Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Romeo come forth, come forth thou fearful man,
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts:
And thou art wedded to calamity.
ROMEO:
Father what news? What is the Prince's doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.
ROMEO:
What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom?
FRIAR LAURENCE:
A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
Not body's death, but body's banishment.
ROMEO:
Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say death:
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death, do not say banishment.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
ROMEO:
There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself:
Hence banished, is banish'd from the world.
And world's exile is death. Then banished,
Is death, mis-term'd, calling death banished,
Thou cut'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
O deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness,
Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince
Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
ROMEO:
'Tis torture and not mercy, heaven is here
Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing
Live here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies, than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who even in pure vestal modesty
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
This may flies do, when I from this must fly,
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
But Romeo may not, he is banished.
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But banished to kill me? Banished?
O Friar, the damned use that word in hell:
Howling attends it, how hadst thou the heart
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word banished?
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
ROMEO:
O thou wilt speak again of banishment.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
I 'll give thee armour to keep off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, Philosophy,
To comfort thee though thou art banished.
ROMEO:
Yet banished? Hang up philosophy,
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a Prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
O then I see, that madmen have no ears.
ROMEO:
How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
ROMEO:
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Arise, one knocks, good Romeo hide thyself.
ROMEO:
Not I, unless the breath of heart-sick groans
Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Hark how they knock: (who's there?)
Thou wilt be taken, stay awhile, stand up.
Run to my study: by and by: God's will
What simpleness is this? I come, I come.
Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? What 's your will?
NURSE within:
Let me come in, and you shall know my errand:
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Welcome then.
NURSE:
O holy Friar, O tell me holy Friar,
Where 's my Lady's Lord. Where 's Romeo?
FRIAR LAURENCE:
There on the ground,
With his own tears made drunk.
NURSE:
O he is even in my Mistress' case,
Just in her case. O woeful sympathy:
Piteous predicament, even so lies she,
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering,
Stand up, stand up, stand and you be a man,
For Juliet's sake, for her sake rise and stand:
Why should you fall into so deep an O?
NURSE:
Ah sir, ah sir, death 's the end of all.
ROMEO:
Spak'st thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth she not think me an old murtherer,
Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy,
With blood removed but little from her own?
Where is she? And how doth she? And what says
My conceal'd Lady to our cancell'd love?
NURSE:
O she says nothing sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
Shot from the deadly level of a gun
Did murther her, as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. Oh tell me Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? Tell me that I may sack
<He offers to stab himself,
and the Nurse snatches the dagger away.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast.
Unseemly woman in a seeming man,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both,
Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy Lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth? The heaven and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth all three do meet
In thee at once, which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou 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 love, thy wit:
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Disgressing from the valour of a man,
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish,
Thy wit, that ornament, to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both:
Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask,
Is set a-fire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What rouse thee man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt: there art thou happy.
The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile, there art thou happy.
A pack of blessings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her best array,
But like a misbehav'd and sullen wench,
Thou puttest up thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go get thee to thy love as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua,
Where thou shalt live till we can find 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.
Go before Nurse, commend me to thy Lady,
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
NURSE:
O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night,
To hear good counsel, O what learning is:
My Lord, I 'll tell my Lady you will come.
ROMEO:
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
<Nurse offers to go in and turns again.>
NURSE:
Here sir, a ring she bid me give you sir:
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
ROMEO:
How well my comfort is reviv'd by this.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Go hence, good night, and here stands all your state:
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua, I 'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time,
Every good hap to you that chances here:
Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewell, good night.
ROMEO:
But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: