Romeo and Juliet Act 1

Who says this:Gregory, o’ my word, we’ll not carry coals.What does it mean? SampsonThey’ll not rub our noses in the dirt, Gregory, believe me!
Who says this:No, for then we should be colliers.What does it mean? GregoryNo, because then we’d be as grimy as miners.
Who says this:I mean, an we be in choler, we’ll draw.What does it mean? SampsonI mean, if we get hot under the collar we’ll fight!
Who says this:Ay while you live draw your neck out of collar.What does it mean? GregoryOkay. Don’t put your neck in a noose. It would be more than your life’s worth.
Who says this:I strike quickly, being moved.What does it mean? SampsonI strike out quickly, once my anger is roused.
Who says this:But thou art not quickly moved to strike.What does it mean? GregoryBut one is not easily roused.
Who says this:A dog of the house of Montague moves me.What does it mean? SampsonOne of those Montague dogs always gets me going!
Who says this:To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand.Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn’st away.What does it mean? GregoryWell everyone who runs from a fight also “moves to action” and being brave means standing firm. So if you say you’re moved, I guess you’re running away.
A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s. SampsonOne of those dogs will certainly get me going. And I’ll stand my ground, too! No man or woman of Montague’s would make me step into the gutter!
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goesto the wall. GregoryThat shows what a feeble fellow you are. The weakest always go to the wall.
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will pushMontague’s men from the wall, and thrust his maidsto the wall. SampsonThat’s true. That’s why women, being the weaker sex, are always backed against walls! I’ll push Montague’s men into the roadway and thrust his women against the wall!
The quarrel is between our masters and us,their men GregoryBut the feud is only between our masters and between us, their men
Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. SampsonIt’s all the same to me. I’ll be the real villain! When I’ve fought all the men, I’ll be polite with the maids. I’ll cut off their heads.
The heads of the maids? Gregory
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads.Take it in what sense thou wilt. SampsonYes- the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads? Take it in whichever sense you please.
They must take it in sense that feel it. GregoryThose who sense it, should feel it!
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. SampsonSo long as I can stand, they’ll feel me! I’m well known as a swordsman.
Tis well thou art not fish. If thou hadst, thouhadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool! Here comestwo of the house of the Montagues. GregoryFortunately, not as a fish: you’d make a poor catch! Draw your weapon. Here come two of Montague’s people.
My naked weapon is out. Quarrel, I will back thee. SampsonMy naked weapon is out. Argue with them. I’ll back you up.
How? Turn thy back and run? GregoryBack me up how? Turn your back and run?
Fear me not. SampsonDon’t fear that.
No, marry; I fear thee! GregoryNo indeed! Not of you!
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. SampsonLet’s keep the law on our side. Let them make the first move.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it asthey list. GregoryI’ll make a face as I pass them. They can take it as they please.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them;which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. SampsonNo, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them. They’ll be disgraced if they put up with that.
Who does Abraham enter with? Balthazer
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Abraham
I do bite my thumb sir. Sampson
Do you bite your thumb at us sir? Abraham
Is the law of our side if I say ay? SampsonIs it the law to say yes?
Who tells Sampson its not the law to say ay by simply saying “no”? Gregory
No, sir. I do not bite my thumb at you, sir. But Ibite my thumb, sir. Sampson
Do you quarrel sir? GregoryAre you picking a fight sir?
Quarrel sir! No, sir. AbrahamFight sir! No sir.
If you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a manas you. SampsonBecause if you are, I’m ready for you. I serve just a good a man as you.
No better.in response to Sampson AbrahamNo better?
Well sir.in response to Abraham Sampson
Say ‘better.’ Here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.Who enters as this is said? GregorySay “better”- here’s one of our master’s relativesTybalt
Yes, better, sir. Sampson
You lie. Abraham
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thyswashing blow. SampsonDraw your swords if you call yourselves men. Gregory, remember your slashing stroke.
Part, fools, put up your swords; you know not what you do. BenvolioBreak it up you fools! You don’t know what you are doing!
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. TybaltWhy are you mixing in a brawl with servants? Turn, Benvolio and face your death.
I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword,Or manage it to part these men with me. BenvolioI’m only trying to keep the peace; put back your sword, or use it to help me part these men.
What, drawn and talk of peace! I hate the word,As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.Have at thee, coward! TybaltWhat- talking of peace with your sword drawn? I hate the word as I hate hell, all Montagues- and you! Come on, then, coward!
Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike; beat them down! OfficerClubs! Battle axes! Spears! Strike out! Beam them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues! Citizens
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! CapuletWhat’s all this noise? (calling to his servants) Give me my long sword there!
A crutch, a crutch — why call you for a sword? Lady CapuletA crutch, that’s more like it! Why do you call for a sword?
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,And flourishes his blade in spite of me. CapuletMy sword, I say! Old Montague is coming, waving his sword about to provoke me!
Thou villain Capulet. [To his wife] Hold me not, let me go. MontagueYou villain Capulet! Don’t hold me back, let me go!
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Lady MontagueNot one single foot toward an enemy!
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel —Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beastsThat quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins —On pain of torture, from those bloody handsThrow your mistemper’d weapons to the ground,And hear the sentence of your movèd prince.Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,And made Verona’s ancient citizensCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.If ever you disturb our streets again,Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.For this time, all the rest depart away.You, Capulet, shall go along with me;And Montague, come you this afternoon,To know our further pleasure in this case,To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Prince EscalusRebels! Peacebreakers! Neighbor-killers! Are they deaf? You there! You men there! You beasts! Cooling your ardor with your own spilt blood! On pain of torture, drop those misused weapons from your bloodstained hands and listen to the verdict of your angry prince! 3 times the peace of our streets has been disturbed by brawling citizens, and all because of some trifling remark by you, old Capulet, and you, Montague. Our old folk have put aside their sober habits and brandished in their aged hands weapons rusted with disuse, to come between you and your cancerous hatred. If you ever disturb our peace again, your lives will pay the price. For now, let the crowd disperse. You, Capulet will go along with me. You, Montague, must come this afternoon to my court at Old Freetown, to hear what I have to say about the matter. Once more- on pain of death- disperse!
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? MontagueWho started all this off again? Were you here when it began?
Here were the servants of your adversaryAnd yours, close fighting ere I did approach;I drew to part them. In the instant cameThe fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,He swung about his head and cut the winds,Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. BenvolioYour enemy’s servants were fighting hand-to-hand with yours before I came. I drew my sword to separate them. At this very moment hot headed Tybalt arrived, his sword already out. He swung it around his head, shouted abuse at me and sliced the air, which, not being hurt, merely swished and while we were exchanging cuts and thrusts, others came and fought in pairs, till the prince came and separated them.
O, where is Romeo? Saw you him to-day?Right glad I am he was not at this fray. Lady MontagueWhere is Romeo? Have you seen him today? I’m very glad he wasn’t involved in this fight.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sunPeer’d forth the golden window of the east,A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad,Where, underneath the grove of sycamoreThat westward rooteth from this city side,So early walking did I see your son.Towards him I made, but he was ware of meAnd stole into the covert of the wood.I, measuring his affections by my own,Which then most sought where most might not be found,Being one too many by my weary self,Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me. BenvolioMadam, an hour before sunrise, a troubled mind led me to go for a walk. Beneath a sycamore grove that grows to the west of this side of the city, I saw your son taking an early stroll. I went toward him, but knowing I was there he hid in the wood. Judging his feelings by my own- what I wanted most was a place where fewest people were to be found: even my own weary company was one too many- I indulged my whim by not inquiring about his. I gladly avoided my avoider.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew,Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs.But all so soon as the all-cheering sunShould in the furthest east begin to drawThe shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,Away from the light steals home my heavy son,And private in his chamber pens himself,Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight outAnd makes himself an artificial night.Black and portentous must this humor prove,Unless good counsel may the cause remove. MontagueHe’s often been seen there in the morning, his tears supplementing the morning dew, his deep sighs forming new clouds with his breath. But once the cheerful sun starts rising in the east, to dodge the light my gloomy son steals home. He locks himself in his room, closes his windows, locks out daylight and makes himself an artificial night. This mood is sinister and alarming, unless the cause can be removed by means of good advice.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Benvolio
I neither know it, nor can learn of him. MontagueI don’t know, and I can’t figure it out from him.
Have you importuned him by any means? BenvolioHave you questioned him at all?
Both by myself and many other friends.But he his own affections’ counsellorIs to himself — I will not say how true —But to himself so secret and so close,So far from sounding and discovery,As is the bud bit with an envious worm,Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,We would as willingly give cure as know. MontagueI have and so have my friends. But being so withdrawn, he’s so secretive and so close, so far from being understood, that he is like a rosebud that is being eaten by a malicious worm before the bud can spread its leafs and petals to the air and sun. We’re as anxious to cure his sorrows as we are to find the reason for them.
See where he comes. So please you, step aside.I’ll know his grievance, or be much denied. BenvolioLook, here he comes! Step aside, if you would. I’ll find out what’s grieving him, unless he’s very obstinate.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stayTo hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away. MontagueI hope he tells you the truth. Come, madam, we’ll go.
Good-morrow, cousin. BenvolioGood morning cousin
Is the day so young? RomeoIs it that early?
But new struck nine. BenvolioIt’s just past nine.
Ay me, sad hours seem long.Was that my father that went hence so fast? RomeoOh, my. Time drags when you’re sad. Was that my father who went off so quickly?
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours? BenvolioIt was. What sadness makes time drag for you, Romeo?
Not having that, which having, makes them short. RomeoNot having what would make time fly, if it were mine.
In love? Benvolio
Out.in response to Benvolio Romeo
Of love?in response to Romeo Benvolio
Out of her favour where I am in love. RomeoOut of favor with my loved one.
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof BenvolioAlas, that Cupid, so gentle in appearance, should be so dominating and difficult in action
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,Mis-shapen 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? RomeoAlas that Cupid- in spite of his blindfold- should see his objective so clearly! Where shall we have dinner? Oh, dear! What was the fighting about? Don’t tell me- I’ve heard all about it. It has a lot to do with hate, but more with love. Oh, brawling love! Oh, loving hate! Nothing can come from nothing! Oh, heavy lightheartedness! Serious foolishness! Things looking good that are all an ugly muddle. I’m in love, but its not returned. Are you laughing?
No, coz, I rather weep. BenvolioNo cousin, actually weeping.
Good heart, at what? RomeoDear fellow, what at?
At thy good heart’s oppression. BenvolioAt your heartache
Why, such is love’s transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,Which thou wilt propagate, to have it pressedWith more of thine. This love that thou hast shownDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs —Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears.What is it else? A madness most discreet,A choking gall and a preserving sweet.Farewell, my coz. RomeoWhy, that’s the nature of love. I feel bad enough under the weight of my own grief without feeling responsible for yours, too. This love you’re showing toward me is just making me feel worse. Love is like smoke made of sighs. When it clears you can see the fire in a lover’s eyes. When it stirs up, then tears of love flow like the sea. What else is love? They say love is madness -a kind of sensible madness. Love is a bitter poison, while at the same time a life-sustaining food. Goodbye, cousin.
Soft! I will go along;An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. BenvolioWait! I’ll go with you. You can’t just leave me like that.
Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here.This is not Romeo, he’s some other where. RomeoHa, I’ve already gone. This isn’t the real me. I don’t feel like Romeo–he’s somewhere else.
Tell me, in sadness, who is that you love. BenvolioSeriously now, who’s the girl?
What, shall I groan and tell thee? RomeoWhat, should I be sad and groan when I tell you?
Groan! Why, no.But sadly, tell me who. BenvolioNo, but in all seriousness, who is it.
A sick man, in sadness, makes his will —A word ill-urged to one that is so ill.In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. RomeoAsk a sick man to make his will “in all seriousness”? Not very tactful to one that is so ill. Seriously, cousin, I’m in love with a woman.
I aim’d so near, when I supposed you loved. BenvolioI had that target in mind when I assumed you were in love.
A right good marksman; and she’s fair I love. RomeoWell, good aimed then. The one I love is beautiful.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. BenvolioAn eye catching target is the easiest to hit.
Well, in that hit you miss; she’ll not be hitWith Cupid’s arrow. She hath Diana’s wit,And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d;From Love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharmed.She will not stay the siege of loving terms,Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold. O she is rich in beauty, only poorThat when she dies, with beauty dies her store. RomeoYou may have hit the mark on what’s bothering me, but I’m not “hitting the mark” with her. She avoids Cupid’s arrows. Like the goddess Diana, she’s vowed to remain a virgin and is well-armed to defend her chastity. She’s unharmed by Cupid’s weak childish bow and arrows. She does not give in when I besiege her with romantic expressions, nor does she respond to my affectionate gazes. She won’t have sex, not even for enough money to seduce a saint. On the one hand, right now she’s rich in beauty, but she’ll be poor in the future when those good genes die with her because she hasn’t produced any offspring.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? BenvolioThen she has sworn to never marry?
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,For beauty starved with her severityCuts beauty off from all posterity.She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,To merit bliss by making me despair.She hath forsworn to love, and in that vowDo I live dead that live to tell it now. RomeoShe has. But in saving her virginity she’s wasting her beauty by not passing it along to future generations. She is too beautiful and intelligent to earn her spiritual salvation by pledging herself to such an austere life and making me despair. She has sworn to never make love, and that has made my life not worth living.
Be ruled by me; forget to think of her. BenvolioTake my advice. Forget her.
O, teach me how I should forget to think. RomeoTeach me how to forget her.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes;Examine other beauties. BenvolioBy letting your eyes roam; look at other beauties
‘Tis the wayTo call hers, exquisite, in question more.These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair.He that is strucken blind cannot forgetThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost.Show me a mistress that is passing fair;What doth her beauty serve, but as a noteWhere I may read who pass’d that passing fair? Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget. RomeoThat will just cause to me compare her exquisite beauty to theirs. It’s like seeing a mask on a pretty girl’s face (lucky mask, that it gets to touch that face!): I just think about the beautiful skin hidden underneath. A blind man won’t forget the beautiful sights he once saw. Show me an extremely beautiful woman, and she will just remind me of my beloved who is even more beautiful. Farewell, you cannot teach me to forget her.
I’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. BenvolioI’ll teach you to forget, my dear friend–that’s a promise.
Who enters in scene 2? Capulet, County Paris, and the Clown (Capulent’s servant)
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. CapuletBut Montague is legally bound to keep the peace by the Prince’s edict just as I am. This shouldn’t be difficult for two old guys like us.
Of honourable reckoning are you both;And pity ’tis you lived at odds so long.But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? ParisIt’s a pity that two men of such distinction as you are have lived in conflict for so long. But now, my lord, what do you think of my request to marry your daughter?
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 pride,Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. CapuletI’ll just repeat what I said before. My daughter is so young and immature–not yet 14. We should wait at least two more years before she marries.
Younger than she are happy mothers made. Paris
And too soon marr’d are those so early made.The earth hath swallow’d all my hopes but she,She is the hopeful lady of my earth.But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;My will to her consent is but a part.And, she agreed, within her scope of choiceLies my consent and fair according voice.This night I hold an old-accustom’d feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest,Such 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-apparell’d April on the heelOf limping Winter treads — even such delightAmong fresh female 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 Servant, giving him a piece of paper] Go, sirrah, trudge aboutThrough fair Verona; find those persons outWhose names are written there, and to them say,My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.[Exeunt Capulet and Paris] CapuletThey may have been successfully made mothers, but many were also damaged by being married so young. Juliet is my only surviving child, the heiress to the Capulet estate, the great hope of my world. But you need to court her, Paris. You must win her over. What I want is just one factor; her consent is the most important one. If she takes to your wooing, then my consent will be in accord with her desires. Tonight I’m throwing my traditional dinner party. I’ve invited many good friends, and you are most welcome to come and be one more guest in that company.At my modest little villa, you’ll see girls so dazzling that you’ll think the stars have come down to earth and brightened Heaven itself. When you find yourself among these sweet-smelling girls just blooming into women, you’ll feel the delights of spring fever, I assure you. Come join and take it all in. Go after whichever girl you like the best. You may find that among all these lovely women that my daughter Juliet is just one of the crowd to you. Come, walk with me.
Find them out whose names are written here! It iswritten that the shoemaker should meddle with hisyard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I amsent to find those persons whose names are herewrit, and can never find what names the writingperson hath here writ. I must to the learned — in goodtime Clown”Find the people written here”, he says! What’s that old saying? “The shoemaker should stick to his yardstick, the tailor should stick to his foot model, the fisher should stick to his drawing pencil and the painter should stick to his fishing nets.” Here I am sent to find the people whose names are on this list, and I can’t read a thing. I have to find someone more educated. And quickly!
Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning;One pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;Turn giddy and be holp by backward turning;One desperate grief cures with another’s languish.Take thou some new infection to thy eye,And the rank poison of the old will die. BenvolioCome on man, one burning passion will burn out your last one. One kind of pain is drowned out by a different one. Be cheerful, and turn things around. One sad thing seems less sad when there’s something new to mourn. Get yourself a new disease by looking around, and your old love sickness will die off.
Your plantain leaf is excellent for that. Romeo
For what, I pray thee?in response to romeo BenvolioGood for what?
For your broken shin. Romeo
Why, Romeo, art thou mad? BenvolioAre you going crazy or what?
Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is:Shut up in prison, kept without my food,Whipped and tormented and — [To the servant] Good e’en, good fellow. RomeoNo, I’m not going mad, but I feel like a crazy person locked up in an asylum–not eating, tormented … [To the servant] Good afternoon, good fellow.
God gi’ good e’en. I pray, sir, can you read? ClownGood afternoon to you. Excuse me, sir, can you read?
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. RomeoYes my own unhappy future in my present misery
Perhaps you have learned it without book. But, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ClownPerhaps that’s something you’ve learned by heart? Can you read anything you see?
Ay, if I know the letters and the language. RomeoYes, but only if I know the alphabet and the language.
Ye say honestly. Rest you merry! ClownThanks for being frank with me. Have a good day.
Stay, fellow; I can read.[he reads]’Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;County Anselme and his beauteous sisters;The lady widow of Vitravio;Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces;Mercutio and his brother Valentine;Mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; and Livia;Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt,Lucio and the lively Helena.’A fair assembly. Whither should they come? RomeoStay, please. I can read.[Romeo reads the list]”Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; The Count Anselme and his beautiful sisters; The widowed Lady of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; My uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; My fair niece Rosaline; and Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and lively Helena.” Quite an impressive group. Where are they all going?
Up*responding to Romeo Clown
Whither to supper? RomeoUp where? To supper?
To supper, to our house. Clown
Whose house? Romeo
My master’s. Clown
Indeed, I should have ask’d you that before. Romeo
Now I’ll tell you without asking. My master is thegreat rich Capulet; and if you be not of the houseof Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.Rest you merry! ClownNo problem, I’ll tell you without you having to ask. My master is the rich Lord Capulet. If you’re not a Montague, you should stop by for a glass of wine tonight. Have a nice day!
At this same ancient feast of Capulet’sSups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest,With all the admired beauties of Verona.Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,Compare her face with some that I shall show,And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. BenvolioRosaline, your obsession, is going to be at this annual feast Lord Capulet throws, along with most of the beautiful women in Verona. You should go, and try to look around objectively at some of the other women I’ll show you. Compared to those lovely swans, your Rosaline might just look like a plain ugly crow.
When the devout religion of mine eyeMaintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;And these who, often drown’d, could never die,Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!One fairer than my love, the all-seeing sunNe’er saw her match since first the world begun. RomeoIf I ever stop worshipping Rosaline, turn my tears into flames and burn my eyes like religious heretics! My love is as beautiful as the sun and there’s never been a woman more lovely in the history of the world.
Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,Herself poised with herself in either eye.But in that crystal scales let there be weigh’dYour lady’s love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast,And she shall scant show well, that now shows best. BenvolioHey, you only think she’s beautiful because you haven’t weighed her beauty against anyone’s but hers. Now when you weigh her against a woman I’ll show you tonight, then Rosaline will hardly measure up.
I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. RomeoI’ll go along, not to see what you describe, but to revel in pleasures of my own.
Nurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me. Lady Capulet
Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,I bade her come. What, lamb! What, ladybird!God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet! NurseNow, I swear by the virginity I was still hanging on to when I was 12, I’ve already called that girl! Come, lamb! Come, darling! God forbid anything’s happened to her.
How now! Who calls? JulietWhat’s the matter? Who’s calling?
Your mother.in response to Juliet Nurse
Madam, I am here. What is your will? JulietMadam, I am here. What is your wish?
This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again.I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel. Thou know’st my daughter’s of a pretty age. Lady CapuletHere’s the issue. Nurse, leave us alone for a while, we need to talk in private. Nurse, come back. On second thought, you should hear this discussion. You know my daughter’s of an attractive age.
Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. NurseI know Juliet’s age to the hour.
She’s not fourteen. Lady CapuletShe’s not 14 yet.
I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth — and yet, to my teen be itspoken, I have but four — she is not fourteen. How long is itnow to Lammas-tide? NurseI’ll bet fourteen of my teeth–alas for me, I’ve only got four left–that she’s not yet fourteen. How long till Lammas Day?
A fortnight and odd days. Lady Capulet2 weeks and a few odd days
Even or odd, of all days in the year,Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.Susan and she — God rest all Christian souls —Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;She was too good for me. But, as I said,On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;That shall she. Mary, I remember it well.’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years.And she was wean’d, — I never shall forget it, —Of all the days of the year, upon that day,For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall.My lord and you were then at Mantua: — Nay, I do bear a brain — but, as I said,When it did taste the wormwood on the nippleOf my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! “Shake!”, quoth the dove-house. Twas no need, I trow,To bid me trudge.And since that time it is eleven years.For then she could stand alone — nay, by the rood,She could have run and waddled all about;For even the day before, she broke her brow,And then my husband — God be with his soul,A’ was a merry man — took up the child.’Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit;Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,The pretty wretch left crying and said ‘Ay.’To see now how a jest shall come about.I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,I never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;And, pretty fool, it stinted and said ‘Ay.’ NurseI don’t care if they’re even days or odd days, but I know on the evening before the Harvest festival, she’ll be fourteen. She and my daughter Susan–God rest her soul–were the same age. Well, Susan is with God now, she was too good for me. But, as I said, on July 31, at night, she’ll be fourteen. Indeed, I remember it well. It was eleven years ago on the day of the earthquake–I’ll never forget that!. I was weaning her nursing at my breast, and it just so happened that on that day I had put some bitter-tasting wormwood on my nipple so she would reject it, and I was sitting against that wall of the pigeon coop.You and my lord were in Mantua–what a memory I have. But as I was saying, when Juliet tasted the bitter wormwood on my nipple, she became irritated and had a falling out with my teat. “Shake” sounded the pigeon house, but no one needed to tell me to get the hell away from there. And it’s been eleven years since then. She was starting to stand up; I swear on Christ’s cross that she was running and wobbling around. Just the day before she fell flat on her face and banged her forehead. And then my husband–god rest his soul, he was a witty man–picked up the child.And he said, “Oh, did you fall on your face? You’ll fall on your back when you’re grown up, won’t you little Julie?” And I swear by the Holy Mary that the pretty thing stopped crying and said “Yep.” You see how a joke starts! I guarantee, if I live to a thousand, I’ll never forget it. “Won’t you little Julie?” said he; and the pretty fool replied, “Yep.”
Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Lady CapuletThat’s enough. Quiet now.
Yes, madam. Yet I cannot choose but laugh,To think it should leave crying and say ‘Ay.’And yet, I warrant, it had upon its browA bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;A perilous knock; and it cried bitterly.’Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;Wilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted and said ‘Ay.’ NurseYes, madam. But I can’t help laughing. To think she stopped crying and said, “Yep.”And I swear she had a bump on her forehead the size of a rooster’s ball. A terrible knock and she was crying bitterly. “Well, did you fall on your face?” my husband said. “You’ll fall backwards when you’re grown up, won’t you Julie?” And she stopped and said “Yep!”
And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. JulietI do with you’d stop too. Nurse, please!
Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace,Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nursed.An I might live to see thee married once,I have my wish. NurseOkay, I’m done. God bestowed his grace on you, you were the prettiest baby I ever nursed. If only I would live to see you married one day, that would grant my wish.
Mary, that ‘marry’ is the very themeI came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,How stands your disposition to be married? Lady CapuletIndeed, getting married is exactly what I came to discuss. Tell me, Juliet, what are your feelings about marriage?
It is an honour that I dream not of. JulietIt’s an honour that I don’t dream of.
An honour! Were not I thine only nurse?I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat. NurseAn honor! If I hadn’t been your only nurse, I’d say you must have sucked some wisdom from a breast from which you nursed.
Well, think of marriage now. Younger than youHere in Verona, ladies of esteem,Are 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 of marriage now. Here in Verona girls younger than you–and very respectable young ladies at–are already becoming mothers. By my calculation, I had you when I was about your age, and you’re still a virgin. The crux of the matter is that the honorable Paris has asked for your hand in marriage.
A man, young lady! Lady, such a manAs all the world — why, he’s a man of wax. NurseDear young lady what a man! The world hasn’t seen such a man–why, he’s the model of a man.
Verona’s summer hath not such a flower. Lady CapuletThere’s no flower in Verona’s summer that’s as fine as he is.
Nay, he’s a flower; in faith, a very flower. NurseA beautiful flower of a man, indeed.
What say you? Can you love the gentleman?This night you shall behold him at our feast.Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen.Examine every married lineament,And see how one another lends content.And, what obscured in this fair volume lies,Find written in the margent of his eyes.This precious book of love, this unbound lover,To beautify him, only lacks a cover. The fish lives in the sea, and ’tis much prideFor fair without, the fair within to hide.That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;So shall you share all that he doth possess,By having him, making yourself no less. Lady CapuletWhat do you say? Could you love this gentleman? You’ll see him at our dinner party tonight. If you read him like a book I’m sure you’ll find beauty had a major hand in the writing. I’m sure his fine features will make you content. You’ll be able to read what he’s really like on the inside when you read his eyes like notes in the margin.If all a good book needs is a beautiful cover, all this eligible man needs is a good wife. Birds of a feather flock together, and it’s only common sense that a man of this distinction should be paired with a woman of your quality. You will both reflect well on each other, like a book with a good story inside a lovely cover and vice versa. You won’t lose anything by marrying him, you’ll gain from sharing what he brings to the relationship.
No less! Nay, bigger; women grow by men. NurseNo less? No, bigger! Men make women pregnant!
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love? Lady CapuletA short answer: do you like the idea of Paris’s love?
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move.But no more deep will I indart mine eyeThan your consent gives strength to make it fly. JulietIf looking leads to liking, I expect I shall. But I won’t commit myself any further than you want me to.
Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, youcalled, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed inthe pantry, and every thing in extremity. I musthence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. ServingmanMadam, the guests are all here, supper is served, you are called for, Juliet is asked for, they’re cursing the nurse in the pantry, and everything is in chaos. I have to go wait on the guests. Please, come right away.
We follow thee. Juliet, the County stays. Lady CapuletWe’ll follow you. Juliet, Count Paris is waiting.
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. NurseOff you go girl; aim for happy nights to make sure of happy days!
Who enters at the beginning of scene 4? Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers,Torch-bearers, and others
What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?Or shall we on without apology? RomeoSo, should we make a little speech to excuse our being here, or should we just go straight in without an apology?
The date is out of such prolixity.We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;Nor no without book prologue, faintly spokenAfter the prompter for our entranceBut let them measure us by what they will;We’ll measure them a measure, and be gone. BenvolioI think that kind of theatrical wordiness is old-fashioned. We don’t have one of us dressed up as blindfolded Cupid, scaring the ladies half to death with a plywood bow and arrow he borrowed from the theater props. Nor have we memorized a prologue and designated a prompter for the lines. They can judge us however they want. We’re just here for a few dances and then we’ll take off.
Give me a torch; I am not for this ambling.Being but heavy, I will bear the light. RomeoGive me one of the torches to hold. I’m not in the mood for dancing, and since I’m feeling heavy I may as well hold up the light.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. Mercutio
Not I, believe me. You have dancing shoesWith nimble soles. I have a soul of leadSo stakes me to the ground I cannot move. RomeoI’m not going to dance, believe me. You have dancing shoes with nimble soles. I have a soul as heavy as lead that weighs me to the ground so I can’t move.
You are a lover; borrow Cupid’s wings,And soar with them above a common bound. MercutioYou’re a lover: go borrow Cupid’s wings and you’ll be able to soar above the rest of us.
I am too sore empierced with his shaftTo soar with his light feathers, and so bound,I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.Under love’s heavy burden do I sink. RomeoI’m too sore after the wound from Cupid’s arrow to soar with his feathers. I’m so bound by this burden of love that I can’t go bounding around happily. I am weighed down with woe. I sink under this heavy burden of love.
And, to sink in it should you burden love,Too great oppression for a tender thing. MercutioYou would indeed burden love if you were to sink inside of it, which is too much for a tender little thing.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. RomeoIs love a tender thing? No, it’s rough, abrupt, harsh, and it pricks like a thorn.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love;Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.Give me a case to put my visage in.A visor for a visor — what care IWhat curious eye doth quote deformities —Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. MercutioIf it’s rough with you, then you should be rough with love. Give love a prick for pricking you–that’ll beat love down. Someone give me a mask for my face. As the saying goes, “a beautiful visor will hide an ugly face.” But what do I care if some nosy onlooker finds me ugly? Here’s a surly-looking mask; it can blush on my behalf.
A torch for me. Let wantons, light of heart,Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels,For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase.I’ll be a candle-holder, and look on;The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done. RomeoNot me. Just give me a torch. Those of you with light-hearted and carefree spirits can get out there and burn up the dance floor. I’m reminded of two old proverbs: the worst shall hold the candle, and it’s best to quit while you’re ahead, so I should be done.
Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word.If thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mireOr, save your reverence, love, wherein thou stickestUp to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! MercutioNag you mean- as the constable said while pulling the horse out of mud- or begging your pardon- out of love, in which you are stuck up to the ears. Come on we are wasting time.
Nay, that’s not so. RomeoNow that’s not so!
I mean, sir, in delayWe waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day.Take our good meaning, for our judgment sitsFive times in that ere once in our five wits. MercutioI meant that we’re wasting our torches, which are as useless as lamps in the daytime if we’re just going to stand here. Come on, don’t misunderstand my good intentions here. Using your judgment is usually five times as helpful as relying on your five senses.
And we mean well in going to this mask;But ’tis no wit to go. RomeoI know we don’t have any bad intentions going to this party, but I think it’s not smart to go.
Why, may one ask?in response to romeo* Mercutio
I dream’d a dream tonight RomeoI had a dream last night
And so did I.*in response to Romeo Mercutio
Well, what was yours?in response to Mercutio * Romeo
That dreamers often lie. Mercutio
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. RomeoRight, they “lie” in bed dreaming true dreams.
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comesIn shape no bigger than an agate-stoneOn the fore-finger of an alderman,Drawn with a team of little atomiesOver men’s noses as they lie asleep;Her wagon spokes made of long spiders’ legs;The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;The traces of the smallest spider’s web;The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams; Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film;Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,Not so big as a round little wormPrick’d from the lazy finger of a maid.Her chariot is an empty hazelnutMade by the joiner squirrel or old grub,Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coach-makers.And in this state she gallops night by nightThrough lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;O’er ladies ‘ lips, who straight on kisses dream,Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,And then dreams he of smelling out a suit.And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,Tickling a parson’s nose as a’ lies asleep —Then dreams he of another benefice.Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anonDrums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;And being thus frighted swears a prayer or twoAnd sleeps again. This is that very MabThat plaits the manes of horses in the night,And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear,Making them women of good carriage.This is she — MercutioIf you think that you’re dreams are true, then I see you’ve been visited by Queen Mab. She’s the fairy’s midwife of dreams, and she appears no bigger than a precious stone in an official’s ring. She’s drawn in her carriage by a team of tiny creatures across men’s noses as the sleep.Her wagon-spokes are made of spider’s legs, the wagon cover is made of grasshopper wings, the harness comes from the smallest spider’s web, the horse collars are made out of moonbeams, her whip is a cricket shell, her lash is a gossamer thread. Her driver is a small gnat with a grey coat; he’s not half as wide as the tiny mite which you could prick from scabies of a lazy maid who doesn’t keep herself clean. Her carriage is an empty hazelnut shell, made by a squirrel or maybe an old grub worm, the traditional fairy coach-makers since a time no one remembers.And in this majestic state she gallops every night through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love. She gallops over noblemen’s knees, who dream of receiving curtsies; over lawyers’ fingers, who dream of counting their fees; over ladies’ lips, who dream of kisses, though an angry Queen Mab often puts blisters on their lips when she smells dessert on their breath. Sometime she gallops over a courtier’s nose, who then smells a commission from representing someone at court. And sometimes she tickles the nose of the priest with the tail of a pig given by a parishioner as tithe, so that the priest dreams of taking more from the church.Sometimes she drives over a soldier’s neck, and he dreams of cutting enemy throats, of breaching castle walls, of ambushes, of Spanish swords, of drinking deep to toasts, and then she drums in his ear, which startles him. He wakes, says a prayer or two, and goes back to sleep. But this is the same fairy Mab that puts knots in the manes of horses, that puts magic tangles in a prostitute’s hair, whose untangling causes much misfortune. This Mab is that hag who lies on top of young girls sleeping and teaches them to bear so much weight, so they may carry things well. This Mab is the one—
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace!Thou talk’st of nothing. RomeoStop, Mercutio, stop! You talk nonsense.
True, I talk of dreams,Which are the children of an idle brain,Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,Which is as thin of substance as the air,And more inconstant than the wind, who woosEven now the frozen bosom of the north,And, being angered, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. MercutioTrue, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, born from nothing except frivolous imaginations. They are just as insubstantial as air, and as fickle as the wind, which one moment blows from the frozen north, and then gets angry and goes and blows from the humid south.
This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves;Supper is done, and we shall come too late. BenvolioAll this hot air you’re talking about is blowing us in the wrong direction. The dinner’s over and we’re going to be too late.
I fear too early, for my mind misgivesSome consequence, yet hanging in the stars,Shall bitterly begin his fearful dateWith this night’s revels, and expire the termOf a despised life closed in my breast,By some vile forfeit of untimely death.But he that hath the steerage of my course Directs my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. RomeoI’m afraid we’re going to be too early. I have some weird apprehension that something bad is going to begin tonight at this party, something that will only end with my untimely death. But I’ll let destiny take the wheel now! Let’s go, friends.
Strike, drum. BenvolioStart the rhythm!
Where’s Potpan that he helps not to take away?He shift a trencher? He scrape a trencher? First ServantWhere’s Potpan? He should be helping clear the table. Is he carrying plates? Is he washing plates?
When good manners shall lie all in one or two men’shands, and they unwashed too, ’tis a foul thing. Second ServantWhen there’s only one person with good manners around here and he gets his hands dirty yelling at us too, it’s an unpleasant thing.
Away with the joint-stools, remove thecourt-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, saveme a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me,let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.Antony and Potpan! First ServantGet these chairs out of here, take away the side-board, take care of the serving dishes. You, be a good fellow and save me a piece of the marzipan, be so kind as to tell the porter to show Susan Grindstone and Nell back to the kitchen. Anthony and Potpan!
Ay, boy, ready. AnthonyYep, we’re here and ready.
You are looked for and called for, asked for andsought for, in the great chamber. First ServantI’ve been looking for you and calling for you, and you’re needed now in the great hall.
We cannot be here and there too. [To the other servants] Cheerly,boys, be brisk awhile; and the longer liver take all.[Enter Capulet, with Juliet and others of his house,meeting the Guests and Maskers] PotpanWe can’t be in the kitchen and the dining room at the same time. [To other servants] Keep smiling, boys, let’s be quick, and may the winner take all, as they say.
Welcome, gentlemen. Ladies that have their toesUnplagued with corns will have a bout with you.Ah ha, my mistresses, which of you allWill now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,She I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now?Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the dayThat I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear,Such as would please. ‘Tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone.You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.A hall, a hall! Give room; and foot it, girls.[Music plays, and they dance]More light, you knaves, and turn the tables up,And quench the fire — the room is grown too hot.[Seeing his cousin arrive]Ah, sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet;For you and I are past our dancing days. How long is’t now since last yourself and IWere in a mask? CapuletWelcome gentlemen. The ladies will dance with you unless they have corns on their feet. Ah, my young ladies, which of you can deny you want to dance now? Any of you who acts shy must have corns, I’m sure of it. Did I hit close to home? Welcome, gentlemen. I remember back in the day when I wore a mask and whispered sweet nothings in a beautiful girl’s ear that could sweep her off her feet. Oh, but those days are long gone. You are welcome here, gentlemen. Come, musicians, play. Make some room in the hall! Make room, and get on your feet, girls. Bring in more light, you fools, and fold away those dining tables. And throw some water in the fireplace–it’s gotten too hot in here. If I do say so myself, this spontaneous dance is turning out quite well. No, come sit here with me, my good cousin, for our dancing days are over. How long has it been since we were last partying in masks?
By’r lady, thirty years. Cousin CapuletBless me- thirty years!
What, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much.’Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio,Come pentecost as quickly as it will,Some five and twenty years, and then we mask’d. CapuletWhat! It can’t be that long. It was after we danced at Lucentio’s wedding, and come this spring that will have been twenty-five years ago that we were at a masked ball.
‘Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir.His son is thirty. Cousin CapuletIt’s more, definitely more. Lucentio’s son is older than that, sir. His son is thirty.
Will you tell me that?His son was but a ward two years ago. CapuletWhat are you saying? His son was still under 21 two years ago.
What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? RomeoWho’s the lady who is enriching that knight by letting him hold her hand?
I know not, sir.*in response to Romeo Servant
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!It seems she hangs upon the cheek of nightLike a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.The measure done, I’ll watch her place of standAnd, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight,For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night. RomeoShe stands out from the other women like a white dove among a flock of crows. When the dance is over, I’ll watch where she stands, and make my hand blessed just by touching hers. Was I in love before? My eyes convince me not, since I never realized what true beauty is before tonight.
This, by his voice, should be a Montague.Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slaveCome hither, cover’d with an antic face,To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. TybaltThat sounds like the voice of a Montague. Go get my sword, boy. How dare he come our party disguised in that mask to sneer at us? By the honor of my Capulet ancestors, I say that striking him dead would be no sin.
Why, how now, kinsman, wherefore storm you so? CapuletMy nephew, what’s going on? Why are you talking so angrily?
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite,To scorn at our solemnity this night. TybaltUncle, that is a Montague, our enemy, who has come to our party out of spite so he can mock our festivities.
Young Romeo is it? Capulet
‘Tis he, that villain Romeo. TybaltThat’s him that villain Romeo!
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;He bears him like a portly gentleman;And, to say truth, Verona brags of himTo be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth.I would not for the wealth of all the townHere in my house do him disparagement.Therefore be patient, take no note of him. It is my will, the which if thou respect,Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. CapuletCalm down, gentle nephew. Leave him alone. He’s behaving quite properly. And honestly, everyone in Verona says he’s a nice, well-mannered boy. I will not have him mistreated in my house, not for the wealth of the whole town.So be patient and don’t pay any attention to him. That’s what I want, so if you respect my decisions, you should put on a smile and quit frowning, which is not an appropriate look for a feast anyway.
It fits, when such a villain is a guest.I’ll not endure him. TybaltIts right when such a villain is a guest! I’ll not tolerate
He shall be endured.What, goodman boy! I say, he shall. Go to.Am I the master here, or you? Go to.You’ll not endure him — God shall mend my soul!You’ll make a mutiny among my guests!You will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man! CapuletYou will indeed tolerate him. Listen young man! I say he will be tolerated. Go on. Am I the master of this house, or are you? Not tolerate him! God help me! You want to cause a scene! You want to make a commotion like a cock in the hen house! You want to show that you’re “the man!”
Why, uncle, ’tis a shame. TybaltWhy, it’s shameful, uncle.
Go to, go to;You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.You must contrary me! [To guests] Marry, ’tis time.Well said, my hearts. [To Tybalt] You are a princox; go.Be quiet, or [to servants] more light, more light [to Tybalt] for shame,I’ll make you quiet. [To guests] What, cheerly, my hearts! CapuletOh, go on. You’re an insolent boy. So you think it’s a disgrace, indeed? Well, this foolishness of yours may just cost you, I know that. So you have to contradict me, do you? [To guests] Good Heavens, it’s time for the dancing. Well said, my dears. [To Tybalt] You’re acting like a conceited ass. You can go. Be quiet at once, or–[To servant] more light, more light–[to Tybalt] I’ll shut you up. [To guests] Oh, how marvelous, my dears!
Patience perforce with willful choler meetingMakes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.I will withdraw, but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.[Exit] TybaltBeing forced to be quiet while I’m this angry makes my blood boil. I can’t do anything about it now, but Romeo’s intrusion into our party will turn my polite facade into bitterness.
If I profane with my unworthiest handThis holy shrine — the gentle sin is this —My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready standTo smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. RomeoI fear I’ve defiled your hands, which are like a holy shrine to me, by touching them with my own unworthy hands. But I have an agreeable way to make it up to you. My lips are ready to smooth over that rough touch with a tender kiss, like two devoted pilgrims before a holy place.
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,Which mannerly devotion shows in this;For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss. JulietGood worshipper, you’re too harsh on your own hand, as it shows a perfectly polite devotion by holding mine. After all, pilgrims touch the hands of saints, and the hands kiss when their palms are brought together.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? RomeoYes, but don’t the saints and the worshipers have lips, too?
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. JulietYes, pilgrim, lips that they should use for prayer.
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. RomeoWell then, dear saint, let our lips do what our hands are doing. They’re praying for something after all, a kiss, so their faith doesn’t turn into despair.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake. JulietSaints don’t act first, although they may respond to prayers.
Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged RomeoThen don’t move while I get my prayers answered.Now all the sin has been purged from my lips thanks to yours.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took. JulietThen that sin has passed from your lips to mine.
Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!Give me my sin again RomeoA sin from my lips? Oh what a sweetly suggested trespass! Give it back to me.
You kiss by the book. Juliet
Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Nurse
What is her mother? RomeoWho is her mother?
Marry, bachelor,Her mother is the lady of the house,And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous;I nursed her daughter, that you talk’d withal.I tell you, he that can lay hold of herShall have the chinks. NurseHeavens, young man, her mother is the lady of this house, and a good, wise, and virtuous lady she is. I nursed her daughter, who you were just talking to. I’ll tell you, whoever lands her will be rolling in the dough.
Is she a Capulet?O dear account! My life is my foe’s debt. RomeoDon’t tell me she’s a Capulet. What fate! My life is in my enemy’s hands. I can’t live without her.
Away, begone; the sport is at the best. BenvolioLet’s take off. As the saying goes, “Quit while you’re ahead.”
Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. RomeoI’m afraid that is only too true. Staying more would be my undoing.
Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.[They indicate that they must leave.]Is it e’en so? Why, then, I thank you all.I thank you, honest gentlemen, good night.More torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed.Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late.I’ll to my rest.[Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse] CapuletNo, gentlemen, don’t leave now. We have a little something for dessert coming.[They indicate that they need to leave]That’s so? Well, then, I thank you all for coming, honest gentlemen. Good night. [To the servants] Bring more torches here. Come, let’s go to bed. Oh, dear me, I swear it’s getting late. I’m going to bed.
Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? JulietCome here, nurse. Who’s that gentleman over there?
The son and heir of old Tiberio. Nurse
What’s he that now is going out of door? Juliet
Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. Nurse
What’s he that follows there, that would not dance? Juliet
I know not.*responding to Juliet Nurse
Go ask his name.[The nurse goes] If he be married,My grave is like to be my wedding bed. JulietGo find out his name.[Nurse departs]If he’s already married, I’ll likely go to my grave an old maid rather than marry anyone else.
His name is Romeo, and a Montague,The only son of your great enemy. NurseHis name is Romeo, and he’s a Montague. In fact, he’s the only son of Lord Montague, your great enemy.
My only love sprung from my only hate,Too early seen unknown, and known too late!Prodigious birth of love it is to me,That I must love a loathed enemy. JulietThe only love I’ve ever known comes from the only thing I hate! I met him too early, before I knew who he was, and I found out who he was too late. What a terrible way for me to fall in love for the first time–with a hated enemy.
What’s this? What’s this? Nurse
A rhyme I learn’d even nowOf one I danced withal. JulietOh, just a rhyme I learned from someone I was dancing with.
Anon, anon!Come, let’s away; the strangers all are gone. NurseWe’re coming, we’re coming! Come, let’s go. All the guests have gone.

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