Imagens da página
PDF
ePub

'Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,

And so did I ;---Well, we were born to die.---
'Tis very late, she'll not come down to night;
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo : Madam, good night : commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-mor

row;
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my child's love: I think, she will be ruld
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next---
But, soft; What day is this?

Par. Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday! ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too

soon,
O’Thursday let it be ;---o' Thursday tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl :---
Will you be ready? do you like this haste ?
We'll keep no great ado ;---a friend, or two :---
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-mor-

row.

Cap. Well, get you gone :---O'Thursday be it

then :--Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed ; Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.--Farewell, my lord.---Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me, it is so very late, that we May call it early by and by :---Good night. [Excunt.

SCENE V.---Juliet's chamber.

Enter Romeo and Juliet.
Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree :
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops;
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I :
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thec on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.

Rom. Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
"Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;

Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our beads :
I have more care to stay, than will to go ;---
Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet wills it so.---
How is't my soul ? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away;
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords. and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us :
Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
0, now I would they had chang'd voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.
0, now be gone ; more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light ?-more dark and dark

our woes,

Enter Nurse.
Nurse. Madam!
Jul. Nurse?

Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber : · The day is broke ; be wary, look about.

[Exit Nurse. Jul. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

[Romeo descends. Jul. Art thou gone so? my love! my lord ! my

friend!
I must hear from thee every day i’the bour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years,

Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity, That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.

Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul:
Méthinks, I see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.

Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you :
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu !

[Exit Romeo. Jul. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him, That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

La. Cap. [Within.] Ho, daughter ! are you up?

Jul. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother :
Is she not down so late, or up so early ?
What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

Enter Lady Capulet. La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ? Jul. Madam, I am not well.

La, Cap. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou could’st, thou could'st not make him live; Therefore, have done : Some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

Jul. Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

La. Cap. So shall you feel the loss, but not the

friend, Which you weep for.

Jul. Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for

his death,
As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him.

Jul. What villain, madam ?
Lu. Cap. That same villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder.
God pardon him ! I do, with all my heart;
And yet no man, like he, doth grieve my heart.

La. Cap. That is, because the traitor murderer lives.

Jul. Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. 'Would, none but I might venge my cousin's death! La. Cap. We will have vengeance for it, fear thou

not:
Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish'd runagate doth live,--
That shall bestow on him so sure a draught,
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company :
And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied.

Jul. Indeed, I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo, till I behold him-dead-
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex'd :-
Madam, if you could but find out a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it;
That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet.-0, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,
To wreak the love I bore my cousin Tybalt

« AnteriorContinuar »