O Look It Here I Am Burning Again
In religion, I volition. Let me peruse this face up.
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did non nourish him as nosotros 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 and then? O, give me thy manus,
I writ with me in sour misfortune's volume!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth,
For hither lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of calorie-free.
Expiry, lie 1000 in that location, by a dead man interr'd.
[Laying PARIS in the tomb]
How oft when men are at the indicate of death
Have they been merry! which their keepers telephone call
A lightning before death: O, how may I
Call this a lightning? O my dear! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the love of thy jiff,
Hath had no ability all the same upon thy dazzler:
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign nonetheless
Is scarlet in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not avant-garde at that place.
Tybalt, liest one thousand in that location 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 and so fair? shall I believe
That unsubstantial expiry is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I all the same will stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again: hither, hither will I remain
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, hither
Will I prepare my everlasting rest,
And milk shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this earth-wearied mankind. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous buss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct, come up, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here'south to my dearest!
[Drinks]
O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a osculation I die.
[Dies] 
O snake heart, hid with a flowering confront!
Did ever dragon keep and so off-white a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-plume'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature, what hadst thou to practice in hell,
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In moral paradise of such sugariness flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So adequately leap? O that cant should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
Organized religion, here information technology is.
Romeo is banish'd; and all the earth to zippo,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you lot;
Or, if he practice, it needs must exist by stealth.
So, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I recall it best you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo's a dishclout to him: an hawkeye, madam,
Hath non so light-green, and so quick, then off-white an eye
Every bit Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I recollect you are happy in this 2d match,
For information technology excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
Equally living here and you no use of him.
Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas-eve at nighttime shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she.God rest all Christian souls!.
Were of an age: well, Susan is with God;
She was likewise good for me: but, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be 14;
That shall she, marry; I retrieve it well.
'Tis since the earthquake now xi years;
And she was wean'd,.I never shall forget it,.
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had so laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dove-business firm wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua:.
Nay, I do carry a encephalon:.merely, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it biting, pretty fool,
To come across it tetchy and fall out with the dug!
Milkshake quoth the pigeon-house: 'twas no demand, I trow,
To bid me trudge:
And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all almost;
For even the 24-hour interval before, she broke her brow:
And so my husband.God be with his soul!
A' was a merry human.took up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy confront?
Thou wilt fall backward when thousand hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'
To see, at present, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it: 'Wilt g not, Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'
What say you? can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o'er the book of young Paris' face up,
And discover delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how 1 another lends content
And what obscured in this fair book lies
Find written in the margent of his optics.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the ocean, and 'tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hibernate:
That book in many'due south eyes doth share the glory,
That in aureate clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Juliet. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art g Romeo?
Deny thy male parent and refuse thy name;
Or, if thousand wilt not, exist but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Romeo. [Bated] Shall I hear more than, or shall I speak at this?
Juliet. 'Tis simply thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? information technology is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, exist another name!
What'south in a name? that which we phone call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that love perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that proper noun which is no part of thee
Take all myself.
Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak to-nighttime
Fain would I dwell on course, fain, fain deny
What I take spoke: merely goodbye compliment!
Dost yard dear me? I know g wilt say 'Ay,'
And I volition have thy word: yet if m swear'st,
Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
And so say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If yard dost love, pronounce information technology faithfully:
Or if thou call back'st I am too speedily won,
I'll frown and exist perverse an say thee nay,
Then thou wilt woo; just else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am also fond,
And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that take more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more foreign, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My truthful love'southward passion: therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light beloved,
Which the dark dark hath then discovered.
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot run into him: that's non and then.
O, she is lame! dear'southward heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sunday's beams,
Driving back shadows over louring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves describe honey,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day'south journey, and from nine till twelve
Is iii long hours, yet she is not come up.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would exist as swift in motion as a brawl;
My words would bandy her to my sweetness honey,
And his to me:
But old folks, many feign equally they were dead;
Unwieldy, irksome, heavy and pale as atomic number 82.
O God, she comes!
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
Equally Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy nighttime immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, beloved-performing dark,
That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these artillery, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can run across to do their amorous rites
By their ain beauties; or, if honey be blind,
Information technology best agrees with night. Come up, civil night,
Thousand sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy blackness curtain; till strange love, grown bold,
Think true dear acted simple modesty.
Come, nighttime; come up, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For 1000 wilt prevarication upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd dark,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall dice,
Have him and cut him out in footling stars,
And he will make the face of sky then fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sunday.
O, I have bought the mansion of a dearest,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet relish'd: then tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient kid that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's proper noun speaks heavenly eloquence.
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Ah, poor my lord, what natural language shall smooth thy name,
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have impale'd my husband:
Dorsum, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops vest to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My hubby lives, that Tybalt would have slain;
And Tybalt'southward dead, that would have slain my hubby:
All this is condolement; wherefore weep I so?
Some word in that location was, worser than Tybalt'southward decease,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O, it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo.banished;'
That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,'
Hath slain ten m Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd non, when she said 'Tybalt'due south dead,'
Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentations might have moved?
But with a rear-ward post-obit Tybalt'southward death,
'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'
There is no cease, no limit, measure out, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
Juliet. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the lesser of my grief?
O, sugariness my female parent, cast me not away!
Filibuster this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
[Exit] Lady Capulet. Talk not to me, for I'll non speak a give-and-take:
Do as thou wilt, for I have washed with thee.
Juliet. O God!.O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My hubby is on earth, my faith in sky;
How shall that religion return again to world,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that sky should practice stratagems
Upon and so soft a subject as myself!
What say'st thou? hast k not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent information technology:
If, in thy wisdom, k canst give no help,
Practise thou but telephone call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll assist it shortly.
God join'd my middle and Romeo'due south, thou our easily;
And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my truthful heart with treacherous defection
Plough to some other, this shall slay them both:
Therefore, out of thy long-experienced fourth dimension,
Requite me some present counsel, or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody pocketknife
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
Which the committee of thy years and art
Could to no consequence of true honor bring.
Be not so long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
[JULIET appears above at a window]
But, soft! what lite through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the dominicus.
Arise, off-white sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and stake with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
Be non her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none just fools practice wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, information technology is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her centre discourses; I will respond it.
I am as well bold, 'tis non to me she speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the sky,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The effulgence of her cheek would shame those stars,
Equally daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in sky
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and retrieve it were not night.
Run across, how she leans her cheek upon her paw!
O, that I were a glove upon that paw,
That I might touch that cheek!
Goodbye! God knows when nosotros shall meet once again.
I accept a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the estrus of life:
I'll call them back once more to comfort me:
Nurse! What should she practice hither?
My dismal scene I needs must act solitary.
Come, vial.
What if this mixture do non work at all?
Shall I be married then to-morrow morning?
No, no: this shall preclude it: prevarication thou at that place.
[Laying down her dagger]
What if information technology be a toxicant, which the friar
Subtly hath government minister'd to have me expressionless,
Lest in this marriage he should exist dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should non,
For he hath still been tried a holy homo.
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the fourth dimension that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I non, then, be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And in that location die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of decease and nighttime,
Together with the terror of the identify,.
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my cached ancestors are packed:
Where encarmine Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;.
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:.
O, if I wake, shall I non exist distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefather's joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman'due south bone,
As with a guild, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks I see my cousin'due south ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his trunk
Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
[She falls upon her bed, within the curtains]
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
Will they not hear? What, ho! you lot men, you lot beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the basis,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy discussion,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Accept thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's aboriginal citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands equally sometime,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever y'all disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this fourth dimension, all the rest depart away:
You Capulet; shall get along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To onetime Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of decease, all men depart.
The greyness-eyed morn smiles on the frowning nighttime,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of lite,
And flecked darkness similar a drunkard reels
From forth solar day's path and Titan's fiery wheels:
Now, ere the sunday accelerate his burning center,
The twenty-four hours to cheer and night's chilly dew to dry,
I must up-make full this osier cage of ours
With calamitous weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The world that's nature's mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave that is her womb,
And from her womb children of defined kind
Nosotros sucking on her natural bosom detect,
Many for many virtues fantabulous,
None merely for some and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought then vile that on the globe doth live
But to the world some special good doth give,
Nor zero so good merely strain'd from that off-white use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometimes by action dignified.
Inside the baby rind of this pocket-size flower
Poison hath residence and medicine ability:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Beingness tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Ii such opposed kings encamp them nevertheless
In man besides as herbs, grace and rude will;
And where the worser is predominant,
Full shortly the canker death eats upward that constitute.
Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love then dear,
So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, merely in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a bargain of brine
Hath launder'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown abroad in waste,
To season love, that of information technology doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy quondam groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not launder'd off however:
If ever thou wast thyself and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline:
And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then,
Women may fall, when in that location's no strength in men.
[Give this line of Benvolio's to Mercutio for the purposes of this monologue]: Benvolio. Why, what is Tybalt?
Mercutio. More prince of cats, I can tell y'all. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, altitude, and proportion; rests me his minim balance, one, ii, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk push button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai!
Benvolio. The what?
Mercutio. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'Past Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall human being! a very expert whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus affected with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi'southward, who stand then much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the onetime bench? O, their bones, their bones!
Tybalt, hither slain, whom Romeo'south hand did slay;
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged nonetheless
Your high displeasure: all this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's chest,
Who all as hot, turns deadly bespeak to betoken,
And, with a martial scorn, with one paw beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and and then Tybalt fled;
But by and by comes dorsum to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.
And, as he roughshod, did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or permit Benvolio die.
'Tis torture, and non mercy: heaven is hither,
Where Juliet lives; and every true cat and domestic dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
But Romeo may not: more validity,
More than honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet'south mitt
And steal immortal approving from her lips,
Who even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
Merely Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may practise this, but I from this must fly:
They are costless men, but I am banished.
And say'st g yet that exile is not expiry?
Hadst grand no poison mix'd, no sharp-basis knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
Only 'banished' to kill me?.'banished'?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the middle,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
Concord thy desperate hand:
Art thou a homo? thy grade cries out thou fine art:
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
Or sick-beseeming animate being in seeming both!
Grand hast amazed me: past my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better atmosphere'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And stay thy lady as well that lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why runway'st 1000 on thy nativity, the heaven, and earth?
Since nativity, and heaven, and globe, all three practice meet
In thee at in one case; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, chiliad shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy beloved, thy wit:
Thy noble shape is only a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a human being;
Thy dear dear sworn just hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the comport of them both,
Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is live,
For whose dear sake thou wast just lately dead;
There art g happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too:
The constabulary that threaten'd death becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile; there fine art thousand happy:
A pack of blessings lights upward upon thy dorsum;
Happiness courts thee in her best assortment;
But, similar a misbehaved and sullen wench,
M frown'st upon thy fortune and thy beloved:
Have mind, have listen, for such die miserable.
Become, go thee to thy love, equally was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But await thou stay not till the lookout man exist set,
For and then thou canst non laissez passer to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till we tin observe a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
Get before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the business firm to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.
God'south staff of life! it makes me mad:
Mean solar day, night, 60 minutes, tide, time, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match'd: and having now provided
A admirer of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly railroad train'd,
Stuff'd, every bit they say, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as one'southward thought would wish a human;
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender,
To answer 'I'll non wednesday; I cannot dearest,
I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.'
But, as you lot will not wed, I'll pardon y'all:
Graze where you volition yous shall non house with me:
Look to't, call up on't, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on middle, advise:
An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
And you be non, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er admit thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee skillful:
Trust to't, bethink you lot; I'll non exist forsworn.
Concur, so; go home, exist merry, give consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow:
To-morrow night look that thou prevarication alone;
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber:
Take thou this vial, beingness and then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink yard off;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A common cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes, thy optics' windows autumn,
Similar expiry, when he shuts up the 24-hour interval of life;
Each role, deprived of supple government,
Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death:
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt continue two and forty hours,
And so awake every bit from a pleasant sleep.
At present, when the bridegroom in the morn comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art g dead:
So, equally the mode of our country is,
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier
Thou shalt be borne to that aforementioned ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the mean time, against one thousand shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my messages know our migrate,
And hither shall he come up: and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very dark
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear,
Abate thy valour in the interim information technology.
Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had function in this off-white maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is information technology for the maid:
Your part in her you could non keep from decease,
But sky keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced:
And cry ye now, seeing she is advanced
Higher up the clouds, equally high as heaven itself?
O, in this dear, you dearest your child so ill,
That yous run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well married that lives married long;
Merely she's best married that dies married young.
Dry out upwards your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this off-white corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church building:
For though fond nature bids us an lament,
Even so nature's tears are reason's merriment.
I will exist brief, for my short appointment of jiff
Is non then long equally is a ho-hum tale.
Romeo, there expressionless, was husband to that Juliet;
And she, there expressionless, that Romeo'south true-blue married woman:
I married them; and their stol'n matrimony-day
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-fabricated bridegroom from the city,
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth'd and would take married her perforce
To Canton Paris: and so comes she to me,
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some hateful
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself.
And then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping potion; which and so took result
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The course of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should here come up as this dire night,
To help to accept her from her borrow'd grave,
Being the time the potion's force should cease.
But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
Was stay'd by blow, and yesternight
Return'd my letter back. Then all alone
At the prefixed hour of her waking,
Came I to accept her from her kindred's vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
Just when I came, some minute ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely lay
The noble Paris and truthful Romeo expressionless.
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth,
And deport this work of sky with patience:
Simply then a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, besides 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 zilch in this
Miscarried by my mistake, allow my one-time life
Exist sacrificed, some hour before his fourth dimension,
Unto the rigour of severest law.
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of niggling atomies
Athwart men'south noses as they lie comatose;
Her wagon-spokes fabricated of long spiders' legs,
The encompass of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider's spider web,
The collars of the moonshine'south watery beams,
Her whip of cricket'south bone, the lash of film,
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Non so large as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Made by the joiner squirrel or onetime grub,
Time out o' listen the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this country she gallops nighttime by nighttime
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which frequently the aroused Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Onetime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose,
And and so dreams he of smelling out a adapt;
And old comes she with a tithe-sus scrofa's tail
Tickling a parson's olfactory organ as a' lies asleep,
Then dreams, he of some other benefice:
Erstwhile she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
And so dreams he of cutting strange throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths v-fathom deep; and and then betimes
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps once again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of practiced wagon:
This is she—
Mercutio. More than prince of cats, I can tell y'all. O, he is
the courageous captain of compliments. He fights equally
you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and
proportion; rests me his minim balance, one, two, and
the tertiary in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the
very get-go house, of the first and 2nd crusade:
ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai!
Benvolio. The what?
Mercutio. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'Past Jesu,
a very practiced blade! a very tall homo! a very good
whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable matter,
grandsire, that nosotros should be thus affected with
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these
perdona-mi'south, who stand so much on the new course,
that they cannot at ease on the former bench? O, their
bones, their basic!
[Enter ROMEO]
Benvolio. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mercutio. Without his roe, like a stale herring: flesh, flesh,
how art grand fishified! Now is he for the numbers
that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a
kitchen-wench; ally, she had a amend love to
be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey
eye or so, just not to the purpose. Signior
Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
to your French slop. You gave the states the counterfeit
fairly last night.
Source: https://www.shakespeare-monologues.org/plays/35
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