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Juliet's chamber.
[Enter Nurse]
NURSE
Mistress, what mistress? Juliet? Fast I warrant her she.
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Why lamb,| why la|dy, fie | you slug|-a-bed,
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Why* love | I say?| Madam, sweetheart*:| why*
bride?
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What not | a word?| You take | your
pen|nyworths^now.
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Sleep for a | week, for | the next | night I |
warrant
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The count|y Par|is hath | set^up | his rest,
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That you | shall rest | but little,| God for|give
me:
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Marry | and amen:| how sound | is she | asleep?
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I must needs | wake her:| Madam,| madam,| madam,
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Aye, let | the count|y take | you in | your bed,
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He'll fright | you up | in faith.| Will it / not
be?
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What dressed,| and in | your clothes,| and down |
again?
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I must needs | wake you:| Lady,| lady,| lady?
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Alas,| alas, help help,| my la|dy's dead,
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Oh well-|a-day,| that ev|er I | was born,
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Some a|qua vitae | ho, my | lord, my | lady?
[Enter LADY CAPULET]
LADY CAPULET
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What noise | is here?
NURSE
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O la|menta|ble day.
LADY CAPULET
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Tx
What is the | matter?
NURSE
T T
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Look, look,| O hea|vy day.
LADY CAPULET
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O me,| O me,| my child,| my on|ly life:
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Revive,| look^up,| or I | will die | with thee:
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Help,| help,| Call | help.
[Enter CAPULET]
CAPULET
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For shame || bring Jul/iet | forth, her | lord is |
come.
NURSE
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She's dead:| deceased,| she's dead:| alack | the
day.
LADY CAPULET
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Alack | the day,| she's dead,| she's dead,| she's
dead.
CAPULET
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Ha? Let | me see | her: out | alas | she's cold,
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Her blood | is set|tled and | her joints | are
stiff:
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Life and these^|lips have | long been | sepa|rated:
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Death lies on | her like | an untime|ly frost
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Upon | the sweet|est flower | of all | the field.
NURSE
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O la|mentab|le day!
LADY CAPULET
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O woe|ful time.
CAPULET
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Death that | hath tane | her hence | to make | me wail,
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Ties up | my tongue,| and will / not let | me speak.
[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians]
FRIAR LAURENCE
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Come, is | the bride | ready | to go | to church?
CAPULET
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Ready | to go,| but nev|er to | return.
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O son,| the night | before | thy wed|ding-day,
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Hath Death lain | with thy / wife: There | she lies,
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Flower | as she | was, de|flowered | by him.
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Death is | my son-|in-law,| Death is | my heir,
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My daught|er he | hath wed|ded. I | will die,
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And leave | him all | life liv/ing, all^|is
Death's.
PARIS
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Have I / thought long | to see | this morn|ing's face,
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And doth | it give | me such | a sight | as this?
LADY CAPULET
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Accursed,| unhap|py, wretch|ed, hate|ful day.
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T
Most mis/erable | hour, that | ere time saw
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In last|ing lab|or of | his pil|grimage.
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But one,| poor one, one | poor and | loving || child,
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But | one thing / to re|joice and | solace in,
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And cru|el death | hath catched | it from | my
sight.
NURSE
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O woe,| O woe|ful, woe|ful, woe|ful day,
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Most la|mentab|le day,| most^woe|ful day,
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That ev|er, ev|er, I | did yet | behold.
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O day,| O day,| O day,| O hate|ful day,
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Never | was seen | so black | a day | as this:
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O woe|ful day,| O woeful | day.
PARIS
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Beguiled,| divorced,| wronged,| spited,| slain,
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Most de|testab|le death,| by thee | beguiled,
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By cruel,| cruel thee, quite | over|thrown:
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O love,| O life;| not^life,| but love | in death.
CAPULET
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Despised,| distressed,| hated,| martyred,|
killed,
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Uncom|fortab|le time,| why camst | thou now
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To murd|er, murd|er our | solem|nity?
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O child,| O child;| my soul,| and not | my child,
T T T
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Dead art thou,| Alack | my child | is dead,
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And with | my child,| my joys | are bur|ied.
FRIAR LAURENCE
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Peace ho | for shame,| confus|ions: Care,| lives^not
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In these | confus|ions, heav|en and | yourself
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Had part | in this / fair maid,| now heaven |
hath all,
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And all | the bet|ter is | it for | the maid:
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Your part | in her,| you could | not keep | from
death,
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But heav|en keeps | his part | in etern|al life:
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The most | you sought | was her | promo|tion,
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For 'twas | your heav|en, she | should be |
advanced,
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And weep | ye now,| seeing | she is | advanced
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Above | the clouds,| as high | as heaven |
itself?
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O in | this love,| you love | your child | so
ill,
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That you | run^mad,| seeing | that she | is well:
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T
Tx T
She's not | well mar/ried, that | lives
married long,
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But she's | best mar/ried, that | dies married
young.
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Dry^up | your tears,| and stick | your rose|mary
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On this / fair corse,| and as | the cust|om is,
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In all | her best | array | bear her | to church:
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For though | fond^na|ture bids | us all | lament,
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Yet na|ture's tears | are reas|on's mer|riment.
CAPULET
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All* things | that we | ordain|ed fest|ival,
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Turn from | their of|fice to / black fun|eral:
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Our inst|ruments | to mel|ancho|ly bells,
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Our wed|ding cheer,| to a / sad bur|ial feast:
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Our sol|emn hymns,| to sul|len dir|ges change:
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Our brid|al flowers | serve for | a bur|ied corse:
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And all | things change them | to the con|trary.
FRIAR LAURENCE
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Sir go | you in;| and mad|am, go | with him,
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And go | Sir Par|is, eve|ryone | prepare
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To fol|low this / fair corse | unto | her grave:
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The heavens | do lour | upon | you, for / some
ill:
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Move them | no more,| by cros|sing their / high
will.
[Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE]
FIRST MUSICIAN
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Faith we | may put | up our | pipes and | be gone.
NURSE
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Honest | goodfel|lows: ah | put^up,| put^up,
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For well | you know,| this is | a pit|iful case.
[Exit]
FIRST MUSICIAN
Aye by my troth, the case may be amended.
[Enter PETER]
PETER
Musicians, O, musicians,
Heart's ease, Heart's ease,
O, and you will have me live, play heart's ease.
FIRST MUSICIAN
Why Heart's ease;
PETER
O musicians,
Because my heart itself plays, my heart is full.
FIRST MUSICIAN
Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.
PETER
You will not then?
FIRST MUSICIAN
No.
PETER
I will then give it you soundly.
FIRST MUSICIAN
What will you give us?
PETER
No money on my faith, but the gleek.
I will give you the minstrel.
FIRST MUSICIAN
Then, I will give you the serving-creature.
PETER
Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no
crotchets, I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?
FIRST MUSICIAN
And you re us, and fa us, you note us.
SECOND MUSICIAN
Pray you put up your dagger,
And put out your wit.
Then have at you with my wit.
PETER
I will dry-beat you with an iron wit,
And put
up my iron dagger,
Answer me like men:
When griping grief the heart doth wound, then music with her silver sound.
Why silver sound? Why music with her silver sound? What say you Simon
Catling?
THIRD MUSICIAN
Marry sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
PETER
Pretty, what say you Hugh Rebeck?
SECOND MUSICIAN
I say silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.
PETER
Pretty too, what say you James Soundpost?
THIRD MUSICIAN
Faith I know not what to say.
PETER
O I cry you mercy, you are the singer.
I will say for you; It is music with
her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding: Then music
with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
[Exit]
FIRST MUSICIAN
What a pestilent knave is this same?
SECOND MUSICIAN
Hang him Jack, come we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay
dinner.
[Exeunt]