


Act 4, Scene 1 - early Tuesday morning at Friar Lawrence cell
Friar Lawrence’s cell.
Enter Friar Lawrence and County Paris.
FRI. L.
On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.
PAR.
My father Capulet will have it so,
And I am nothing slow to slack his haste.
FRI. L.
You say you do not know the lady’s mind?
Uneven is the course, I like it not.
PAR.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death,
And therefore have I little talk’d of love,
For Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she do give her sorrow so much sway;
And in his 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 of this haste.
FRI. L.
I would I knew not why it should be slowed.—
Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.
Enter Juliet.
PAR.
Happily met, my lady and my wife!
JUL.
That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
PAR.
That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.
JUL.
What must be shall be.
FRI. L.
That’s a certain text.
PAR.
Come you to make confession to this father?
JUL.
To answer that, I should confess to you.
PAR.
Do not deny to him that you love me.
JUL.
I will confess to you that I love him.
PAR.
So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.
JUL.
If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back, than to your face.
PAR.
Poor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.
JUL.
The tears have got small victory by that,
For it was bad enough before their spite.
PAR.
Thou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.
JUL.
That is no slander, sir, which is a truth,
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.
PAR.
Thy face is mine, and thou hast sland’red it.
JUL.
It 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?
FRI. L.
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
My lord, we must entreat the time alone.
PAR.
God shield I should disturb devotion!
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye;
Till then adieu, and keep this holy kiss.
Exit.
JUL.
O, shut the door, and when thou hast done so,
Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!
FRI. L.
O Juliet, I already know thy grief,
It strains me past the compass of my wits.
I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it,
On Thursday next be married to this County.
JUL.
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 join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands,
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my true heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both.
Therefore, out of thy long-experienc’d time,
Give me some present counsel, or, behold,
Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
Which the commission of thy years and art
Could to no issue of true honor bring.
Be not so long to speak, I long to die,
If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.
FRI. L.
Hold, daughter! I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we would prevent.
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,
That cop’st with Death himself to scape from it;
And if thou darest, I’ll give thee remedy.
JUL.
O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of any tower,
Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk
Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears,
Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house,
O’ercover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones,
With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls;
Or bid me go into a new-made grave,
And hide me with a dead man in his shroud—
Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble—
And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.
FRI. L.
Hold then. Go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris. We’n’sday 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 humor; for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease;
No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To wanny ashes, thy eyes’ windows fall,
Like death when he shuts up the day of life;
Each part, depriv’d of supple government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death,
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty 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,
In thy best robes, uncovered on the bier,
Thou shall be borne to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,
And hither shall he come, an’ 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 womanish fear,
Abate thy valor in the acting it.
JUL.
Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!
FRI. L.
Hold, get you gone. Be strong and prosperous
In this resolve. I’ll send a friar with speed
To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord.
JUL.
Love give me strength! And strength shall help afford.
Farewell, dear father!
Exeunt.


Act 4, Scene 2 - late Tuesday evening at the Capulet house
Enter Capulet, Mother Lady Capulet, Nurse, and Servingmen
CAP.
So many guests invite as here are writ.
Exit First Servant.
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
2. SERV.
You shall have none ill, sir, for I’ll try if they can lick their fingers.
CAP.
How canst thou try them so?
2. SERV.
Marry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.
CAP.
Go, be gone.
Exit Second Servant.
We shall be much unfurnish’d for this time.
What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence?



NURSE.
Ay forsooth.
CAP.
Well, he may chance to do some good on her.
A peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.
Enter Juliet.
NURSE.
See where she comes from shrift with merry look.
CAP.
How now, my headstrong, where have you been gadding?
JUL.
Where I have learnt me to repent the sin
Of disobedient opposition
To you and your behests, and am enjoin’d
By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here
To beg your pardon.
Pardon, I beseech you!
Henceforward I am ever rul’d by you.
CAP.
Send for the County, go tell him of this.
I’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning.
JUL.
I met the youthful lord at Lawrence’ cell,
And gave him what becomed love I might,
Not stepping o’er the bounds of modesty.
CAP.
Why, I am glad on’t, this is well, stand up.
This is as’t should be. Let me see the County;
Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither.
Now, afore God, this reverend holy friar,
All our whole city is much bound to him.


JUL.
Nurse, will you go with me into my closet
To help me sort such needful ornaments
As you think fit to furnish me tomorrow?
L. CAP.
No, not till Thursday, there is time enough.
CAP.
Go, nurse, go with her, we’ll to church tomorrow.
Exeunt Juliet and Nurse.
L. CAP.
We shall be short in our provision,
Tis now near night.
CAP.
Tush, I will stir about,
And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife;
Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her.
I’ll not to bed tonight; let me alone,
I’ll play the huswife for this once. What ho!
They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself
To County Paris, to prepare up him
Against tomorrow. My heart is wondrous light,
Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim’d.
Exeunt.


Act 4, Scene 3 - late Tuesday night in Juliet’s room
Enter Juliet and Nurse.
JUL.
Ay, those attires are best, but, gentle nurse,
I pray thee leave me to myself tonight,
For I have need of many orisons
To move the heavens to smile upon my state,
Which, well thou knowest, is cross and full of sin.
Enter Mother, Lady Capulet.
L. CAP.
What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?
JUL.
No, madam, we have cull’d such necessaries
As are behoofeful for our state tomorrow.
So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the nurse this night sit up with you,
For I am sure you have your hands full all,
In this so sudden business.
L. CAP.
Good night.
Get thee to bed and rest, for thou hast need.
Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.
JUL.
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!—What should she do here?
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?
No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there.
What if it be a poison which the friar
Subtly hath minist’red to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonor’d
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is, and yet methinks 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
Come to redeem me? There’s a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
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 this many hundred years the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack’d,
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest’ring in his shroud, where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort—
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking—what with loathsome smells,
And shrikes like mandrakes’ torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad—
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears,
And madly play with my forefathers’ joints,
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud,
And in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone,
As with a club, dash out my desp’rate brains?
O, look! Methinks I see my cousin’s ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romeo, Romeo, Romeo! Here’s drink—I drink to thee.