1 Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.
2 Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
3 Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride!
4 What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now;
5 Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
6 The County Paris hath set up his rest,
7 That you shall rest but little. God forgive me!
8 Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep!
9 I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam!
10 Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
11 He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?
[Draws back the bed curtains.]
12 What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again!
13 I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady!
14 Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead!
15 O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!
16 Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!
[Enter LADY CAPULET.]
17 What noise is here?
17 O lamentable day!
18 What is the matter?
18 Look, look! O heavy day!
19 O me, O me! My child, my only life,
20 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
21 Help, help! Call help.
Enter Father [CAPULET.]
22 For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
23 She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!
24 Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!
25 Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold:
26 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
27 Life and these lips have long been separated:
28 Death lies on her like an untimely frost
29 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
30 O lamentable day!
30 O woeful time!
31 Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
32 Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.
Enter FRIAR [LAURENCE]
and the COUNTY [PARIS,
with the MUSICIANS].
33 Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
34 Ready to go, but never to return.
35 O son! the night before thy wedding-day
36 Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies,
37 Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
38 Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
39 My daughter he hath wedded: I will die,
40 And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.
41 Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
42 And doth it give me such a sight as this?
43 Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
44 Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
45 In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!
46 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
47 But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
48 And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight!
49 O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
50 Most lamentable day, most woeful day,
51 That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
52 O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
53 Never was seen so black a day as this:
54 O woeful day, O woeful day!
55 Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
56 Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd,
57 By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
58 O love! O life! not life, but love in death!
59 Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
60 Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
61 To murder, murder our solemnity?
62 O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
63 Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
64 And with my child my joys are buried.
65 Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
66 In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
67 Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
68 And all the better is it for the maid.
69 Your part in her you could not keep from death,
70 But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
71 The most you sought was her promotion;
72 For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced,
73 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
74 Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
75 O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
76 That you run mad, seeing that she is well.
77 She's not well married that lives married long;
78 But she's best married that dies married young.
79 Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
80 On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
81 In all her best array bear her to church;
82 For though fond nature bids us all lament,
83 Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
84 All things that we ordained festival,
85 Turn from their office to black funeral;
86 Our instruments to melancholy bells,
87 Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
88 Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
89 Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
90 And all things change them to the contrary.
91 Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
92 And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare
93 To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
94 The heavens do lour upon you for some ill;
95 Move them no more by crossing their high will.
[Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET,
PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE.]
96 Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be
98 Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up;
99 For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.
100 Ay, by my troth, the case may be
*** Enter [PETER].
102 Musicians, O, musicians, "Heart's ease,"
103 "Heart's ease." O, an you will have me live, play
104 "Heart's ease."
105 Why "Heart's ease?"
106 O, musicians, because my heart itself plays
107 "My heart is full of woe." O, play me some
108 merry dump, to comfort me.
109 Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now.
110 You will not, then?
112 I will then give it you soundly.
113 What will you give us?
114 No money, on my faith, but the gleek;
115 I will give you the minstrel.
116 Then I will give you the serving-creature.
117 Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on
118 your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you,
119 I'll fa you; do you note me?
120 An you re us and fa us, you note us.
121 Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your
123 Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat
124 you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger.
125 Answer me like men:
"When griping griefs the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound"
129 why "silver sound"? why "music with her silver
130 sound"? What say you, Simon Catling?
131 Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet
133 Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
134 I say "silver sound," because musicians sound
135 for silver.
136 Pretty too! What say you, James
138 Faith, I know not what to say.
139 O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say
140 for you. It is "music with her silver sound,"
141 because musicians have no gold for sounding:
"Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress."
144 What a pestilent knave is this same!
145 Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here, tarry for the
146 mourners, and stay dinner.