Chapter XI: Act V: SCENE I. Mantua. A street.1393 (3)

_Mer_: I am pepperd for this world, I am sped yfaith, he 65
hath made wormes meate of me, & ye aske for me to morrow
you shall finde me a graue-man. A poxe of your houses,
I shall be fairely mounted vpon foure mens shoulders: For
your house of the _Mountegues_ and the _Capolets_: and then
some peasantly rogue, some Sexton, some base slaue shall 70
write my Epitapth, that _Tybalt_ came and broke the Princes
Lawes, and _Mercutio_ was slaine for the first and second
cause. Wher's the Surgeon?

_Boy_: Hee's come sir.

_Mer_: Now heele keepe a mumbling in my guts on the 75
other side, come _Benuolio_, lend me thy hand: a poxe of
your houses. _Exeunt._

_Rom_: This Gentleman the Princes neere Alie.
My very frend hath tane this mortall wound
In my behalfe, my reputation staind 80
With _Tibalts_ slaunder, _Tybalt_ that an houre
Hath beene my kinsman. Ah _Iuliet_
Thy beautie makes me thus effeminate,
And in my temper softens valors steele.

_Enter Benuolio._

_Ben_: Ah _Romeo Romeo_ braue _Mercutio_ is dead, 85
That gallant spirit hath a spir'd the cloudes,
Which too vntimely scornd the lowly earth.

_Rom_: This daies black fate, on more daies doth depend
This but begins what other dayes must end.

_Enter Tibalt._

_Ben_: Heere comes the furious _Tibalt_ backe againe. 90

_Rom_: A liue in tryumph and _Mercutio_ slaine?
Away to heauen respectiue lenity:
And fier eyed fury be my conduct now.
Now _Tibalt_ take the villaine backe againe,
Which late thou gau'st me: for _Mercutios_ soule, 95
Is but a little way aboue the cloudes,
And staies for thine to beare him company.
Or thou, or I, or both shall follow him.

_Fight, Tibalt falles._

_Ben: Romeo_ away, thou seest that _Tibalt's_ slaine,
The Citizens approach, away, begone
Thou wilt be taken.

_Rom_: Ah I am fortunes slaue.

_Exeunt._

_Enter Citizens._

_Watch_: Wher's he that slue _Mercutio, Tybalt_ that villaine?

_Ben_: There is that _Tybalt_. 105
Vp sirra goe with vs[1594].

_Enter Prince, Capolets wife._

_Pry_: Where be the vile beginners of this fray?

_Ben_: Ah Noble Prince I can discouer all
The most vnlucky mannage of this brawle.
Heere lyes the man slaine by yong R_omeo_, 110
That slew thy kinsman braue _Mercutio_.

_M: Tibalt, Tybalt_, O my brothers child,
Vnhappie sight? Ah the blood is spilt
Of my deare kinsman, Prince as thou art true:
For blood of ours, shed bloud of _Mountagew_. 115

_Pry_: Speake _Benuolio_ who began this fray?

_Ben: Tibalt_ heere slaine whom R_omeos_ hand did slay.
R_omeo_ who spake him fayre bid him bethinke
How nice the quarrell was.
But _Tibalt_ still persisting in his wrong, 120
The stout _Mercutio_ drewe to calme the storme,
Which R_omeo_ seeing cal'd stay Gentlemen,
And on me cry'd, who drew to part their strife,
And with his agill arme yong R_omeo_,
As fast as tung crydepeace, sought peace to make. 125
While they were enterchanging thrusts and blows,
Vnder yong R_omeos_ laboring arme to part,
The furious _Tybalt_ cast an enuious thrust,
That rid the life of stout _Mercutio_.
With that he fled, but presently return'd, 130
And with his rapier braued R_omeo_:
That had but newly entertain'd reuenge.
And ere I could draw forth my rapyer
To part their furie, downe did _Tybalt_ fall,
And this way R_omeo_ fled. 135

_Mo_: He is a _Mountagew_ and speakes partiall,
Some twentie of them fought in this blacke strife:
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I doo intreate sweete Prince thoult iustice giue,
_Romeo_ slew _Tybalt, Romeo_ may not liue. 140

_Prin_: And for that offence
Immediately we doo exile him hence.
I haue an interest in your hates proceeding,
My blood for your rude braules doth lye a bleeding.
But Ile amerce you with so large a fine, 145
That you shall all repent the losse of mine.
I will be deafe to pleading and excuses,
Nor teares nor prayers shall purchase for abuses.
Pittie shall dwell and gouerne with vs still:
Mercie to all but murdrers, pardoning none that kill. 150

_Exeunt omnes._

[Sidenote: [SC. XII.]]

_Enter Iuliet._

_Iul_: Gallop apace you fierie footed steedes
To _Phoebus_ mansion, such a Waggoner
As _Phaeton_, would quickly bring you thether,
And send in cloudie night immediately.

_Enter Nurse wringing her hands, with the ladder_
_of cordes in her lap._

But how now Nurse: O Lord, why lookst thou sad? 5
What hast thou there, the cordes?

_Nur_: I, I, the cordes: alacke we are vndone,
We are vndone, Ladie we are vndone.

_Iul_: What diuell art thou that torments me thus?

_Nurs_: Alack the day, hees dead, hees dead, hees dead. 10

_Jul_: This torture should be roard in dismall hell.
Can heauens be so enuious?

_Nur: Romeo_ can if heauens cannot.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes.
God saue the sample, on his manly breast: 15
A bloodie coarse, a piteous bloodie coarse,
All pale as ashes, I swounded at the sight.

_Iul_: Ah _Romeo, Romeo_, what disaster hap
Hath seuerd thee from thy true _Juliet_?
Ah why should Heauen so much conspire with Woe, 20
Or Fate enuie our happie Marriage,
So soone to sunder vs by timelesse Death?

_Nur_: O _Tybalt, Tybalt_, the best frend I had,
O honest _Tybalt_, curteous Gentleman.

_Iul_: What storme is this that blowes so contrarie, 25
Is _Tybalt_ dead, and _Romeo_ murdered:
My deare loude cousen, and my dearest Lord.
Then let the trumpet sound a generall doome
These two being dead, then liuing is there none.

_Nur: Tybalt_ is dead, and _Romeo_ banished, 30
_Romeo_ that murdred him is banished.

_Iul_: Ah heauens, did _Romeos_ hand shed _Tybalts_ blood?

_Nur_: It did, it did, alacke the day it did.

_Iul_: O serpents hate, hid with a flowring face:
O painted sepulcher, including filth. 35
Was neuer booke containing so foule matter,
So fairly bound. Ah, what meant _Romeo_?

_Nur_: There is no truth, no faith, no honestie in men:
All false, all faithles, periurde, all forsworne.
Shame come to _Romeo_. 40

_Iul_: A blister on that tung, he was not borne to shame:
Vpon his face Shame is ashamde to sit.
But wherefore villaine didst thou kill my Cousen?
That villaine Cousen would haue kild my husband.
All this is comfort. But there yet remaines 45
Worse than his death, which faine I would forget:
But ah, it presseth to my memorie,
_Romeo_ is banished. Ah that word Banished
Is worse than death. R_omeo_ is banished,
Is Father, Mother, _Tybalt_, I_uliet_, 50
All killd, all slaine, all dead, all banished.
Where are my Father and my Mother Nurse?

_Nur_: Weeping and wayling ouer _Tybalts_ coarse.
Will you goe to them?

_Iul_: I, I, when theirs are spent, 55
Mine shall he shed for R_omeos_ banishment.

_Nur_: Ladie, your R_omeo_ will be here to night,
Ile to him, he is hid at _Laurence_ Cell.

_Iul_: Doo so, and beare this Ring to my true Knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell. _Exeunt._ 60

[Sidenote: [SC. XIII.]]

_Enter Frier._

_Fr_: R_omeo_ come forth, come forth thou fearfull man,
Affliction is enamourd on thy parts,
And thou art wedded to Calamitie.

_Enter Romeo._

_Rom_: Father what newes, what is the Princes doome,
What Sorrow craues acquaintance at our hands, 5
Which yet we know not.

_Fr_: Too familiar
Is my yong sonne with such sowre companie:
I bring thee tidings of the Princes doome.

_Rom_: What lesse than doomes day is the Princes doome? 10

_Fr_: A gentler iudgement vanisht from his lips,
Not bodies death, but bodies banishment.

_Rom_: Ha, Banished? be mercifull, say death:
For Exile hath more terror in his lookes,
Than death it selfe, doo not say Banishment. 15

_Fr_: Hence from _Verona_ art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

_Rom_: There is no world without _Verona_ walls,
But purgatorie, torture, hell it selfe.
Hence banished, is banisht from the world: 20
And world exilde is death. Calling death banishment,
Thou cutst my head off with a golden axe,
And smilest vpon the stroke that murders me.

_Fr_: Oh monstrous sinne, O rude vnthankfulnes:
Thy fault our law calls death, but the milde Prince 25
(Taking thy part) hath rushd aside the law,
And turnd that blacke word death to banishment:
This is meere mercie, and thou seest it not.

_Rom_: Tis torture and not mercie, heauen is heere
Where _Iuliet_ liues: and euerie cat and dog, 30
And little mouse, euerie vnworthie thing
Liue here in heauen, and may looke on her,
But R_omeo_ may not. More validitie,
More honourable state, more courtship liues
In carrion flyes, than R_omeo_: they may seaze 35
On the white wonder of faire _Iuliets_ skinne,
And steale immortall kisses from her lips;
But R_omeo_ may not, he is banished.
Flies may doo this, but I from this must flye.
Oh Father hadst thou no strong poyson mixt, 40
No sharpe ground knife, no present meane of death,
Though nere so meane, but banishment
To torture me withall: ah, banished.
O Frier, the damned vse that word in hell:
Howling attends it. How hadst thou the heart, 45
Being a Diuine, a ghostly Confessor,
A sinne absoluer, and my frend profest,
To mangle me with that word, Banishment?

_Fr_: Thou fond mad man, heare me but speake a word.

_Rom_: O, thou wilt talke againe of Banishment. 50

_Fr_: Ile giue thee armour to beare off this word,
Aduersities sweete milke, philosophie,
To comfort thee though thou be banished.

_Rom_: Yet Banished? hang vp philosophie,
Vnlesse philosophie can make a _Juliet_, 55
Displant a Towne, reuerse a Princes doome,
It helpes not, it prevailes not, talke no more.

_Fr_: O, now I see that madmen haue no eares.

_Rom_: How should they, when that wise men haue no eyes.

_Fr_: Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. 60

_Rom_: Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feele.
Wert thou as young as I, _Iuliet_ thy Loue,
An houre but married, _Tybalt_ murdred.
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou speake, then mightst thou teare thy hayre. 65
And fall vpon the ground as I doe now,
Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.

_Nurse knockes._

_Fr_: R_omeo_ arise, stand vp thou wilt be taken,
I heare one knocke, arise and get thee gone.

_Nu_: Hoe Fryer. 70

_Fr_: Gods will what wilfulnes is this?

_Shee knockes againe._

_Nur_: Hoe Fryer open the doore,

_Fr_: By and by I come. Who is there?

_Nur_: One from Lady _Iuliet_.

_Fr_: Then come neare. 75

_Nur_: Oh holy Fryer, tell mee oh holy Fryer,
Where is my Ladies Lord? Wher's R_omeo_?

_Fr_: There on the ground, with his owne teares made
drunke.

_Nur_: Oh he is euen in my Mistresse case. 80
Iust in her case. Oh wofull simpathy,
Pitteous predicament, euen so lyes shee,
Weeping and blubbring, blubbring and weeping:
Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man.
For _Iuliets_ sake, for her sake rise and stand, 85
Why should you fall into so deep an _O._

_He rises._

_Romeo_: Nurse.

_Nur_: Ah sir, ah sir. Wel death's the end of all.

_Rom_: Spakest thou of _Iuliet_, how is it with her?
Doth she not thinke me an olde murderer, 90
Now I haue stainde the childhood of her ioy,
With bloud remou'd but little from her owne?
Where is she? and how doth she? And what sayes
My conceal'd Lady to our canceld loue?

_Nur_: Oh she saith nothing, but weepes and pules, 95
And now fals on her bed, now on the ground,
And _Tybalt_ cryes, and then on _Romeo_ calles.

_Rom_: As if that name shot from the deadly leuel of a gun
Did murder her, as that names cursed hand
Murderd her kinsman. Ah tell me holy Fryer 100
In what vile part of this Anatomy
Doth my name lye? Tell me that I may sacke
The hatefull mansion?

_He offers to stab himselfe, and Nurse snatches_
_the dagger away._

_Nur_: Ah?

_Fr_: Hold, stay thy hand: art thou a man? thy forme 105
Cryes out thou art, but thy wilde actes denote
The vnresonable furyes of a beast.
Vnseemely woman in a seeming man,
Or ill beseeming beast in seeming both.
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, 110
I thought thy disposition better temperd,
Hast thou slaine _Tybalt_? wilt thou slay thy selfe?
And slay thy Lady too, that liues in thee?
Rouse vp thy spirits, thy Lady _Iuliet_ liues,
For whose sweet sake thou wert but lately dead: 115
There art thou happy. _Tybalt_ would kill thee,
But thou sluest _Tybalt_, there art thou happy too.
A packe of blessings lights vpon thy backe,
Happines Courts thee in his best array:
But like a misbehaude and sullen wench 120
Thou frownst vpon thy Fate that smilles on thee.
Take heede, take heede, for such dye miserable.
Goe get thee to thy loue as was decreed:
Ascend her Chamber Window, hence and comfort her,
But looke thou stay not till the watch be set: 125
For then thou canst not passe to _Mantua_.
Nurse prouide all things in a readines,
Comfort thy Mistresse, haste the house to bed,
Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto.

_Nur_: Good Lord what a thing learning is. 130
I could haue stayde heere all this night
To heare good counsell. Well Sir,
Ile tell my Lady that you will come.

_Rom_: Doe so and bidde my sweet prepare to childe,
Farwell good Nurse. 135

_Nurse offers to goe in and turnes againe._

_Nur_: Heere is a Ring Sir, that she bad me giue you,

_Rom_: How well my comfort is reuiud by this.

_Exit Nurse._

_Fr_: Soiorne in _Mantua_, Ile finde out your man,
And he shall signifie from time to time:
Euery good hap that doth befall thee heere. 140
Farwell.

_Rom_: But that a ioy, past ioy cryes out on me,
It were a griefe so breefe to part with thee.

[Sidenote: [SC. XIV.]]

_Enter olde Capolet and his Wife, with_
_County Paris._

_Cap_: Thinges haue fallen out Sir so vnluckily,
That we haue had no time to moue my daughter.
Looke yee Sir, she lou'd her kinsman dearely,
And so did I. Well, we were borne to dye,
Wife wher's your daughter, is she in her chamber? 5
I thinke she meanes not to come downe to night.

_Par_: These times of woe affoord no time to wooe,
Maddam farwell, commend me to your daughter.

_Paris offers to goe in, and Capolet_
_calles him againe._

_Cap_: Sir _Paris_? Ile make a desperate tender of my child.
I thinke she will be rulde in all respectes by mee: 10
But soft what day is this?

_Par_: Munday my Lord.

_Cap_: Oh then Wensday is too soone,
On Thursday let it be: you shall be maried.
Wee'le make no great a doe, a frend or two, or so: 15
For looke ye Sir, _Tybalt_ being slaine so lately,
It will be thought we held him care leslye:
If we should reuell much, therefore we will haue
Some halfe a dozen frends and make no more adoe.
But what say you to Thursday. 20

_Par_: My Lorde I wishe that Thursday were to morrow.

_Cap_: Wife goe you to your daughter, ere you goe to bed.
Acquaint her with the County _Paris_ loue,
Fare well my Lord till Thursday next.
Wife gette you to your daughter. Light to my Chamber. 25
Afore me it is so very very late,
That we may call it earely by and by.

_Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. XV.]]

_Enter Romeo and Iuliet at the window._

_Iul_: Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet nere day,
It was the Nightingale and not the Larke
That pierst the fearfull hollow of thine eare:
Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree,
Beleeue me loue, it was the Nightingale. 5

_Rom_: It was the Larke, the Herald of the Morne,
And not the Nightingale. See Loue what enuious strakes
Doo lace the seuering clowdes in yonder East.
Nights candles are burnt out, and iocond Day
Stands tiptoes on the mystie mountaine tops. 10
I must be gone and liue, or stay and dye.

_Jul_: Yon light is not day light, I know it I:
It is some Meteor that the Sunne exhales,
To be this night to thee a Torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to _Mantua_. 15
Then stay awhile, thou shalt not goe soone.

_Rom_: Let me stay here, let me be tane, and dye:
If thou wilt haue it so, I am content.
Ile say yon gray is not the Mornings Eye,
It is the pale reflex of _Cynthias_ brow. 20
Ile say it is the Nightingale that beates
The vaultic heauen so high aboue our heads,
And not the Larke the Messenger of Morne.
Come death and welcome, _Iuliet_ wils it so.
What sayes my Loue? lets talke, tis not yet day. 25

_Jul_: It is, it is, begone, flye hence away.
It is the Larke that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh Discords and vnpleasing Sharpes.
Some say, the Larke makes sweete Diuision:
This doth not so: for this diuideth vs. 30
Some say the Larke and loathed Toad change eyes,
I would that now they had changd voyces too:
Since arme from arme her voyce doth vs affray,
Hunting thee hence with Huntsvp to the day.
So now be gone, more light and light it growes. 35

_Rom_: More light and light, more darke and darke our woes.
Farewell my Loue, one kisse and Ile descend.

_He goeth downe._

_Jul_: Art thou gone so, my Lord, my Loue, my Frend?
I must heare from thee euerie day in the hower:
For in an hower there are manie minutes, 40
Minutes are dayes, so will I number them:
Oh, by this count I shall be much in yeares,
Ere I see thee againe.

_Rom_: Farewell, I will omit no opportunitie
That may conueigh my greetings loue to thee.

_Iul_: Oh, thinkst thou we shall euer meete againe.

_Rom_: No doubt, no doubt, and all this woe shall serue
For sweete discourses in the time to come.

_Jul_: Oh God, I have an ill diuining soule.
Me thinkes I see thee now thou art below 50
Like one dead in the bottome of a Tombe:
Either mine ey-sight failes, or thou lookst pale.

_Rom_: And trust me Loue, in my eye so doo you,
Drie sorrow drinkes our blood: adieu, adieu. _Exit._

_Enter Nurse hastely._

_Nur_: Madame beware, take heed the day is broke, 55
Your Mother's comming to your Chamber, make all sure.

_She goeth downe from the window._

_Enter Iuliets Mother, Nurse._

_Moth_: Where are you Daughter?

_Nur_: What Ladie, Lambe, what _Iuliet_?

_Iul_: How now, who calls?

_Nur_: It is your Mother. 60

_Moth_: Why how now _Juliet_?

_Iul_: Madam, I am not well.

_Moth_: What euermore weeping for your Cosens death:
I thinke thoult wash him from his graue with teares.

_Iul_: I cannot chuse, hauing so great a losse. 65

_Moth_: I cannot blame thee.
But it greeues thee more that Villaine liues.

_Iul_: What Villaine Madame?

_Moth_: That Villaine _Romeo_.

_Iul_: Villaine and he are manie miles a sunder. 70

_Moth_: Content thee Girle, if I could finde a man
I soone would send to _Mantua_ where he is,
That should bestow on him so sure a draught,
As he should soone beare _Tybalt_ companie.

_Iul_: Finde you the meanes, and Ile finde such a man: 75
For whilest he liues, my heart shall nere be light
Till I behold him, dead is my poore heart.
Thus for a Kinsman vext?

_Moth_: Well let that passe. I come to bring thee ioyfull newes?

_Iul_: And ioy comes well in such a needfull time. 80

_Moth_: Well then, thou hast a carefull Father Girle,
And one who pittying thy needfull state,
Hath found thee out a happie day of ioy.

_Iul_: What day is that I pray you?

_Moth_: Marry my Childe, 85
The gallant, yong and youthfull Gentleman,
The Countie _Paris_ at Saint _Peters_ Church,
Early next Thursday morning must prouide,
To make you there a glad and ioyfull Bride.

_Iul_: Now by Saint _Peters_ Church and _Peter_ too, 90
He shall not there make mee a ioyfull Bride.
Are these the newes you had to tell me of?
Marrie here are newes indeed. Madame I will not marrie yet.
And when I doo, it shalbe rather _Romeo_ whom I hate,
Than Countie _Paris_ that I cannot loue. 95

_Enter olde Capolet._

_Moth_: Here comes your Father, you may tell him so.

_Capo_: Why how now, euermore showring?
In one little bodie thou resemblest a sea, a barke, a storme:
For this thy bodie which I tearme a barke,
Still floating in thy euerfalling teares, 100
And tost with sighes arising from thy hart:
Will without succour shipwracke presently.
But heare you Wife, what haue you sounded her, what saies she to it?

_Moth_: I haue, but she will none she thankes ye:
Would God that she were married to her graue. 105

_Capo_: What will she not, doth she not thanke vs, doth
she not wexe proud?

_Iul_: Not proud ye haue, but thankfull that ye haue:
Proud can I neuer be of that I hate,
But thankfull euen for hate that is ment loue. 110

_Capo_: Proud and I thanke you, and I thanke you not,
And yet not proud. Whats here, chop logicke.
Proud me no prouds, nor thanke me no thankes,
But fettle your fine ioynts on Thursday next
To goe with _Paris_ to Saint _Peters_ Church, 115
Or I will drag you on a hurdle thether.
Out you greene sicknes baggage, out you tallow face.

_Iu_: Good father heare me speake?

_She kneeles downe._

_Cap_: I tell thee what, eyther resolue on thursday next
To goe with _Paris_ to Saint _Peters_ Church: 120
Or henceforth neuer looke me in the face.
Speake not, reply not, for my fingers ytch.
Why wife, we thought that we were scarcely blest
That God had sent vs but this onely chyld:
But now I see this one is one too much, 125
And that we haue a crosse in hauing her.

_Nur_: Mary God in heauen blesse her my Lord,
You are too blame to rate her so.

_Cap._ And why my Lady wisedome? hold your tung,
Good prudence smatter with your gossips, goe. 130

_Nur_: Why my Lord I speake no treason.

_Cap_: Oh goddegodden.
Vtter your grauity ouer a gossips boule,
For heere wee need it not.

_Mo_: My lord ye are too hotte. 135

_Cap_: Gods blessed mother wife it mads me,
Day, night, early, late, at home, abroad,
Alone, in company, waking or sleeping,
Still my care hath beene to see her matcht.
And hauing now found out a Gentleman, 140
Of Princely parentage, youthfull, and nobly trainde.
Stuft as they say with honorable parts,
Proportioned as ones heart coulde wish a man:
And then to haue a wretched whyning foole,
A puling mammet in her fortunes tender, 145
To say I cannot loue, I am too young, I pray you pardon mee?
But if you cannot wedde Ile pardon you.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.
Looke to it, thinke out, I doe not vse to iest.
I tell yee what, Thursday is neere, 150
Lay hand on heart, aduise, bethinke your selfe,
If you be mine, Ile giue you to my frend:
If not, hang, drowne, starue, beg,
Dye in the streetes: for by my Soule
Ile neuer more acknowledge thee, 155
Nor what I haue shall euer doe thee good,
Thinke ont, looke toot, I doe not vse to iest. _Exit._

_Iul_: Is there no pitty hanging in the cloudes,
That lookes into the bottom of my woes?
I doe beseech you Madame, cast me not away, 160
Defer this mariage for a day or two,
Or if you cannot, make my mariage bed
In that dimme monument where _Tybalt_ lyes.

_Moth_: Nay be assured I will not speake a word.
Do what thou wilt for I haue done with thee. _Exit._ 165

_Iul_: Ah Nurse what comfort? what counsell canst thou giue me.

_Nur_: Now trust me Madame, I know not what to say:
Your _Romeo_ he is banisht, and all the world to nothing
He neuer dares returne to challendge you.
Now I thinke good you marry with this County,
Oh he is a gallant Gentleman, R_omeo_ is but a dishclout
In respect of him. I promise you
I thinke you happy in this second match.
As for your husband he is dead:
Or twere as good he were, for you haue no vse of him. 175

_Iul_: Speakst thou this from thy heart?

_Nur_: I and from my soule, or els beshrew them both.

_Iul_: Amen.

_Nur_: What say you Madame?

_Iul_: Well, thou hast comforted me wondrous much, 180
I pray thee goe thy waies vnto my mother
Tell her I am gone hauing displeasde my Father.
To Fryer _Laurence_ Cell to confesse me,
And to be absolu'd.

_Nur_: I will, and this is wisely done. 185

_She lookes after Nurse._

_Iul_: Auncient damnation, O most cursed fiend.
Is it more sinne to wish me thus forsworne,
Or to dispraise him with the selfe same tongue
That thou hast praisde him with aboue compare
So many thousand times? Goe Counsellor, 190
Thou and my bosom henceforth shalbe twaine.
Ile to the Fryer to know his remedy,
If all faile els, I haue the power to dye.

_Exit._

[Sidenote: [SC. XVI.]]

_Enter Fryer and Paris._

_Fr_: On Thursday say ye: the time is very short,

_Par_: My Father _Capolet_ will haue it so,
And I am nothing slacke to slow his hast.

_Fr_: You say you doe not know the Ladies minde?
Vneuen is the course, I like it not. 5

_Par_: Immoderately she weepes for _Tybalts_ death,
And therefore haue I little talkt of loue.
For _Venus_ smiles not in a house of teares,
Now Sir, her father thinkes it daungerous:
That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway. 10
And in his wisedome hasts our mariage,
To stop the inundation of her teares.
Which too much minded by her selfe alone
May be put from her by societie.
Now doe ye know the reason of this hast. 15

_Fr_: I would I knew not why it should be slowd.

_Enter Paris._

Heere comes the lady to my cell,

_Par_: Welcome my loue, my Lady and my wife:

_Iu_: That may be sir, when I may be a wife,

_Par_: That may be, must be loue, on thursday next. 20

_Iu_: What must be shalbe.

_Fr_: Thats a certaine text.

_Par_: What come ye to confession to this Fryer.

_Iu_: To tell you that were to confesse to you.

_Par_: Do not deny to him that you loue me. 25

_Iul_: I will confesse to you that I loue him,

_Par_: So I am sure you will that you loue me.

_Iu_: And if I doe, it wilbe of more price,
Being spoke behinde your backe, than to your face.

_Par_: Poore soule that face is much abus'd with teares. 30

_Iu_: The teares haue got small victory by that,
For it was bad enough before their spite.

_Par_: Thou wrongst it more than teares by that report.

_Iu_: That is no wrong sir, that is a truth:
And what I spake I spake it to my face. 35

_Par_: Thy face is mine and thou hast slaundred it.

_Iu_: It may be so, for it is not mine owne.
Are you at leasure holy Father now:
Or shall I come to you at euening Masse?

_Fr_: My leasure serues me pensive daughter now. 40
My Lord we must entreate the time alone.

_Par_: God sheild I should disturbe deuotion,
_Iuliet_ farwell, and keep this holy kisse.

_Exit Paris._

_Iu_: Goe shut the doore and when thou hast done so,
Come weepe with me that am past cure, past help, 45

_Fr_: Ah _Iuliet_ I already know thy griefe,
I heare thou must and nothing may proroge it,
On Thursday next be married to the Countie.

_Iul_: Tell me not Frier that thou hearst of it,
Vnlesse thou tell me how we may preuent it. 50
Giue me some sudden counsell: els behold
Twixt my extreames and me, this bloodie Knife
Shall play the Vmpeere, arbitrating that
Which the Commission of thy yeares and arte
Could to no issue of true honour bring. 55
Speake not, be briefe: for I desire to die,
If what thou speakst, speake not of remedie.

_Fr_: Stay _Juliet_, I doo spie a kinde of hope,
Which craues as desperate an execution,
As that is desperate we would preuent.
If rather than to marrie Countie _Paris_
Thou hast the strength or will to slay thy selfe,
Tis not vnlike that thou wilt vndertake
A thing like death to chyde away this shame,
Thou coapst with death it selfe to flye from blame. 65
And if thou doost, Ile giue thee remedie.

_Jul_: Oh bid me leape (rather than marrie _Paris_)
From off the battlements of yonder tower:
Or chaine me to some steepie mountaines top,
Where roaring Beares and sauage Lions are: 70
Or shut me nightly in a Charnell-house,
With reekie shankes, and yeolow chaples sculls:
Or lay me in tombe with one new dead:
Things that to heare them namde haue made me tremble;
And I will doo it without feare or doubt, 75
To keep my selfe a faithfull vnstaind Wife
To my deere Lord, my deerest _Romeo_.

_Fr_: Hold _Iuliet_, hie thee home, get thee to bed,
Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy Chamber:
And when thou art alone, take thou this Violl, 80
And this distilled Liquor drinke thou off:
When presently through all thy veynes shall run
A dull and heauie slumber, which shall seaze
Each vitall spirit: for no Pulse shall keepe
His naturall progresse, but surcease to beate: 85
No signe of breath shall testifie thou liust.
And in this borrowed likenes of shrunke death,
Thou shall remaine full two and fortie houres.
And when thou art laid in thy Kindreds Vault,
Ile send in hast to _Mantua_ to thy Lord, 90
And he shall come and take thee from thy graue.

_Iul_: Frier I goe, be sure thou send for my deare _Romeo_.

_Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. XVII.]]

_Enter olde Capolet, his Wife, Nurse, and_
_Seruingman._

_Capo_: Where are you sirra?

_Ser_: Heere forsooth.

_Capo_: Goe, prouide me twentie cunning Cookes.

_Ser_: I warrant you Sir, let me alone for that. Ile knowe
them by licking their fingers. 5

_Capo_: How canst thou know them so?

_Ser_: Ah sir, tis an ill Cooke cannot licke his owne fingers.

_Capo_: Well get you gone.

_Exit Seruingman._

But wheres this Head-strong?

_Moth_: Shees gone (my Lord) to Frier _Laurence_ Cell
To be confest.

_Capo_: Ah, he may hap to doo some good of her,
A headstrong selfewild harlotrie it is.

_Enter_ Iuliet.

_Moth_: See here she commeth from Confession, 15

_Capo_: How now my Head-strong, where haue you bin
gadding?

_Iul_: Where I haue learned to repent the sin
Of froward wilfull opposition
Gainst you and your behests, and am enioynd 20
By holy _Laurence_ to fall prostrate here,
And craue remission of so foule a fact.

_She kneeles downe._

_Moth_: Why thats well said.

_Capo_: Now before God this holy reuerent Frier
All our whole Citie is much bound vnto. 25
Goe tell the Countie presently of this,
For I will haue this knot knit vp to morrow.

_Jul_: Nurse, will you go with me to my Closet,
To sort such things as shall be requisite
Against to morrrow, 30

_Moth_: I pree thee doo, good Nurse goe in with her,
Helpe her to sort Tyres, Rebatoes, Chaines,
And I will come vnto you presently,

_Nur_: Come sweet hart, shall we goe:

_Iul_: I pree thee let vs. 35

_Exeunt Nurse and Iuliet._

_Moth_: Me thinks on Thursday would be time enough.

_Capo_: I say I will haue this dispatcht to morrow,
Goe one and certefie the Count thereof.

_Moth_: I pray my Lord, let it be Thursday.

_Capo_: I say to morrow while shees in the mood. 40

_Moth_: We shall be short in our prouision.

_Capo_: Let me alone for that, goe get you in,
Now before God my heart is passing light,
To see her thus conformed to our will. _Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. XVIII.]]

_Enter Nurse, Iuliet._

_Nur_: Come, come, what need you anie thing else?

_Iul_: Nothing good Nurse, but leaue me to my selfe:
For I doo meane to lye alone to night.

_Nur_: Well theres a cleane smocke vnder your pillow,
and so good night. _Exit._

_Enter Mother._

_Moth_: What are you busie, doo you need my helpe?

_Iul_: No Madame, I desire to lye alone,
For I haue manie things to thinke vpon.

_Moth_: Well then good night, be stirring _Iuliet_,
The Countie will be earlie here to morrow. _Exit._ 10

_Iul_: Farewell, God knowes when wee shall meete againe.
Ah, I doo take a fearfull thing in hand.
What if this Potion should not worke at all.
Must I of force be married to the Countie?
This shall forbid it. Knife, lye thou there. 15
What if the Frier should giue me this drinke
To poyson mee, for feare I should disclose
Our former marriage? Ah, I wrong him much,
He is a holy and religious Man:
I will not entertaine so bad a thought. 20
What if I should be stifled in the Toomb?
Awake an houre before the appointed time:
Ah then I feare I shall be lunaticke,
And playing with my dead forefathers bones,
Dash out my franticke braines. Me thinkes I see 25
My Cosin _Tybalt_ weltring in his bloud,
Seeking for _Romeo_: stay _Tybalt_ stay.
_Romeo_ I come, this doe I drinke to thee.

_She fals vpon her bed within the Curtaines._

[Sidenote: [SC. XIX.]]

_Enter Nurse with hearbs, Mother._

_Moth_: Thats well said Nurse, set all in redines,
The Countie will be heere immediatly.

_Enter Oldeman._

_Cap_: Make hast, make hast, for it is almost day,
The Curfewe bell hath rung, t'is foure a clocke,
Looke to your bakt meates good _Angelica_.

_Nur_: Goe get you to bed you cotqueane. I faith you
will be sicke anone.

_Cap_: I warrant thee Nurse I haue ere now watcht all
night, and haue taken no harme at all.

_Moth_: I you haue beene a mouse hunt in your time. 10

_Enter Seruingman with Logs & Coales._

_Cap_: A Ielous hood, a Ielous hood: How now sirra?
What haue you there?

_Ser_: Forsooth Logs.

_Cap_: Goe, goe choose dryer. Will will tell thee where
thou shalt fetch them. 15

_Ser_: Nay I warrant let me alone, I haue a heade I troe to
choose a Log.

_Exit._

_Cap_: Well goe thy way, thou shalt be logger head.
Come, come, make hast call vp your daughter,
The Countie will be heere with musicke straight. 20
Gods me hees come, Nurse call vp my daughter.

_Nur_: Goe, get you gone. What lambe, what Lady
birde? fast I warrant. What _Iuliet_? well, let the County take
you in your bed: yee sleepe for a weeke now, but the next
night, the Countie _Paris_ hath set vp his rest that you shal rest 25
but little. What lambe I say, fast still: what Lady, Loue,
whatbride, what _Iuliet_? Gods me how sound she sleeps? Nay
then I see I must wake you indeed. Whats heere, laide on
your bed, drest in your cloathes and down, ah me, alack the
day, some Aqua vitæ hoe. 30

_Enter Mother._

_Moth_: How now whats the matter?

_Nur_: Alack the day, shees dead, shees dead, shees dead.

_Moth_: Accurst, vnhappy, miserable time.

_Enter Oldeman._

_Cap_: Come, come, make hast, wheres my daughter?

_Moth_: Ah shees dead, shees dead. 35

_Cap_: Stay, let me see, all pale and wan.
Accursed time, vnfortunate olde man.

_Enter Fryer and Paris._

_Par_: What is the bride ready to goe to Church?

_Cap_: Ready to goe, but neuer to returne.
O Sonne the night before thy wedding day, 40
Hath Death laine with thy bride, flower as she is,
Deflowerd by him, see, where she lyes,
Death is my Sonne in Law, to him I giue all that I haue,

_Par_: Haue I thought long to see this mornings face,
And doth it now present such prodegies? 45
Accurst, vnhappy, miserable man,
Forlorne, forsaken, destitute I am:
Borne to the world to be a slaue in it.
Distrest, remediles, and vnfortunate.
O heauens, O nature, wherefore did you make me, 50
To liue so vile, so wretched as I shall.

_Cap_: O heere she lies that was our hope, our ioy,
And being dead, dead sorrow nips vs all.

_All at once cry out and wring their hands._

_All cry_: And all our ioy, and all our hope is dead,
Dead, lost, vndone, absented, wholy fled. 55

_Cap_: Cruel, vniust, impartiall destinies,
Why to this day haue you preseru'd my life?
To see my hope, my stay, my ioy, my life,
Depriude of sence, of life, of all by death,
Cruell, vniust, impartiall destinies. 60

_Cap_: O sad fac'd sorrow map of misery,
Why this sad time haue I desird to see.
This day, this vniust, this impartiall day
Wherein I hop'd to see my comfort full,
To be depriude by suddaine destinie. 65

_Moth_: O woe, alacke, distrest, why should I liue?
To see this day, this miserable day.
Alacke the time that euer I was borne.
To be partaker of this destinie.
Alacke the day, alacke and welladay. 70

_Fr_: O peace for shame, if not for charity.
Your daughter liues in peace and happines,
And it is vaine to wish it otherwise.
Come sticke your Rosemary in this dead coarse,
And as the custome of our Country is, 75
In all her best and sumptuous ornaments,
Conuay her where her Ancestors lie tomb'd,

_Cap_: Let it be so, come wofull sorrow mates,
Let vs together taste this bitter fate.

_They all but the Nurse goe foorth, casting Rosemary on_
_her and shutting the Curtens._

_Enter Musitions._

_Nur_: Put vp, put vp, this is a wofull case. _Exit._ 80

_1._ I by my troth Mistresse is it, it had need be mended.

_Enter Seruingman._

_Ser_: Alack alack what shal I doe, come Fidlers play me
some mery dumpe.

_1._ A sir, this is no time to play.

_Ser_: You will not then? 85

_1._ No marry will wee.

_Ser_: Then will I giue it you, and soundly to.

_1._ What will you giue vs?

_Ser_: The fidler, Ile re you, Ile fa you, Ile sol you.

_1._ If you re vs and fa vs, we will note you. 90

_Ser_: I will put vp my Iron dagger, and beate you with
my wodden wit. Come on Simon found Pot, Ile pose you,

_1._ Lets heare.

_Ser_: When griping griefe the heart doth wound,
And dolefull dumps the minde oppresse: 95
Then musique with her siluer sound,
Why siluer sound? Why siluer sound?

_1._ I thinke because musicke hath a sweet sound.

_Ser_: Pretie, what say you Mathew minikine?

_2._ I thinke because Musitions sound for siluer. 100

_Ser_: Prettie too: come, what say you?

_3._ I say nothing.

_Ser_: I thinke so, Ile speake for you because you are the
Singer. I saye Siluer sound, because such Fellowes as you
haue sildome Golde for sounding. Farewell Fidlers, 105
farewell. _Exit._

_1._ Farewell and be hangd: come lets goe. _Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. XX.]]

_Enter Romeo._

_Rom_: If I may trust the flattering Eye of Sleepe,
My Dreame presagde some good euent to come.
My bosome Lord sits chearfull in his throne,
And I am comforted with pleasing dreames.
Me thought I was this night alreadie dead: 5
(Strange dreames that giue a dead man leaue to thinke)
And that my Ladie _Iuliet_ came to me,
And breathd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reuiude and was an Emperour.

_Enter Balthasar his man booted._

Newes from _Verona_. How now _Balthasar_, 10
How doth my Ladie? Is my Father well?
How fares my _Juliet_? that I aske againe:
If she be well, then nothing can be ill.

_Balt_: Then nothing can be ill, for she is well,
Her bodie sleepes in _Capels_ Monument, 15
And her immortall parts with Angels dwell.
Pardon me Sir, that am the Messenger of such bad tidings.

_Rom_: Is it euen so? then I defie my Starres.
Goe get me incke and paper, hyre post horse,
I will not stay in _Mantua_ to night. 20

_Balt_: Pardon me Sir, I will not leaue you thus,
Your lookes are dangerous and full of feare:
I dare not, nor I will not leaue you yet.

_Rom_: Doo as I bid thee, get me incke and paper,
And hyre those horse: stay not I say. 25

_Exit Balthasar._

Well _Iuliet_, I will lye with thee to night.
Lets see for meanes. As I doo remember
Here dwells a Pothecarie whom oft I noted
As I past by, whose needie shop is stufft
With beggerly accounts of emptie boxes: 30
And in the same an _Aligarta_ hangs,
Olde endes of packthred, and cakes of Roses,
Are thinly strewed to make vp a show.
Him as I noted, thus with my selfe I thought:
And if a man should need a poyson now, 35
(Whose present sale is death in _Mantua_)
Here he might buy it. This thought of mine
Did but forerunne my need: and here about he dwels.
Being Holiday the Beggers shop is shut.
What ho Apothecarie, come forth I say. 40

_Enter Apothecarie._

_Apo_: Who calls, what would you sir?

_Rom_: Heeres twentie duckates,
Giue me a dram of some such speeding geere,
As will dispatch the wearie takers life,
As suddenly as powder being fierd 45
From forth a Cannons mouth.

_Apo_: Such drugs I haue I must of force confesse,
But yet the law is death to those that sell them.

_Rom_: Art thou so bare and full of pouertie,
And doost thou feare to violate the Law? 50
The Law is not thy frend, nor the Lawes frend,
And therefore make no conscience of the law:
Vpon thy backe hangs ragged Miserie,
And starued Famine dwelleth in thy cheekes.

_Apo_: My pouertie but not my will consents. 55

_Rom_: I pay thy pouertie, but not thy will.

_Apo_: Hold take you this, and put it in anie liquid thing
you will, and it will serue had you the liues of twenty men.

_Rom_: Hold, take this gold, worse poyson to mens soules
Than this which thou hast giuen me. Goe hye thee hence, 60
Goe buy the cloathes, and get thee into flesh.
Come cordiall and not poyson, goe with mee
To _Iuliets_ Graue: for there mvst I vse thee. _Exeunt._

[Sidenote: [SC. XXI.]]

_Enter Frier Iohn._

_John_: What Frier _Laurence_, Brother, ho?

_Laur_: This same should be the voyce of Frier _Iohn_.
What newes from _Mantua_, what will _Romeo_ come?

_Iohn_: Going to seeke a barefoote Brother out,
One of our order to associate mee, 5
Here in this Cittie visiting the sick,
Whereas the infectious pestilence remaind:
And being by the Searchers of the Towne
Found and examinde, we were both shut vp.

_Laur_: Who bare my letters then to _Romeo_? 10

_Iohn_: I haue them still, and here they are.

_Laur_: Now by my holy Order,
The letters were not nice, but of great weight.
Goe get thee hence, and get me presently
A spade and mattocke. 15

_Iohn_: Well I will presently go fetch thee them. _Exit._

_Laur_: Now must I to the Monument alone,
Least that the Ladie should before I come
Be wakde from sleepe. I will hye
To free her from that Tombe of miserie. _Exit._ 20

[Sidenote: [SC. XXII.]]

_Enter Countie Paris and his Page with flowers_
_and sweete water._

_Par_: Put out the torch, and lye thee all along
Vnder this Ew-tree, keeping thine eare close to the hollow ground.
And if thou heare one tread within this Churchyard,
Staight giue me notice. 5

_Boy_: I will my Lord.

_Paris strewes the Tomb with flowers._

_Par_: Sweete Flower, with flowers I strew thy Bridale bed:
Sweete Tombe that in thy circuite dost containe,
The perfect modell of eternitie:
Faire _Iuliet_ that with Angells dost remaine, 10
Accept this latest fauour at my hands,
That liuing honourd thee, and being dead
With funerall praises doo adorne thy Tombe.

_Boy whistles and calls._ My Lord.

_Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch, a_
_mattocke, and a crow of yron._

_Par_: The boy giues warning, something doth approach. 15
What cursed foote wanders this was to night,
To stay my obsequies and true loues rites?
What with a torch, muffle me night a while.

_Rom_: Giue mee this mattocke, and this wrentching Iron.
And take these letters, early in the morning, 20
See thou deliuer them to my Lord and Father.
So get thee gone and trouble me no more.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is partly to behold my Ladies face,
But chiefly to take from her dead finger, 25
A precious ring which I must vse
In deare imployment: but if thou wilt stay,
Further to prie in what I vndertake,
By heauen Ile teare thee ioynt by ioynt,
And strewe thys hungry churchyard with thy lims 30
The time and my intents are sauage, wilde.

_Balt_: Well, Ile be gone and not trouble you.

_Rom_: So shalt thou win my fauour, take thou this,
Commend me to my Father, farwell good fellow.

_Balt_: Yet for all this will I not part from hence. 35

_Romeo opens the tombe._

_Rom_: Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorde with the dearest morsell of the earth.
Thus I enforce thy rotten iawes to ope.

_Par_: This is that banisht haughtie _Mountague_,
That murderd my loues cosen, I will apprehend him. 40
Stop thy vnhallowed toyle vile _Mountague_.
Can vengeance be pursued further then death?
I doe attach thee as a fellon heere.
The Law condemnes thee, therefore thou must dye,

_Rom_: I must indeed, and therefore came I hither, 45
Good youth be gone, tempt not a desperate man.
Heape not another sinne vpon my head
By sheding of thy bloud, I doe protest
I loue thee better then I loue my selfe:
For I come hyther armde against my selfe, 50

_Par_: I doe defie thy coniurations:
And doe attach thee as a fellon heere.

_Rom_: What dost thou tempt me, then haue at thee boy.

_They fight._

_Boy_: O Lord they fight, I will goe call the watch.

_Par_: Ah I am slaine, if thou be mercifull 55
Open the tombe, lay me with _Iuliet_.

_Rom_: Yfaith I will, let me peruse this face,
_Mercutios_ kinsman, noble County _Paris_?
What said my man, when my betossed soule
Did not regard him as we past a long.
Did he not say _Paris_ should have maried
_Iuliet_? eyther he said so, or I dreamd it so.
But I will satisfie thy last request,
For thou hast prizd thy loue aboue thy life.
Death lye thou there, by a dead man interd, 65
How oft have many at the houre of death
Beene blith and pleasant? which their keepers call
A lightning before death But how may I
Call this a lightning. Ah deare _Iuliet_,
How well thy beauty doth become this graue? 70
O I beleeue that vnsubstanciall death,
Is amorous, and doth court my loue.
Therefore will I, O heere, O euer heere,
Set vp my euerlasting rest
With wormes, that are thy chamber mayds. 75
Come desperate Pilot now at once runne on
The dashing rockes thy sea-sicke weary barge.
Heers to my loue. O true Apothecary:
Thy drugs are swift: thus with a kisse I dye. _Falls._

_Enter Fryer with a Lanthorne._

How oft to night haue these my aged feete 80
Stumbled at graues as I did passe along.
Whose there?

_Man._ A frend and one that knowes you well.

_Fr_: Who is it that consorts so late the dead,
What light is yon? if I be not deceiued, 85
Me thinkes it burnes in _Capels_ monument?

_Man._ It doth so holy Sir, and there is one
That loues you dearly.

_Fr._ Who is it?

_Man: Romeo._ 90

_Fr_: How long hath he beene there?

_Man_: Full halfe an houre and more.

_Fr_: Goe with me thether.

_Man_: I dare not sir, he knowes not I am heere:
On paine of death he chargde me to be gone, 95
And not for to disturbe him in his enterprize.

_Fr_: Then must I goe: my minde presageth ill.

_Fryer stoops and lookes on the blood and weapons._

What bloud is this that staines the entrance
Of this marble stony monument?
What meanes these maisterles and goory weapons?
Ah me I doubt, whose heere? what _Romeo_ dead?
Who and _Paris_ too? what vnluckie houre
Is accessary to so foule a sinne?

_Iuliet rises._

The Lady sturres.[1595]
Ah comfortable Fryer. 105
I doe remember well where I should be,
And what we talkt of: but yet I cannot see
Him for whose sake I vndertooke this hazard.

_Fr_: Lady come foorth, I heare some noise at hand,
We shall be taken, _Paris_ he is slaine, 110
And _Romeo_ dead: and if we heere be tane
We shall be thought to be as accessarie.
I will prouide for you in some close Nunery.

_Iul_: Ah leaue me, leaue me, I will not from hence.

_Fr_: I heare some noise, I dare not stay, come, come. 115

_Iul_: Goe get thee gone.
Whats heere a cup closde in my louers hands?
Ah churle drinke all, and leaue no drop for me.

_Enter watch._

_Watch_: This way, this way.

_Iul_: I, noise? then must I be resolute. 120
O happy dagger thou shalt end my feare,
Rest in my bosome, thus I come to thee.

_She stabs herselfe and falles._

_Enter watch._

_Cap_: Come looke about, what weapons haue we heere?
See frends where _Iuliet_ two daies buried,
New bleeding wounded, search and see who's neare, 125
Attach and bring them to vs presently.

_Enter one with the Fryer._

_1._ Captaine heers a Fryer with tooles about him,
Fitte to ope a tombe.

_Cap_: A great suspition, keep him safe.

_Enter one with Romeos man._

_1._ Heeres _Romeos_ Man. 130

_Capt_: Keepe him to be examinde.

_Enter Prince with others._

_Prin_: What early mischiefe calls vs vp so soone.

_Capt_: O noble Prince, see here
Where _Juliet_ that hath lyen intoombd two dayes,
Warme and fresh bleeding, _Romeo_ and Countie _Paris_ 135
Likewise newly slaine.

_Prin_: Search seeke about to finde the murderers.

_Enter olde Capolet and his Wife._

_Capo_: What rumor's this that is so early vp?

_Moth_: The people in the streetes crie _Romeo_,
And some on _Iuliet_: as if they alone 140
Had been the cause of such a mutinie.

_Capo_: See Wife, this dagger hath mistooke:
For (loe) the backe is emptie of yong _Mountague_,
And it is sheathed in our Daughters breast.

_Enter olde Montague._

_Prin_: Come _Mountague_, for thou art early vp, 145
To see thy Sonne and Heire more early downe.

_Mount_: Dread Souereigne, my Wife is dead to night,
And yong _Benuolio_ is deceased too:
What further mischiefe can there yet be found?

_Prin_: First come and see, then speake. 150

_Mount_: O thou vntaught, what manners is in this
To presse before thy Father to a graue.

_Prin_: Come seale your mouthes of outrage for a while,
And let vs seeke to finde the Authors out
Of such a hainous and seld seene mischaunce. 155
Bring forth the parties in suspition.