Friar. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Romeo. And bad'st me bury love.
Friar. Not in a grave To lay one in, another out to have.
Romeo. I pray thee chide not: she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so.
Friar. 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' rancour to pure love.
Romeo. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Friar. Wisely, and slow; they stumble that run fast.
(Exeunt.)
Scene IV. A Street.
(Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.)
Mercutio. Where the devil should this Romeo be?-- Came he not home to-night?
Benvolio. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.
Mercutio. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so that he will sure run mad.
Benvolio. Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his fat her's house.
Mercutio. A challenge, on my life.
Benvolio. Romeo will answer it.
Mercutio. Any man that can write may answer a letter.
Benvolio. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.
Mercutio. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot 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?
Benvolio. Why, what is Tybalt?
Mercutio. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he's the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song--keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, 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.--
Benvolio. The what?
Mercutio. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents!--'By Jesu, a very good blade!--a very tall man!--a very good whore!'--Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-moi's, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!
Benvolio. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!
Mercutio. Without his roe, like a dried herring.--O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!--Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench,--marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gypsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose,--
(Enter Romeo.)
Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
Romeo. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mercutio. The slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
Romeo. Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was GREat; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
Mercutio. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
Romeo. Meaning, to court'sy.
Mercutio. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Romeo. A most courteous exposition.
Mercutio. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Romeo. Pink for flower.
Mercutio. Right.
Romeo. Why, then is my pump well-flowered.
Mercutio. Well said: 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, sole singular.
Romeo. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!
Mercutio. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.
Romeo. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match.
Mercutio. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have 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?
Romeo. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not there for the goose.
Mercutio. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Romeo. Nay, good goose, bite not.
Mercutio. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
Romeo. And is it not, then, well served in to a sweet goose?
Mercutio. O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!
Romeo. I stretch it out for that word broad: which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
Mercutio. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; not 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 bauble in a hole.
Benvolio. Stop there, stop there.
Mercutio. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Benvolio. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
Mercutio. O, thou art deceived; 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.
Romeo. Here's goodly gear!
(Enter Nurse and Peter.)
Mercutio. A sail, a sail, a sail!
Benvolio. Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!
Peter. Anon.
Nurse. My fan, Peter.
Mercutio. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face.
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mercutio. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good-den?
Mercutio. '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!
Romeo. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for 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?
Romeo. 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.
Mercutio. Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
Benvolio. She will indite him to some supper.
Mercutio. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
Romeo. What hast thou found?
Mercutio. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. (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.
Romeo. I will follow you.
Mercutio. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,-- (singing) lady, lady, lady.
(Exeunt Mercutio, and Benvolio.)
Nurse. Marry, farewell!--I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery?
Romeo. 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. An 'a speak anything against me, I'll take him down, an'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!
Peter. 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 vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave!--Pray you, sir, a word: and, as I told you, my young lady bid me enquire you out; what she bade me say I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, 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 offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
Romeo. 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.
Romeo. 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 gentlemanlike offer.
Romeo. 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.
Romeo. Go to; I say you shall.
Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
Romeo. 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.
Romeo. 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?
Romeo. I 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's 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?
Romeo. Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.
Nurse. Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name. R is for the dog: 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.
Romeo. Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. (Exit Romeo.)--Peter!
Peter. Anon?
Nurse. Peter, take my fan, and go before.
(Exeunt.)
Scene V. Capulet's Garden.
(Enter Juliet.)
Juliet. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promis'd 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 glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over lowering hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-sw ift 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'd 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.-- O God, she comes! (Enter Nurse and Peter). O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate.
(Exit Peter.)
Juliet. Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave awhile;-- Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had!
Juliet. 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 awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath?
Juliet. 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; rhough 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 talked 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 dined at home?
Juliet. 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 o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back!-- Beshrew your heart for sending me about To catch my death with jauncing up and down!
Juliet. 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, And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome; And, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother?
Juliet. 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.
Juliet. Here's such a coil!--come, what says Romeo?
Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Juliet. I have.
Nurse. Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence' cell; There stays a husb and 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.
Juliet. Hie to high fortune!--honest nurse, farewell.
(Exeunt.)
Scene VI. Friar Lawrence's Cell.
(Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.)
Friar. So smile the heavens upon this holy act That after-hours with sorrow chide us not!
Romeo. 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.
Friar. 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 sw ift arrives as tardy as too slow. Here comes the lady:--O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
(Enter Juliet.)
Juliet. Good-even to my ghostly confessor.
Friar. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
Juliet. As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
Romeo. 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 neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.
Juliet. 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.
Friar. 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.)
