Act 1 & 2 Test Romeo and Juliet

soliloquey no other characters on stage
monologue speaks directly to another character or him/herself
aside to audience that other characters are not supposed to hear
sonnet 14 linesstrict rhyme schemewritten in iambic pentameter
quatrain when a sonnet is broken down into four sections all sections have 4 lines except the last, which has 2
couplet last quatrain in the sonnet, has only 2 lines and rhyme
iambic pentameter ten syllables in each linefive pairs of alternating unstressed and stressed syllables
what does Act 1 and 2 Prologue look and sound like? looks like poem (sounds such as rhyme indicate that)10 syllables in every line (iambic pentameter)considered a sonnet (14 lines)
Two households, both alike in dignity(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.From forth the fatal loins of these two foesA pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,Whose misadventured piteous overthrowsDoth with their death bury their parents’ strife.The fearful passage of their death-marked loveAnd the continuance of their parents’ rage,Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage—The which, if you with patient ears attend,What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. Prologue Act 1In the beautiful city of Verona, where our story takes place, a long-standing hatred between two families erupts into new violence, and citizens stain their hands with the blood of their fellow citizens. Two unlucky children of these enemy families become lovers and commit suicide. Their unfortunate deaths put an end to their parents’ feud. For the next two hours, we will watch the story of their doomed love and their parents’ anger, which nothing but the children’s deaths could stop. If you listen to us patiently, we’ll make up for everything we’ve left out in this prologue onstage.
(draws his sword) Part, fools!Put up your swords. You know not what you do.What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?Turn thee, Benvolio. Look upon thy death.I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword,Or manage it to part these men with me.What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word,As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.Have at thee, coward! BENVOLIO(pulling out his sword) Break it up, you fools. Put your swords away. You don’t know what you’re doing.TYBALTWhat? You’ve pulled out your sword to fight with these worthless servants? Turn around, Benvolio, and look at the man who’s going to kill you.BENVOLIOI’m only trying to keep the peace. Either put away your sword or use it to help me stop this fight.TYBALTWhat? You take out your sword and then talk about peace? I hate the word peace like I hate hell, all Montagues, and you. Let’s go at it, coward!
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!Where shall we dine?—O me! What fray was here?Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.Here’s much to do with hate but more with love.Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate,O anything of nothing first created!O heavy lightness, serious vanity,Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!This love feel I, that feel no love in this.Dost thou not laugh? ROMEOWhat’s sad is that love is supposed to be blind, but it can still make you do whatever it wants. So, where should we eat? (seeing blood) Oh my! What fight happened here? No, don’t tell me—I know all about it. This fight has a lot to do with hatred, but it has more to do with love. O brawling love! O loving hate! Love that comes from nothing! Sad happiness! Serious foolishness! Beautiful things muddled together into an ugly mess! Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake—it’s everything except what it is! This is the love I feel, though no one loves me back. Are you laughing?
But Montague is bound as well as I,In penalty alike. And ’tis not hard, I think,For men so old as we to keep the peace.Of honorable reckoning are you both.And pity ’tis you lived at odds so long.But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?But saying o’er what I have said before.My child is yet a stranger in the world.She hath not seen the change of fourteen years.Let two more summers wither in their prideEre we may think her ripe to be a bride.Younger than she are happy mothers made.And too soon marred are those so early made.Earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she.She’s the hopeful lady of my earth.But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart.My will to her consent is but a part.An she agreed within her scope of choice,Lies my consent and fair according voice.This night I hold an old accustomed feast,Whereto I have invited many a guestSuch as I love. And you among the store,One more, most welcome, makes my number more.At my poor house look to behold this nightEarth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.Such comfort as do lusty young men feelWhen well-appareled April on the heelOf limping winter treads. Even such delightAmong fresh fennel buds shall you this nightInherit at my house. Hear all, all see,And like her most whose merit most shall be—Which on more view of many, mine, being one,May stand in number, though in reckoning none,Come, go with me. (to PETER, giving him a paper) Go, sirrah, trudge aboutThrough fair Verona. Find those persons outWhose names are written there, and to them sayMy house and welcome on their pleasure stay. CAPULET(continuing a conversation) But Montague has sworn an oath just like I have, and he’s under the same penalty. I don’t think it will be hard for men as old as we are to keep the peace.PARISYou both have honorable reputations, and it’s too bad you’ve been enemies for so long. But what do you say to my request?CAPULETI can only repeat what I’ve said before. My daughter is still very young. She’s not even fourteen years old. Let’s wait two more summers before we start thinking she’s ready to get married.PARISGirls younger than she often marry and become happy mothers.CAPULETGirls who marry so young grow up too soon. But go ahead and charm her, gentle Paris; make her love you. My permission is only part of her decision. If she agrees to marry you, my blessing and fair words will confirm her choice. Tonight I’m having a feast that we’ve celebrated for many years. I’ve invited many of my closest friends, and I’d like to welcome you and add you to the guest list. At my humble house tonight, you can expect to see dazzling stars that walk on the ground and light the sky from below. You’ll be delighted by young women as fresh as spring flowers. Look at anyone you like, and choose whatever woman seems best to you. Once you see a lot of girls, you might not think my daughter’s the best anymore. Come along with me.(to PETER, handing him a paper) Go, little fellow, walk all around Verona. Find the people on this list and tell them they’re welcome at my house tonight.
Well, think of marriage now. Younger than youHere in Verona, ladies of esteemAre made already mothers. By my count,I was your mother much upon these yearsThat you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. LADY CAPULETWell, start thinking about marriage now. Here in Verona there are girls younger than you—girls from noble families—who have already become mothers. By my count, I was already your mother at just about your age, while you remain a virgin. Well then, I’ll say this quickly: the valiant Paris wants you as his bride.
I fear too early, for my mind misgivesSome consequence yet hanging in the starsShall bitterly begin his fearful dateWith this night’s revels, and expire the termOf a despisèd life closed in my breastBy some vile forfeit of untimely death.But he that hath the steerage of my course,Direct my sail. On, lusty gentlemen. ROMEOI’m worried we’ll get there too early. I have a feeling this party tonight will be the start of something bad, something that will end with my own death. But whoever’s in charge of where my life’s going can steer me wherever they want. Onward, lover boys!
legit know everything at Capulet’s Party beginning on page 647
Nay, I’ll conjure too!Romeo! Humours, madman, passion, lover!Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh!Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied.Cry but “Ay me!” Pronounce but “love” and “dove.”Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,One nickname for her purblind son and heir,Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trueWhen King Cophetua loved the beggar maid.—He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not.The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.—I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes,By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,That in thy likeness thou appear to us.An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.This cannot anger him. ‘Twould anger himTo raise a spirit in his mistress’ circleOf some strange nature, letting it there standTill she had laid it and conjured it down.That were some spite. My invocationIs fair and honest. In his mistress’ nameI conjure only but to raise up him. MERCUTIOI’ll conjure him as if I were summoning a spirit. Romeo! Madman! Passion! Lover! Show yourself in the form of a sigh. Speak one rhyme, and I’ll be satisfied. Just cry out, “Ah me!” Just say “love” and “dove.” Say just one lovely word to my good friend Venus is (the Roman goddess of love.) Venus. Just say the nickname of her blind son Cupid, the one who shot arrows so well in the old story.—Romeo doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t stir. He doesn’t move. The silly ape is dead, but I must make him appear.—I summon you by Rosaline’s bright eyes, by her high forehead and her red lips, by her fine feet, by her straight legs, by her trembling thighs, and by the regions right next to her thighs. In the name of all of these things, I command you to appear before us in your true form.BENVOLIOIf he hears you, you’ll make him angry.MERCUTIOWhat I’m saying can’t anger him. He would be angry if I summoned a strange spirit for her to have sex with—that’s what would make him angry. The things I’m saying are fair and honest. All I’m doing is saying the name of the woman he loves to lure him out of the darkness.
legit know all of the balcony scene beginning on page 658
The gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reelsFrom forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels.Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,The day to cheer and night’s dank dew to dry,I must upfill this osier cage of oursWith baleful weeds and precious-juicèd flowers. FRIAR LAWRENCEThe smiling morning is replacing the frowning night. Darkness is stumbling out of the sun’s path like a drunk man. Now, before the sun comes up and burns away the dew, I have to fill this basket of mine with poisonous weeds and medicinal flowers. The Earth is nature’s mother and also nature’s tomb. Plants are born out of the Earth, and they are buried in the Earth when they die. From the Earth’s womb, many different sorts of plants and animals come forth, and the Earth provides her children with many excellent forms of nourishment.
Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’s cell.There stays a husband 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 wayTo fetch a ladder, by the which your loveMust 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.Hie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell. NURSEThen hurry up and rush over to Friar Lawrence’s cell. There’s a husband there who’s waiting to make you his wife. Now I see the blood rushing to your cheeks. You blush bright red as soon as you hear any news. Go to the church. I must go by a different path to get a rope ladder. Your love will use it to climb up to your window while it’s dark. I do the drudge work for your pleasure. But soon you’ll be doing a wife’s work all night long. Go. I’ll go to lunch. You go to Friar Lawrence’s cell.JULIETWish me luck. Thank you, dear Nurse.
These violent delights have violent endsAnd in their triumph die, like fire and powder,Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honeyIs loathsome in his own deliciousnessAnd in the taste confounds the appetite.Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so.Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Here comes the lady. Oh, so light a footWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flint.A lover may bestride the gossamersThat idles in the wanton summer air,And yet not fall. So light is vanity. FRIAR LAWRENCEThese sudden joys have sudden endings. They burn up in victory like fire and gunpowder. When they meet, as in a kiss, they explode. Too much honey is delicious, but it makes you sick to your stomach. Therefore, love each other in moderation. That is the key to long-lasting love. Too fast is as bad as too slow.Here comes the lady. Oh,a footstep as light as hers will never endure the rocky road of life. Lovers are so light they can walk on a spiderweb floating on a summer breeze, and yet not fall. That’s how flimsy and unreal pleasure is.
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 excessI cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. JULIETI can imagine more than I can say—I have more on my mind than words. Anyone who can count how much he has is poor. My true love has made me so rich that I can’t count even half of my wealth.

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