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Verona. FRIAR LAURENCE’S Cell. | |
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Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and 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. | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous | |
| That she doth 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, | 15 |
| May be put from her by society. | |
| Now do you know the reason of this haste. | |
| Fri. L. [Aside.] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d. | |
| Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. | |
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Enter JULIET. | 20 |
| 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. | 25 |
| 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. | 30 |
| 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. | 35 |
| 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 slander’d it. | |
| Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. | 40 |
| 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! | 45 |
| Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you: | |
| 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. Ah! Juliet, I already know thy grief; | 50 |
| 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 hear’st of this, | |
| Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: | 55 |
| 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 seal’d, | 60 |
| 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, | 65 |
| ’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 honour bring. | |
| Be not so long to speak; I long to die, | 70 |
| 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, | 75 |
| 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 dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy. | 80 |
| Jul. O! bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, | |
| From off the battlements of yonder tower; | |
| Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk | |
| Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; | |
| Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, | 85 |
| O’er-cover’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; | 90 |
| 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: Wednesday is to-morrow: | |
| To-morrow night look that thou lie alone, | 95 |
| Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: | |
| Take thou this vial, being then in bed, | |
| And this distilled liquor drink thou off; | |
| When presently through all thy veins shall run | |
| A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse | 100 |
| Shall keep his native progress, but surcease; | |
| No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv’st; | |
| The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade | |
| To paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall, | |
| Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; | 105 |
| Each part, depriv’d of supple government, | |
| Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death; | |
| And in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death | |
| Thou shalt continue two-and-forty hours, | |
| And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. | 110 |
| 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 uncover’d on the bier, | |
| Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault | 115 |
| 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; and he and I | |
| Will watch thy waking, and that very night | 120 |
| Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. | |
| And this shall free thee from this present shame; | |
| If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear, | |
| Abate thy valour in the acting it. | |
| Jul. Give me, give me! O! tell me not of fear! | 125 |
| 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. | 130 |
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