[A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets. Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch.]
Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof.
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground,
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread —
Being loose, un-firm with digging up of graves —
But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me
As signal that thou hearest something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
[Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard, yet I will adventure.
Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew, —
O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones! —
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,
Or, wanting that, with tears distilled by moans.
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.
[The Page whistles]
The boy gives warning something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way tonight,
To cross my obsequies and true love's rite?
What, with a torch! Muffle me, night, a while.
[Retires. Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch]
Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
Hold, take this letter. Early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light. Upon thy life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hearest or seest, stand all aloof
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death
Is partly to behold my lady's face,
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring, a ring that I must use
In dear employment. Therefore hence, be gone.
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs.
The time and my intents are savage-wild,
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.
[Gives him some money]
Live, and be prosperous. and farewell, good fellow.
[Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout.
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.
Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,
And in despite I'll cram thee with more food!
[Opens the tomb]
This is that banished haughty Montague,
That murdered my love's cousin, with which grief
It is supposed the fair creature died;
And here is come to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!
Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.
Obey and go with me, for thou must die.
I must indeed, and therefore came I hither.
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.
Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Put not another sin upon my head
By urging me to fury. O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better than myself,
For I come hither armed against myself.
Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say
A madman's mercy bid thee run away.
I do defy thy conjurations,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.
Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!
O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.
O, I am slain! If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.
In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face —
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet.
Said he not so, or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so? O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.
A grave — O no, a lantern, slaughtered youth
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
[Laying Paris in the tomb]
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interred.
How oft when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry, which their keepers call
A lightning before death. O, how may I
Call this a lightning? O my love, my wife,
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favour can I do to thee
Than, with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To sunder his, that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial Death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that I still will stay with thee,
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again. Here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chamber-maids. O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide,
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
[He drinks the potion]
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies.]
[Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, Friar Laurence, with a lantern, a crowbar, and a shovel]
Saint Francis, be my speed! How oft tonight
Have my old feet stumbled at graves. Who's there?
Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Bliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,
It burneth in the Capel's monument.
It doth so, holy sir, and there's my master,
How long hath he been there?
My master knows not but I am gone hence,
And fearfully did menace me with death,
If I did stay to look on his intents.
Stay, then, I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me.
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.
Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolored by this place of peace?
[Enters the tomb]
Romeo! O, pale! Who else? What, Paris too?
And steeped in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!
O comfortable friar, Where is my lord?
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am. Where is my Romeo?
[Noise of someone approaching the tomb]
I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep.
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away.
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead,
And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns.
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
[Exit Friar Laurence]
What's here? A cup closed in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
O churl, drunk all and left no friendly drop
To help me after. I will kiss thy lips.
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them
To make me die with a restorative.
[Enter watchmen and Paris’ page]
Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger,
[Picking up Romeo's dagger]
This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die.
[Stabs herself and falls on Romeo's body]
This is the place, there where the torch doth burn.
The ground is bloody. Search about the churchyard.
Go, some of you, whoe'er you find, attach.
Pitiful sight! Here lies the County slain,
And Juliet bleeding, warm and newly dead,
Who here hath lain these two days buried.
Go tell the prince. Run to the Capulets.
Raise up the Montagues. Some others search.
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance descry.
[Re-enter some of the Watch, with Balthasar]
Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard.
Hold him in safety till the prince come hither.
[Re-Enter others of the Watch with Friar Laurence]
Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.
We took this mattock and this spade from him
As he was coming from this churchyard’s side.
A great suspicion. Stay the friar too.
[Enter the Prince and Attendants]
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from our morning's rest?
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others]
What should it be that they so shriek abroad?
The people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run
With open outcry toward our monument.
What fear is this which startles in our ears?
Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain,
And Romeo dead, and Juliet, dead before,
Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.
Here is a friar, and slaughtered Romeo's man,
With instruments upon them fit to open
O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
This dagger hath mista'en — for lo, his house
Is empty on the back of Montague, —
And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom.
O me, this sight of death is as a bell
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
[Enter Montague and others]
Come, Montague, for thou art early up
To see thy son and heir now early down.
Alas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.
Grief of my son's exile hath stopped her breath.
What further woe conspires against mine age?
Look, and thou shalt see.
O thou untaught! What manners is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave?
Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while,
Till we can clear these ambiguities,
And know their spring, their head, their true descent;
And then will I be genebe general of your woes,
And lead you even to death. Meantime forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.
I am the greatest, able to do least;
Yet most suspected as the time and place
Doth make against me of this direful murder;
And here I stand both to impeach and purge,
Myself condemned and myself excused.
Then say at once what thou dost know in this.
I will be brief, for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife.
I married them, and their stol'n marriage-day
Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death
Banished the new-made bridegroom from the city,
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betrothed and would have married her perforce
To County Paris. Then comes she to me,
And with wild looks bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her — so tutored by my art —
A sleeping potion, which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death. Meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come as this dire night
To help to take her from her borrowed grave,
Being the time the potion's force should cease.
But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
Was stayed by accident, and yesternight
Returned my letter back. Then all alone,
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came I to take her from her kindred's vault,
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo.
But when I came, some minute ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely lay
The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.
She wakes, and I entreated her come forth
And bear this work of heaven with patience.
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb,
And she, too desperate, would not go with me,
But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
All this I know, and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy. And, if aught in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrificed, some hour before his time,
Unto the rigor of severest law.
We still have known thee for a holy man.
Where's Romeo's man? What can he say to this?
I brought my master news of Juliet's death,
And then in post he came from Mantua
To this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early bid me give his father,
And threatened me with death, going in the vault,
If I departed not and left him there.
Give me the letter; I will look on it.
Where is the County's page that raised the watch?
Sirrah, what made your master in this place?
He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave,
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did.
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb,
And by and by my master drew on him,
And then I ran away to call the watch.
This letter doth make good the friar's words —
Their course of love, the tidings of her death.
And here he writes that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die and lie with Juliet.
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague!
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love;
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punished.
O brother Montague, give me thy hand.
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
But I can give thee more.
For I will ray her statue in pure gold;
That while Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set
As that of true and faithful Juliet.
As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie;
Poor sacrifices of our enmity.
A glooming peace this morning with it brings;
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardoned, and some punished.
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.