Julietโs Chamber; Juliet on the bed.
Enterย Nurse.
NURSE.
Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.
Why, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed!
Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!
What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now.
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The County Paris hath set up his rest
That you shall rest but little. God forgive me!
Marry and amen. How sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the County take you in your bed,
Heโll fright you up, iโfaith. Will it not be?
What, dressโd, and in your clothes, and down again?
I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!
Alas, alas! Help, help! My ladyโs dead!
O, well-a-day that ever I was born.
Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!
Enterย Lady Capulet.
LADY CAPULET.
What noise is here?
NURSE.
O lamentable day!
LADY CAPULET.
What is the matter?
NURSE.
Look, look! O heavy day!
LADY CAPULET.
O me, O me! My child, my only life.
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee.
Help, help! Call help.
Enterย Capulet.
CAPULET.
For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.
NURSE.
Sheโs dead, deceasโd, sheโs dead; alack the day!
LADY CAPULET.
Alack the day, sheโs dead, sheโs dead, sheโs dead!
CAPULET.
Ha! Let me see her. Out alas! Sheโs cold,
Her blood is settled and her joints are stiff.
Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
NURSE.
O lamentable day!
LADY CAPULET.
O woful time!
CAPULET.
Death, that hath taโen her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
Enterย Friar Lawrenceย andย Parisย with Musicians.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
CAPULET.
Ready to go, but never to return.
O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death lain with thy bride. There she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die
And leave him all; life, living, all is deathโs.
PARIS.
Have I thought long to see this morningโs face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
LADY CAPULET.
Accursโd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.
Most miserable hour that eโer time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catchโd it from my sight.
NURSE.
O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.
Most lamentable day, most woeful day
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day, O day, O day, O hateful day.
Never was seen so black a day as this.
O woeful day, O woeful day.
PARIS.
Beguilโd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain.
Most detestable death, by thee beguilโd,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.
O love! O life! Not life, but love in death!
CAPULET.
Despisโd, distressed, hated, martyrโd, killโd.
Uncomfortable time, why camโst thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child! My soul, and not my child,
Dead art thou. Alack, my child is dead,
And with my child my joys are buried.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Peace, ho, for shame. Confusionโs cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid.
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion,
For โtwas your heaven she should be advancโd,
And weep ye now, seeing she is advancโd
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill
That you run mad, seeing that she is well.
Sheโs not well married that lives married long,
But sheโs best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse, and, as the custom is,
And in her best array bear her to church;
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet natureโs tears are reasonโs merriment.
CAPULET.
All things that we ordained festival
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,
And go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
The heavens do lower upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will.
[Exeuntย Capulet, Lady Capulet, Parisย andย Friar.]
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
NURSE.
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,
For well you know this is a pitiful case.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
[Exitย Nurse.]
Enterย Peter.
PETER.
Musicians, O, musicians, โHeartโs ease,โ โHeartโs easeโ, O, and you will have me live, play โHeartโs ease.โ
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Why โHeartโs easeโ?
PETER.
O musicians, because my heart itself plays โMy heart is fullโ. O play me some merry dump to comfort me.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Not a dump we, โtis no time to play now.
PETER.
You will not then?
FIRST MUSICIAN.
No.
PETER.
I will then give it you soundly.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
What will you give us?
PETER.
No money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Then will I give you the serving-creature.
PETER.
Then will I lay the serving-creatureโs dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. Iโll re you, Iโll fa you. Do you note me?
FIRST MUSICIAN.
And you re us and fa us, you note us.
SECOND MUSICIAN.
Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
PETER.
Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.
โWhen griping griefs the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver soundโโ
Why โsilver soundโ? Why โmusic with her silver soundโ? What say you, Simon Catling?
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
PETER.
Prates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
SECOND MUSICIAN.
I say โsilver soundโ because musicians sound for silver.
PETER.
Prates too! What say you, James Soundpost?
THIRD MUSICIAN.
Faith, I know not what to say.
PETER.
O, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is โmusic with her silver soundโ because musicians have no gold for sounding.
โThen music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.โ
[Exit.]
FIRST MUSICIAN.
What a pestilent knave is this same!
SECOND MUSICIAN.
Hang him, Jack. Come, weโll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.