Romeo and Juliet

[A street in Mantua. Enter Romeo]

Romeo

If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

Romeo

News from Verona! How now, Balthasar!
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? That I ask again,
For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Balthasar

Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.

Romeo

Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor.
Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have
A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker may fall dead,
And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
As violently as hasty powder fired
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Lady Capulet

Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catched it from my sight!

Capulet

Despised, distressèd, hated, martyred, killed!
Uncomfortable Time, why cam'st 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 burièd.

Friar Laurence

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 'twas your heaven she should be advanced;
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
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.

Friar Laurence

Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corpse; and, as the custom is, 
In all her best array bear her to church.
For though some nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Peter

O musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is
full of woe.' O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.

First Musician

Not a dump, we. 'Tis 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.

Peter

I will give you the minstrel.

First Musician

Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Peter

Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on
your pate. I will carry no crotchets; I'll re you,
I'll fa you. Do you note me?

First Musician

An 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.

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