Romeo and Juliet

not life, but love in death! Capulet

Despised, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d!
Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
And with my child my joys are buried.

Friar Laurence

Peace, ho, for shame! confusion’s cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For ’twas your heaven she should be advanced:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She’s not well married that lives married long;
But she’s best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.

Capulet

All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.

Friar Laurence

Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris; everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar Laurence.

First Musician Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse

Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up;
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit.

First Musician Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter. Peter Musicians, O, musicians, “Heart’s ease, Heart’s ease:” O, an 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 of woe:” O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. 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 An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Peter

Then have at you with my wit! 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,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound”⁠—

why “silver sound”? why “music with her silver sound”? What say you, Simon Catling?

First 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.

Act V

Scene I

Mantua. A street.

	Enter Romeo.
Romeo	If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom’d spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead⁠— Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!⁠— And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d, When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!
	Enter Balthasar, booted.
	News from Verona!⁠—How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Balthasar	Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel’s monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred’s vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Romeo	Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know’st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.
Balthasar	I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.
Romeo	Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Balthasar	No, my good lord.
Romeo	No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I’ll be with thee straight. Exit Balthasar. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let’s see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary⁠— And hereabouts he dwells⁠—which late I noted In tatter’d weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff’d, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter’d, to make up a show. Noting this penury,