AI-Generated Graded Readers
Masaru Uchida, Gifu University
Publication webpage:
https://www1.gifu-u.ac.jp/~masaru/a1/ai-generated_graded_readers.html
Publication date: March 28, 2026
About This Edition
This book is a simplified English adaptation created for extensive reading practice.
The text was generated using ChatGPT and prepared for intermediate English learners as part of an educational project.
Target reading level: CEFR A2-B1
This edition aims to support fluency development through accessible vocabulary, expanded narration, and improved readability while preserving the original story structure.
Source Text
Original work: The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet
Author: William Shakespeare
Source: Project Gutenberg
https://www.gutenberg.org/
Full text available at:
https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1513/pg1513.txt
The original text is in the public domain.
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This simplified edition is intended for educational and non-commercial use only.
The source text is provided by Project Gutenberg under its public domain policy.
Users should refer to the Project Gutenberg License for full terms:
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This adaptation was generated with the assistance of artificial intelligence and edited for readability and educational purposes.
Disclaimer
This edition is an educational adaptation and is not affiliated with or endorsed by Project Gutenberg.
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William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (Simplified Edition, Adapted and Simplified by ChatGPT)
Part 1
Dramatis Personae
ESCALUS is the Prince of Verona. MERCUTIO is his kinsman and a close friend of Romeo. PARIS is a young nobleman who wishes to marry Juliet. MONTAGUE and CAPULET are the heads of two great houses that hate each other.
LADY MONTAGUE is Romeo’s mother, and LADY CAPULET is Juliet’s mother. ROMEO is the son of Montague, and JULIET is the daughter of Capulet. BENVOLIO is Romeo’s cousin and friend. TYBALT is Juliet’s hot-tempered cousin.
The NURSE cares for Juliet and loves her deeply. FRIAR LAWRENCE is a holy man who later helps Romeo. SAMPSON and GREGORY serve the Capulets, and ABRAM serves the Montagues. Citizens, servants, guards, and other people of Verona also appear.
THE PROLOGUE
[Enter CHORUS. He stands alone before the audience. He speaks calmly, but his words are heavy with sorrow.]
CHORUS. In the beautiful city of Verona, two noble houses live with an old and bitter hatred between them. Their anger often breaks into violence, and the streets are stained with blood. From these two enemy families, a young man and a young woman will fall deeply in love. Their sad deaths will at last destroy the hate that their parents could not end while they lived.
ACT I
Scene I. A public place in Verona.
[Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY with swords and small shields. They are servants of the Capulet house. They walk proudly and speak like men looking for trouble.]
SAMPSON. Gregory, I am tired of taking insults from the Montagues and doing nothing. If they make me angry, I will draw my sword at once. I will not step aside for any man of that house, and I will not be gentle with their servants. Let them come if they dare, because I am ready to fight.
GREGORY. You speak like a brave man, but I know you well. A man who is too quick to boast is often quick to run. You say you will stand firm, but I think you will turn your back when danger comes near. Still, if you truly mean to fight, let us see what happens when a Montague appears.
SAMPSON. I hate every dog of that house. I would push their men from the wall and shame them if I could. The quarrel between our masters has become our quarrel too, and I want them to feel it. I tell you again, if I am moved, I will strike.
[Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR, servants of Montague. They notice the Capulet servants at once. The air becomes tense.]
GREGORY. Here they are now, so choose your courage carefully. Do not start what you cannot finish. If you want a quarrel, give them a sign and see whether they answer it. I will watch how bold you truly are.
SAMPSON. My sword is out already, and I am not afraid. I will bite my thumb at them, and they will know I insult them. If they accept it, they begin the fight, and the law may still stand on our side. Let them decide how much shame they can bear.
ABRAM. Sir, do you bite your thumb at us because we are Montagues? I ask you plainly, so answer plainly. If you insult us, say it. We are not here to accept shame in silence.
SAMPSON. I bite my thumb, sir, but I do not say I bite it at you. Yet if you wish for a quarrel, I am ready for that too. I serve a master as good as yours, and I do not fear your house. Draw, if you are men.
[They fight. Their swords flash in the open street. Noise rises at once.]
[Enter BENVOLIO. He rushes forward to stop them. He is troubled by the foolish violence.]
BENVOLIO. Stop, you fools, and put your swords away before worse comes of this. You do not know how quickly a small fight can grow into a great one. I came here to keep the peace, not to add more blood to the street. If you have any sense, listen to me now.
[Enter TYBALT. He sees Benvolio with his sword drawn. His face grows hard with anger.]
TYBALT. Peace? I hate that word when it comes from a Montague. I hate peace, I hate hell, and I hate all your house, and I hate you with them. If your sword is out, then use it against me. Let us fight and settle the matter here.
BENVOLIO. I drew only to part these men and stop their rage. Put up your sword, Tybalt, and help me end this madness. Verona has seen enough of these street battles already. If we continue, many more will join us, and no good will come.
[They fight. Citizens run in with clubs and shout from every side. The street fills with fear, anger, and confusion.]
FIRST CITIZEN. Down with the Capulets and down with the Montagues as well. You make our city wild with your private hate. Every small word becomes a fight, and every fight brings more men into danger. Beat their weapons down and end this uproar.
[Enter CAPULET in his gown, LADY CAPULET, MONTAGUE, and LADY MONTAGUE. The old men are eager to fight, though their wives try to hold them back. The crowd grows larger still.]
CAPULET. What is this noise, and why has my house been challenged again? Bring me my sword, because I will not stand quiet while Montague comes against me. Though I am old, my anger is not old. If he is here, let him face me.
MONTAGUE. Villain Capulet, do not think age has made me weak. Let me go, and I will answer him myself. This old quarrel still burns in my blood. I would rather die than be held back while my enemy stands before me.
[Enter PRINCE ESCALUS with attendants. His authority cuts through the noise. All turn toward him.]
PRINCE. Enemies of peace, will you never learn? Three times already your foolish quarrels have disturbed our streets and forced even old citizens to take up arms. If ever you break the peace of Verona again, you shall pay with your lives. For now, all must leave at once; Capulet, come with me, and Montague, you shall later answer before me as well.
[The crowd breaks apart. CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, TYBALT, citizens, and servants go out one way. The PRINCE leaves with his attendants. MONTAGUE remains with LADY MONTAGUE and BENVOLIO.]
MONTAGUE. Tell me how this fight began, Benvolio, because I would know how the old fire was lit again. I see that Tybalt’s anger burned fiercely, and I fear what may come from such hatred. Yet another fear sits closer to my heart. Where is Romeo, and was he here among these swords?
LADY MONTAGUE. I am glad he was not seen in this fight. This morning, before the sun had fully risen, Benvolio saw him walking alone. He has many sad mornings now and hides himself from light. His sorrow grows darker every day.
BENVOLIO. I did see him in the early wood, but he avoided me and went deeper among the trees. Your son keeps his heart shut and will not share the cause of his pain. He seems like a flower hurt before it can open to the sun. If only we knew the reason, we might help him.
[Enter ROMEO. He looks tired and distant. His thoughts are far from the street.]
MONTAGUE. Here he comes now, and perhaps he will speak more freely with his cousin than with us. Come, let us step away and leave them together. I pray some honest word may open his heart. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE.]
BENVOLIO. Good morning, cousin, though it does not seem a good morning to you. The day is still young, but your face already carries the weight of many heavy hours. Tell me what sadness makes time move so slowly for you. You need not hide it from me.
ROMEO. Sad hours are always long, and mine are very long indeed. I am in love, but I am not loved back, and that makes every light thing heavy. Love should be gentle, yet it feels rough and cruel when it turns away from us. I am full of love and full of pain at the same time.
BENVOLIO. Then tell me who she is, and perhaps speaking will ease your heart. A hidden wound often grows worse in silence. If she is cold, there are other fair ladies in Verona. You should turn your eyes outward and learn to forget her.
ROMEO. Her name is Rosaline, and she has chosen to live untouched by love. She is beautiful, wise, and severe, and no sweet words can move her. She will not answer my looks, my sighs, or my prayers, and so I live like a dead man who still walks and speaks. Do not tell me to forget, because my eyes only teach me to remember her more.
BENVOLIO. Then let me try another cure. Tonight the Capulets hold a feast, and many beautiful women will be there, including Rosaline herself. Come with me and look at others beside her, and you may see that she is not the only bright face in the world. If I fail, I will admit my debt and say you were right.
ROMEO. I will go with you, though not because I hope to find a face more fair than hers. I will go only to look upon Rosaline once again and feed my eyes with the same old fire. Still, I will go. Perhaps the night will show me what the day has hidden.
[Exeunt.]
Part 2
Scene II. A street in Verona.
[Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and a SERVANT. The noise of the earlier fight has passed, but its shadow still lies over the city. PARIS walks beside Capulet with the calm confidence of a nobleman who has come to ask for Juliet’s hand.]
CAPULET. Montague is under the same warning as I am, and it should not be hard for men of our years to keep the peace if we truly wish it. Yet there is another matter before us, and I know well why you have come to speak with me. You still seek my daughter Juliet, and you have not changed your mind. I respect you for that, because you ask openly and with honor.
PARIS. I do indeed ask again, my lord, because my feeling is steady and not light. Juliet is young, fair, and noble, and I would gladly make her my wife if she can be brought to love me. It is a pity that our houses live among so much bitterness when good matches might bring joy into Verona. Tell me once more what hope I may have.
CAPULET. My daughter is not yet fourteen, and I think she is still too young for marriage. Let two more summers pass over her head before we speak of her as ready to be a bride. Many girls younger than she have become mothers, I know, but I have also seen that those who are made wives too early are often hurt by it. She is the only child left to me, and I will not hurry her into such a serious bond.
PARIS. My lord, I understand a father’s care, yet youth also has its season, and it does not wait forever. If Juliet is fair and wise, many eyes will turn toward her, and some man may win her if I delay too long. I speak not from impatience alone, but from real love. I would gladly prove myself worthy if she would hear me kindly.
CAPULET. Then do as I have said before: win her heart, and let her choice be part of the matter. My will counts, but her consent must count also, and I will not force her against herself. Tonight I hold an old feast at my house, and many friends will be there. Come with us and look upon the ladies of Verona, and among them you may see Juliet and judge whether your hope grows stronger.
[CAPULET gives a paper to his SERVANT. PARIS and CAPULET prepare to go. The SERVANT looks at the paper with growing worry.]
CAPULET. Go through fair Verona and find the people whose names are written here. Tell them that my house is open, and say they are welcome at my feast tonight. Do not delay, because the hour is coming near. Come, Paris, let us go on together. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS.]
SERVANT. Find the persons whose names are written here, he says, as if that were an easy thing. A shoemaker should use his tools, and a tailor should keep to his cloth, but I am sent with writing I cannot read. How shall I know these names if the letters mean nothing to me? I must find some learned man who can help.
[Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO. Romeo still carries the quiet pain of his love for Rosaline, but Benvolio keeps trying to shake him free from it.]
BENVOLIO. One fire may drive out another, cousin, and one pain may make us forget the sharpness of the first. If you keep staring at one wound, it will never close. You should look on other faces and let your eye take in new beauty. That is the best cure I can offer you.
ROMEO. Your cure sounds simple when spoken from an easy heart. You ask me to forget, but memory does not obey so quickly. I am not mad, though my sorrow may look like madness. Still, good day to you there, fellow; you seem as troubled as I am, though perhaps for a different reason.
SERVANT. Good day, sir, and I beg one small favor. Can either of you read what is written here? My master has sent me through the city with a list of guests, but the marks on the page are dark birds to me. I would be grateful for help, because I cannot carry out my duty without it. If you can read, you will save me from shame.
ROMEO. Yes, I can read if the letters are known to me. Give me the paper, and I will see what names are written there. [He takes the paper and looks over it carefully.] These are invitations to a fine company indeed, and I see many noble people named here. Tell me, where is this feast to be held?
SERVANT. At my master’s house, sir, and he is the rich Capulet. If you are not of the house of Montague, I ask you kindly to come and drink a cup of wine with us tonight. My master loves a full hall and cheerful guests. You have done me a good turn, so I wish you a merry day. [Exit.]
BENVOLIO. Do you hear that, Romeo? Rosaline herself will be there tonight among many other beautiful ladies of Verona. Come with me to the feast, and for once look at her beside others instead of alone in your fancy. When you compare her face with theirs, I think your proud swan will seem only a crow. At the very least, your eyes will have something new to do.
ROMEO. I do not believe the sun has seen anyone fairer than Rosaline since the world began. Yet I will go with you, though not because I expect to be cured by other beauty. I will go to see her, and perhaps only to worship where I already worship. Still, I feel the night drawing me forward, and I will not refuse it.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. A room in Capulet’s house.
[Enter LADY CAPULET and the NURSE. They are preparing for the feast, but Lady Capulet has another matter in mind. The Nurse is full of old memories and warm affection for Juliet.]
LADY CAPULET. Nurse, where is my daughter? Call Juliet to me, because I would speak with her at once. There is something important that she must hear before the guests arrive. We do not have much time, and yet this matter should not be rushed. Bring her here.
NURSE. I called for her long ago, and I know the child’s age almost to the hour. She is not yet fourteen, though the day comes very near. I remember the time of her birth, the time she was weaned, and every small step of her early life as clearly as if it were yesterday. Ah, here she comes now. [Enter JULIET.] My pretty girl, your mother calls for you.
JULIET. Madam, I am here. What is your pleasure? You called me with such haste that I thought some great matter must be near. If there is anything I should do, I am ready to hear it. Speak, and I will listen.
LADY CAPULET. Nurse, leave us for a moment. No, stay—on second thought, you may hear this, because you have helped raise her and know her well. Juliet, you are growing into womanhood, and the time has come to think about marriage. Paris, a noble and handsome gentleman, seeks your love. He is well thought of in Verona, and many would call him a prize.
NURSE. A fine man indeed, young lady, and as handsome as any in the city. If you look at him well tonight, you will see a face and form that many girls would gladly choose. He is soft and smooth like a flower in summer, and any woman might be proud to stand beside him. I would be happy to see you married before I die.
JULIET. Marriage is an honor that I have not yet truly dreamed of. I am still more used to hearing of it than to thinking it near for myself. Yet I will do as you ask and look at Paris tonight. I will not let my eye go farther than your permission allows.
LADY CAPULET. That is wisely said. Look at him with care at the feast and see whether your heart can move toward him. Read his face as if it were a book, and see what promise lives there. If you like what you see, you may rise with him into a good and worthy future.
[Enter a SERVANT in haste. The house is now full of movement and noise.]
SERVANT. Madam, the guests are coming in, supper is being set out, and everyone calls for everyone else. My young lady has been asked for, the Nurse has been cursed in the pantry, and everything is in confusion. I must return at once to my work. I beg you, come straight after me.
LADY CAPULET. We follow. Juliet, the County waits among the guests, and you must be ready to meet him. Carry yourself well tonight. [Exit LADY CAPULET.]
NURSE. Go, girl, and may happy nights grow out of happy days. Open your eyes and see what fortune may offer you. The world changes quickly, and a feast can begin more than one story. Come now. [Exeunt.]
Scene IV. A street before Capulet’s house.
[Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, maskers, torch-bearers, and others. They are on their way to the feast. Some are light-hearted, but Romeo walks under a dark and restless feeling.]
ROMEO. Shall we give some speech to excuse our coming, or shall we enter without any careful words? I am not in the mood for dancing or bright show, and a torch suits me better than a mask. Let others leap and turn if they wish, because my feet feel heavy. My heart is too burdened to rise with music.
BENVOLIO. We need no long excuse, and we need no foolish prologue before our entrance. Let them judge us as they please, and we will take our measure and be gone when the time is right. A feast is not a court of law, and we do not come to be examined. Take your place among us and do not stand apart too soon.
MERCUTIO. You must dance, Romeo, because a lover should borrow wings from Cupid and fly above dull care. Yet you sink under love as if it were a bag of stones tied to your neck. If love pricks you, prick love back and make it feel your hand. Come, put on a mask and let the night do its work.
ROMEO. Love feels rough to me, not gentle, and it cuts deeper than any thorn. I will carry a torch and stand aside while others dance. The game may be fair, but I am not made for it tonight. Something in my mind hangs darkly over this evening.
MERCUTIO. Then I know what has touched you: Queen Mab has been with you in your sleep. She drives her tiny chariot through the brains of men and gives them dreams to fit their wishes and their fears. Lovers dream of love, lawyers of fees, soldiers of battles, and ladies of kisses. Dreams are born from idle brains, and they change more quickly than the wind.
ROMEO. Peace, Mercutio, because you speak of nothing and yet make that nothing very long. Still, perhaps your laughter is better company than my own thoughts. I cannot shake the feeling that some bitter consequence begins tonight under the stars. Yet let the one who steers my life direct my course now; come on, gentlemen, let us go in.
BENVOLIO. Then strike the drum and move forward. The feast has already begun, and we should not be too late. Whatever waits inside, we will meet it together. Come. [Exeunt.]
Part 3
Scene V. A hall in Capulet’s house.
[Musicians wait. Servants move quickly through the bright hall, carrying dishes, cups, and plates. The feast is beginning, and the house is full of noise, heat, and hurried work.]
FIRST SERVANT. Where is Potpan, and why is he not here to help clear these things away? One man cannot scrape every plate, carry every dish, and answer every call at once. Look to the table, move the stools, and take care of the sweet food before someone steals it. Be quick, because the great chamber is filling, and everyone is being called in three places at once.
SECOND SERVANT. We cannot be in two rooms at the same time, even if our masters think we can. Still, the night is merry, and if we work hard now, we may laugh later when the worst is done. Let us keep moving while the guests are busy with dancing and wine. The one who lasts longest may enjoy the most in the end.
[They hurry out. Enter CAPULET, his kinsman, ladies, gentlemen, maskers, ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, and others. Music begins. The room glows with torchlight, and the feast is full of movement.]
CAPULET. Welcome, gentlemen, and welcome, ladies. Those among you whose feet are free from pain should dance, and those who do not dance must have a good excuse ready. Ah, I remember the days when I also wore a mask and spoke softly into a fair lady’s ear, but those years are gone now. Still, if I cannot dance as I once did, I can at least make my house warm and merry for those who can.
[Music plays, and the guests begin to dance. CAPULET laughs, calls for more light, and tells the servants to make room. ROMEO stands among the maskers, but his eye is suddenly caught by one young woman.]
ROMEO. What lady is that who makes the torchlight seem weak beside her? She stands among the others as a white dove might stand among dark birds, and all beauty near her seems less bright. Until this moment I thought I knew what beauty was, but now I see that I was blind. My heart never truly loved before tonight, because it never saw true beauty before this hour.
[TYBALT hears Romeo’s voice through the mask and turns sharply toward him. His face hardens at once, and his hand goes toward his sword.]
TYBALT. That voice is a Montague’s voice, and I know it well. This villain has dared to come into our house covered with a mask, only to laugh at us and shame our feast. Bring me my sword, because it is no sin to strike down such a man here. I will not let this insult pass before my eyes.
CAPULET. Why are you so angry, kinsman, and why do you darken the joy of this night? If this is young Romeo, let him alone, because he carries himself well and is spoken of in Verona as a decent and controlled young man. I would not dishonor him in my house for all the wealth in the city. Be patient, show a pleasant face, and do not bring your frown into my feast.
TYBALT. Uncle, it is a shame to endure such a guest under this roof. He is our enemy, and he has come here in spite and pride. My blood shakes within me at the sight of him, and I cannot smile while he stands among us. If I do not answer this now, it will burn in me all the more.
CAPULET. He shall be endured, and that is the end of it. Am I the master here, or are you? You are too bold, and this wild temper will one day wound you if you do not learn to govern it. Be quiet now, because I will have peace in my hall, and I will not let a young man’s anger make a public shame of my house.
TYBALT. I obey because I must, not because my anger is gone. What now seems sweet will turn bitter later, and I will remember this night. I withdraw, but I do not forgive. [Exit.]
[ROMEO has not heard all this. His eyes remain fixed on JULIET, who has come near in the dance. He steps toward her with reverence, as though she were something holy.]
ROMEO. If my unworthy hand has touched this holy place too boldly, I know one gentle way to make peace for that fault. My lips stand ready like two humble pilgrims, wishing to soften that rough touch with a tender kiss. I ask forgiveness with all the devotion I can bring. Let my prayer be heard if my hand has sinned.
JULIET. Good pilgrim, you blame your hand too much, because it has shown only respectful devotion. Saints have hands, and pilgrims may touch those holy hands with their own. Palm to palm is the proper kiss for such travelers. You have not done wrong merely by coming near.
ROMEO. Have not saints lips as well, and do not pilgrims also have lips? If hands may meet in holiness, why may not lips do what hands have already begun to ask? My prayer would be fuller if it could rise from there. Do not leave it half answered.
JULIET. Saints have lips, yes, but they use them for prayer. They do not move quickly at every request, even when the request is made with grace. A pilgrim should know patience as well as devotion. Perhaps prayer itself is sometimes the test.
ROMEO. Then let my lips pray, and let your lips grant what prayer asks, so that faith does not fall into despair. Do not move, dear saint, while I take the effect of my prayer. [He kisses her.] In that kiss, the fault has passed from me to you. If I was a sinner, your lips have taken the sin away.
JULIET. Then my lips now carry the sin they received from yours. That seems an unfair exchange if you are content and I must bear the blame. Yet perhaps the sin is not heavy if it comes in such a form. Still, if it is yours, what will you do now?
ROMEO. Sin from my lips? Then I must have it back again. Give me my sin once more, because I would gladly receive it from you. [He kisses her again.] If this is wrongdoing, then it is wrongdoing taught by a very holy book. I could study it forever.
JULIET. You kiss by the book indeed, and with great skill for one who calls himself a pilgrim. Perhaps you have traveled farther in such learning than you first admitted. Yet I do not think I am sorry for the lesson. The night has suddenly become very strange.
[The NURSE comes near and speaks quietly to JULIET. The music continues around them, but the private world between the two young lovers has already begun.]
NURSE. Madam, your mother wishes to speak with you at once. You must come away now, because she is asking for you. The lady of the house will not wait long tonight. Come, child, do not make her call again.
ROMEO. What lady is her mother? Tell me quickly, because my heart has gone where my eyes have gone, and I would know to whom this beauty belongs. If I have been blessed, I must also know the danger of that blessing. Speak, I beg you.
NURSE. Her mother is the lady of this house, wise, noble, and rich. The girl with whom you spoke is her daughter, and whoever wins her wins a great prize. I know the child well, for I helped raise her. A man who can truly hold her will not hold a small thing.
ROMEO. Is she a Capulet? Then my life is already in debt to my enemy, and my heart has given itself where it should never have gone. What joy rose in me a moment ago now stands beside danger. Yet even that danger cannot make her seem less fair. I think my soul has crossed a line from which it cannot return.
BENVOLIO. Come away, Romeo, because the best of the feast is passing, and it is time for us to go before notice grows too sharp. You have seen enough for one night, and the house is not safe for you if eyes begin to search too closely. Leave now while music still covers our steps. Delay will only make departure harder.
ROMEO. Yes, I fear you are right, and yet going brings me no peace. I came to look on one face and have found another that has overturned my whole heart. The more I have gained, the more troubled I am. Still, I will go, though I leave my rest behind me.
[CAPULET thanks the gentlemen and calls for more torches as the feast begins to break up. Guests move slowly out. At last only JULIET and the NURSE remain near enough to speak quietly.]
JULIET. Come here, Nurse, and tell me who that gentleman was. The one now going out by the door looked unlike the others, and there was something in him that still holds my eye. If he is already married, then my grave may be my wedding bed. I feel my heart move before I understand why.
NURSE. One was the son and heir of old Tiberio, and another was young Petruchio, but the one who would not dance is the one you mean, I think. Wait here, and I will ask his name if I can. Do not let your face speak too much while others may watch. I will return quickly.
[The NURSE learns the truth and comes back. JULIET waits with rising fear, though she does not yet know why.]
NURSE. His name is Romeo, and he is a Montague. He is the only son of your great enemy. That is the man with whom you spoke and danced tonight. Now you know what house he comes from.
JULIET. My only love has sprung from my only hate. I saw him too early without knowing him, and I know him too late now that my heart has already chosen. This is a fearful beginning for love, that I must love one whom my house is taught to hate. Yet even hearing the truth does not pull my heart away.
NURSE. What is this you say, child? Your words sound like a little poem born from a dangerous hour. The night has filled your head very quickly. Come away now, because all the strangers are gone. [A voice calls for Juliet within.] They ask for you, and we must not stay.
JULIET. I come. The song I speak is one I learned tonight from the man with whom I danced. It was taught in a moment and will not leave me soon. Come, Nurse. [Exeunt.]
Part 4
ACT II
Chorus.
[Enter CHORUS. He speaks after the feast, when the first fire of Romeo’s old love has already died. His voice is calm, but he shows that a new and stronger passion has now taken its place.]
CHORUS. The old desire that once filled Romeo’s heart now lies almost dead, and a new love rises quickly to take its place. The beauty for which he once sighed and suffered no longer seems the fairest thing in the world, because Juliet now stands before him. Romeo loves and is loved in return, yet their joy is tied at once to danger, because each belongs to the house of the other’s enemy. Still, love gives them courage, and time itself begins to make a path for them to meet.
[Exit.]
Scene I. An open place near Capulet’s garden.
[Enter ROMEO alone. The feast is over, but he cannot leave the place where Juliet lives. He looks back toward the Capulet house as if his heart has been left behind there.]
ROMEO. How can I go farther when my heart remains inside those walls? My body may move away, but my soul turns back and refuses to follow. The night itself seems to pull me toward that house, and every step away from it feels false. I must return, because a man cannot travel on while the center of his being stays behind.
[He climbs the wall and disappears into the garden. Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO, searching for him in the dark. They are amused, but also tired from the long night.]
BENVOLIO. Romeo! Cousin Romeo! Where has he gone so suddenly? He ran this way and leaped the orchard wall, and I am sure he did not go home to bed as a sensible man should. We must call him once or twice more before we give him up. If he is hiding near, perhaps he will answer.
MERCUTIO. I will call him in my own way, because a simple shout may not wake a lover from his thoughts. Romeo! Madman! Passionate fool! Come back in the shape of a sigh, or speak one little rhyme, and I will be satisfied. Cry only “Ah me,” or whisper “love” and “dove,” and I will know your spirit is still alive.
BENVOLIO. If he hears you, he may be more angry than grateful, because you mock the pain that still troubles him. His old love for Rosaline has made him strange and secret, and he does not like his sorrow touched by laughter. Perhaps he hides in the darkness because darkness suits blind love best. We may do better to leave him to the night.
MERCUTIO. My calling cannot anger him as much as Rosaline herself has angered him. I call on her bright eyes, her scarlet lip, her fine foot, and all the beauty that has made him foolish, and still he does not stir. He is deaf to my conjuring and colder than the ground beneath us. Come, let us go, because a man who wishes not to be found is poor company for those who seek him.
BENVOLIO. Yes, let us leave him among these trees. If love is blind, then dark places are its best home, and perhaps he is happier there than with us. The air grows cold, and my patience grows thin as well. Good night, Romeo, wherever you hide. [Exeunt.]
Scene II. Capulet’s garden.
[Enter ROMEO below. He has heard Mercutio’s jokes, but they cannot touch the wound or the joy within him. He looks upward, and then JULIET appears above at a window.]
ROMEO. He jokes at scars who has never felt a wound in his own flesh. But soft, what light breaks through that window? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun rising there before me. Let the jealous moon fade away, because she is pale and sick beside this living brightness.
ROMEO. It is my lady, it is my love, though she does not yet know that I stand here below. Her eyes are so bright that if they were placed in the sky, birds would wake and sing, thinking night had already gone. Her cheek would shame the stars themselves, and all the air would shine around her. O that I were a glove upon her hand, so that I might touch that cheek.
JULIET. Ah me. Why must he be Romeo, and why must that name make him my enemy? If he would refuse his father and give up that name, I would no longer be a Capulet. Or if he will only swear that he loves me, I will leave my own name behind. A name is no hand, no foot, no face, no living part of a man.
ROMEO. Shall I hear more, or shall I answer now? Her words pull me forward more strongly than any fear can hold me back. She speaks what my own heart longs to hear, and the night itself seems to bless it. I cannot remain silent when such hope is offered to me.
JULIET. What is Montague, after all, but a word men use? A rose would smell as sweet by any other name, and Romeo would remain himself even if he were called by another sound. Throw away that name, Romeo, because it is no true part of you. In exchange for it, take all of me.
ROMEO. I take you at your word, and from this moment I will be new made. Call me only your love, and I will never again be Romeo. My old name is hateful to me if it stands between us. If I had it written in my hand, I would tear the word to pieces.
JULIET. Who are you, hidden by the dark, who comes so suddenly into my secret thoughts? I have not yet heard a hundred words from you, and still I know the sound of your voice. Are you not Romeo, and are you not a Montague? Tell me truly, because truth matters more now than safety.
ROMEO. I am neither, if either name displeases you. I came here led by love, not by my own cleverness, and love showed me the way over these walls. Stone cannot shut love out, and what love dares to desire, love dares to attempt. Therefore your kinsmen could not stop me from coming.
JULIET. If they see you here, they will kill you without pity. The walls are high, the place is dangerous, and your life stands on a knife-edge under this roof. I would not have them find you for anything in the world. Why did you come into such peril?
ROMEO. There is more danger in your eye than in twenty swords, if that eye should turn cold toward me. Let them find me, if you do not love me, because death by their hate would be better than a long life without your love. Night covers me from their sight, and my heart made the road easier than my feet did. I would cross a far greater distance than this for one word from you.
JULIET. You know the mask of night is on my face, or else you would see how deeply I blush for all that you have heard me say. I would gladly keep some proper form, and I would like to deny the boldness of my own heart, but the dark has already revealed me. Tell me truly, Romeo, do you love me? If you do, say it faithfully and not in light oath or sweet falsehood.
ROMEO. Lady, by the blessed moon above us I swear that my heart is yours and will remain so. No fear, no family hatred, and no danger of death can turn me from that truth. I love you with all that is in me, and that love feels larger than the whole night sky. If there is faith in any human heart, it is in mine now.
JULIET. Do not swear by the moon, because she changes every month and I do not want your love to change with her. Better still, do not swear at all, or else swear only by yourself, since that self is the god my heart already worships. Yet even in my joy I am afraid, because this meeting has come so suddenly. It is like lightning, bright and beautiful, but gone before one can fully speak of it.
ROMEO. Will you leave me then with my heart still hungry and unsatisfied? I would have the faithful promise of your love in exchange for mine. Without that, this blessed night will seem like a dream too sweet to trust. Tell me what hope I may carry away with me.
JULIET. I gave you my love before you asked, and if I could take it back, it would only be so that I might give it again more freely. My love is wide as the sea, and the more I give, the more I seem to have. Yet I hear a noise within, and I must go for a little while. Dear love, stay here, and I will come again.
[Exit JULIET. ROMEO remains below, looking upward with wonder. The garden is quiet except for faint sounds from within the house.]
ROMEO. O blessed night, I hardly dare believe my own happiness. Because all this happens in darkness, I fear it may be only a dream made too sweet by hope. Yet no dream ever felt so living or so full of light. I would gladly remain here forever if this moment could be held.
[JULIET appears again above. She leans forward, speaking more softly now, but with greater seriousness than before.]
JULIET. Three words more, dear Romeo, and then good night indeed. If your love is honorable and your purpose is marriage, send me word tomorrow by one whom I will send to you. Tell me where and at what time the holy rite shall be performed, and I will place all my fortune at your feet. I will follow you through the world if your heart is true.
NURSE. [Within.] Madam!
JULIET. I come soon. But if your purpose is not good, then I beg you to stop this pursuit and leave me to my grief. Tomorrow I will send to you, and then your truth will be tested. Good night for now, dear Romeo.
ROMEO. So may my soul thrive as my heart means truly toward you. A thousand times good night, though each farewell makes the night darker. My love runs toward your love as schoolboys run from their books. Yet when love must leave love, it goes with a heavy face, like a child forced back to school.
[JULIET withdraws, then returns once more, unwilling to let him go. The two call softly through the night, each trying to hold the other a little longer.]
JULIET. Romeo, what hour tomorrow shall I send to you? I do not wish to fail, though the waiting already feels too long for one short night. I called you back, and now I almost forget why, except that I love to hear you answer. The thought of parting makes every small word precious.
ROMEO. Send to me by the hour of nine, and I will be ready. Stay as long as you wish, and I will remain here gladly, forgetting every other home but this garden below your window. I would keep standing here until morning if your voice continued to fall from above. Your company turns the dark itself into joy.
JULIET. It is almost morning, and I would have you gone, yet no farther than a playful bird that a child lets hop a little from her hand and then gently pulls back again. I would keep you near by love, even while pretending to set you free. Good night, good night; parting is such sweet sorrow that I could keep saying good night until it becomes morning. Go now, and may sleep and peace rest upon you.
ROMEO. And may that same peace lie upon your eyes and in your heart. I go now to Friar Lawrence’s cell to ask his help and tell him of the great joy that has come to me this night. If heaven is kind, he may show us how to make our love lawful and secure. Until tomorrow, my sweet love. [Exeunt.]
Part 5
Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
[Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE with a basket. Morning has come, and he moves among herbs and flowers, thinking about the strange power hidden in natural things. Soon ROMEO enters with bright haste upon him.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. The morning smiles through the last darkness of night, and before the sun rises high I gather herbs that can heal or harm, according to how men use them. In every plant there is both danger and good, just as there is grace and wild desire in the heart of man. What early tongue greets me so sweetly at this hour? Young son, such earliness tells me that either care has kept you from sleep, or else you have not been in bed at all tonight.
ROMEO. The last guess is true, and the rest I will tell you plainly if you will hear me kindly. I was feasting with my enemy, and there I was wounded by one whom I also wounded with love. Both our remedies now lie within your holy help, and I come not with hatred in my heart. Blessed father, I ask you to hear me without delay.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Speak clearly then, because a twisted confession finds only a twisted answer. Was it not Rosaline who held you in sorrow only yesterday? Have you already left that name and all the tears that went with it? I would know what change has come so quickly upon you.
ROMEO. I have forgotten Rosaline and the grief tied to that name. My heart is now set on the fair daughter of rich Capulet, and her heart, as far as heaven has blessed me, is set on mine. We met, we spoke, we exchanged vows, and all is joined except what you must join by holy marriage. Therefore I beg you, consent to marry us today.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Holy Francis, what a change is here, and how swiftly youth turns from one fire to another. Your tears for Rosaline are hardly dry, and yet another lady now rules your whole being. Still, the one you love now gives love in return, and that is not the same as your old fancy. Come with me then, for in one respect I will help you: perhaps this marriage may turn your houses’ hate into true love.
ROMEO. O let us go at once, because I stand on sudden haste and can hardly bear delay. Every moment seems larger than an hour when my joy waits on your answer. If you help us, you will give peace to more than two hearts. Lead on, father, and I will follow.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Wisely and slow, my son, because those who run too fast often stumble. Yet I will go with you, and I will think as we walk what is safest and most right. Joy should not forget caution merely because it is bright. Come now. [Exeunt.]
Scene IV. A street in Verona.
[Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. The day has grown warmer, and the city is again full of movement. They speak of Tybalt, whose pride has already been stirred at the feast.]
BENVOLIO. I pray you, good Mercutio, let us retire if the hot Capulets appear, because on such a day men’s blood rises quickly and small causes become large quarrels. If we meet them, we may not escape a fight. The weather itself seems ready for anger. I would gladly keep the peace if I could.
MERCUTIO. You are like one who talks against quarrels and then enters a tavern to scold others for drinking. Still, I know that Tybalt has sent a challenge to Romeo’s father’s house, and I do not doubt he thinks highly of his own skill. He fights by rule and measure like a man who counts his steps with a book in hand. Yet for all his style, I would gladly cross swords with him.
[Enter ROMEO. His face is lighter than before, and Mercutio notices the change at once.]
MERCUTIO. Here comes Romeo, and now I see a man more himself than yesterday. This is better than sighing for love and talking in riddles to the moon. You look as if some good wind has entered your sails at last. Tell us, what has made you so cheerful?
ROMEO. Good Mercutio, the reason is one I cannot yet speak openly, though you shall not find me sad today. Your sharp words always run ahead of me, and I am glad enough to answer them now. If I laughed less before, I can laugh more today. Let that satisfy you for the moment.
[Enter the NURSE and PETER. The Nurse looks about carefully, trying to find Romeo among the men. Mercutio at once begins to joke at her expense.]
MERCUTIO. A sail, a sail, and a strange one too. Here comes a lady with a servant after her, and I think she seeks our friend. Good Peter, hide your face if you value it, because your mistress brings enough words for both of you. Let us hear what business walks under so much heat and breath.
NURSE. Gentlemen, which of you can tell me where I may find young Romeo? I have a matter to speak with him in private, and I do not care to waste time on foolish laughter. If he is among you, let him answer honestly. I was not sent here to be mocked in the street.
ROMEO. Nurse, I am the man you seek. If your message is for me, speak as freely as the place allows, and I will answer as I should. These are my friends, but I know your business touches one who is dearer to me than any friend just now. Tell me how my lady fares.
NURSE. Before I trust you, I must know whether your servant is secret, because two may keep counsel only when one is kept out. My young lady is the sweetest creature alive, and though there is a nobleman named Paris who would gladly win her, she would rather look on a toad than on him. When I tease her and say Paris is the finer man, she turns pale at once. So now answer me truly: do you mean honorably toward her?
ROMEO. I mean as honorably as a man can mean who would place his whole life in a lady’s hands. Commend me to your mistress and tell her this: let her find leave to come to Friar Lawrence’s cell this afternoon, under color of going to confession. There our good father will make us husband and wife in holy marriage. Tell her also to be bold and trust me.
NURSE. Then I will carry that message, and gladly, if heaven blesses the errand. Yet one more thing: my young lady waits in great heat of heart, and every delay bites her like a wound. Do not fail her, for she has given herself to you more fully than she yet knows. I will bring her where you have said.
ROMEO. I will be there before her, and I will bless your pains as long as I live. Farewell, good Nurse, and give her a thousand remembrances from me. Tonight, when darkness comes, I will send means for me to climb to her chamber. Be faithful still, and you will help make joy out of danger.
NURSE. God in heaven bless you then. Come, Peter, we have done our work here, and there is no profit in standing longer among jesting men. I must go quickly, because she waits for me as the dry earth waits for rain. Farewell, sir. [Exeunt ROMEO one way; NURSE and PETER another.]
Scene V. Capulet’s garden.
[Enter JULIET alone. The sun stands high, and the waiting has become painful to her. She looks again and again for the Nurse, measuring the delay against her own impatience.]
JULIET. The clock struck nine when I sent the Nurse, and she promised to return within half an hour. Now three long hours have passed, and still she does not come. Thoughts should carry love’s messages, because they move much faster than old feet and tired bones. If she loved with young blood, she would be here already.
[Enter NURSE and PETER. Juliet runs toward her at once, full of fear, hope, and impatience.]
JULIET. O sweet Nurse, what news do you bring? Have you met with him? Send Peter away, and then speak quickly, whether the news is good or bad. Even if it is sad, tell it plainly rather than torment me with delay. My heart has been stretched too long already.
NURSE. Peter, stay at the gate. Child, let me breathe, because I am tired to the bone and my back aches from this running about. You ask as if breath and time cost nothing. Must I speak before I can stand? Show some pity for old age.
JULIET. I would give you my own ease if I could have your news in return. Sweet, sweet Nurse, do not play with me now, because every moment feels too sharp to bear. Did you find Romeo? What says he of our marriage? Speak to that and to nothing else.
NURSE. You have chosen a handsome gentleman, and though he is not all courtesy, I warrant he is as gentle as a lamb where it matters. But my head, my head, what a beating it has. Your sending me up and down the city will be the death of me one day. Yet since you press me so hard, I will tell you.
JULIET. Then tell me at last, and I will forgive every delay. Have I leave to hope, or must I begin to fear? If there is any kindness in you, put me out of pain now. I can scarcely stand still while waiting for your words.
NURSE. Have you leave to go to confession today? If so, go quickly to Friar Lawrence’s cell. There a husband waits to make you a wife, and your cheeks grow red enough already at the thought of it. Hie to the church, and I will go another way to prepare the ladder by which your love must climb to your bird’s nest tonight.
JULIET. Then I fly to high fortune, and I bless you for the news at last. Honest Nurse, farewell, because my feet are already quicker than my tongue. This day has suddenly become the greatest day of my life. Farewell. [Exeunt.]
Scene VI. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
[Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and ROMEO. Romeo is full of joy, while the Friar, though willing to help, remains watchful and grave. Soon JULIET enters.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. May heaven smile upon this holy act, so that later sorrow does not rise to rebuke it. Joy may be sweet, but it must still walk under God’s eye. I would have this union bring peace, not grief. Let us hope well, though we move carefully.
ROMEO. Amen to that, yet no sorrow that may come can outweigh the joy of one short minute in Juliet’s sight. If you join our hands with holy words, then let death itself do what it dares afterward. It is enough for me that I may call her mine. My whole life would be rich from that alone.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. These violent delights often have violent ends, and in their very triumph they consume themselves like fire and powder when they kiss. Even the sweetest honey becomes too much if tasted without measure. Therefore love moderately, because lasting love grows better at a slower pace. Too swift may fail as surely as too slow.
JULIET. Good even to my ghostly confessor. If Romeo thanks me for this meeting, his thanks are no more than mine to him. What we feel is larger than words, and words only grow poor when they try to count such wealth. My true love is already beyond the power of speech to sum.
ROMEO. Ah, Juliet, if your joy equals mine and you can express it better, then sweeten the very air with your breath and let happiness speak through you. But even if no word can carry it, I know what shines in your face. This meeting repays all danger and all waiting. I am ready for whatever comes next.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Come then, both of you, and we will make short work of what must be done. You shall not remain alone together until holy church has joined you into one. Step within with reverence, and let your hearts be steady as well as glad. [Exeunt.]
Part 6
ACT III
Scene I. A public place in Verona.
[Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, and others. The day is hot, and the streets feel restless. Benvolio looks uneasy, as if he expects trouble before long.]
BENVOLIO. I beg you, good Mercutio, let us go inside, because the day is very warm and the Capulets are abroad. On such hot days men’s blood grows hot as well, and a small meeting can quickly turn into a fight. If we meet them here, we may not escape a quarrel. I would rather not test fortune in the open street.
MERCUTIO. You speak as if we ourselves were always quick to anger, yet perhaps you are not wrong about the heat. Still, I do not fear a quarrel merely because the sun stands high. If the Capulets come, let them bring what temper they please. I am not made to run from every shadow of a sword.
BENVOLIO. I do not speak from cowardice, but from knowledge of how this city burns. We have seen too often how pride and chance come together. One sharp word becomes steel, and steel becomes death before a man can call for peace. That is why I say again that we should leave.
[Enter TYBALT and others. Tybalt’s manner is hard and proud. He looks directly toward Mercutio and Benvolio, but it is clear that he seeks someone else.]
TYBALT. Gentlemen, good day to you. I would speak with one of you in particular, if he is near. My business is not light, and I do not come merely to trade greetings. I seek Romeo.
MERCUTIO. Then perhaps you shall have one of us to answer you, though maybe not in the manner you expect. Does your business need a word only, or do you hope to add a blow to it? I know your kind of courtesy well enough. It often comes with a hand near the sword.
TYBALT. Mercutio, you are closely tied to Romeo, and where he stands you are often found. That is enough to make you part of my business. I know your tongue is quick, but I did not come to talk with your tongue alone. If he appears, let him answer for himself.
MERCUTIO. And I know you as the prince of cats, always proud of your neat fighting and your thin little rules of honor. If you want a man to answer you, I am here and ready enough. Your courtesy smells strongly of challenge. Draw if you mean more than words.
[Enter ROMEO. He is newly married in secret and comes in with a very different heart from the others. He sees Tybalt and does not yet know what has passed.]
TYBALT. Romeo, the love I bear you can be spoken in one plain word only: villain. You came into our feast and shamed us in our own house. I have not forgotten it, and I do not forgive it. Draw, and defend yourself.
ROMEO. Tybalt, the reason I love you gives me better cause to speak kindly than you can yet understand. I am no villain, whatever you think, and I value your name more dearly now than you know. Therefore I will not answer your anger as it deserves. Be satisfied that I love you better than you can guess.
MERCUTIO. O calm and shameful submission! This is no answer for such an insult. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk with me? If Romeo will not defend his name, then I will take up the matter for him. Draw your sword, and let us see whether your fine skill can save you.
ROMEO. Gentle Mercutio, put your rapier up. Good Tybalt, good Mercutio, I beg you, let this quarrel end before it truly begins. The Prince has spoken sharply against these street fights, and the eyes of Verona are on us. Let us not give this day to violence.
MERCUTIO. I will not endure such dishonor while my friend stands soft before a challenge. If you have become strangely mild, Romeo, that is your affair, not mine. I am still myself, and I will answer this man as he deserves. Come, Tybalt. [They fight.]
BENVOLIO. Part them, gentlemen, part them. The Prince’s officers are near, and citizens may gather at any moment. This fight grows worse with every second. Somebody stop them before blood is drawn.
ROMEO. Hold, friends, hold. Mercutio, put back your sword, and Tybalt, be calmer if you can. I will stand between you if I must, because I would rather take a wound myself than see either of you hurt. This rage must end.
[Romeo rushes between them. Under Romeo’s arm, Tybalt gives Mercutio a deadly thrust, then quickly withdraws with his followers. Mercutio stands stunned for a moment before the pain breaks fully upon him.]
MERCUTIO. I am hurt. A plague on both your houses, I am hurt indeed. Is the wound not deep? Is it not serious? Do not tell me it is small, because I feel death already working in me. Ask for a surgeon, for I am done for.
ROMEO. Courage, man, the wound cannot be so great as your fear makes it. We will get help at once and bring you where you may be cared for. Do not speak of death so quickly. I cannot believe the blow has gone so far.
MERCUTIO. No, it is not as deep as a well, nor as wide as a church door, but it is enough, and it will serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I tell you again, a plague on both your houses, because by your hatred I am killed. Your feud has made worms’ meat of me.
BENVOLIO. Come, good Mercutio, let me help you away before your strength fails in the street. Lean on me, and do not waste yourself in anger now. We can still move if we go quickly. Come, friend.
MERCUTIO. Yes, lead me then. I have had enough of brave words and pretty quarrels. A plague on both your houses, I say once more. They have made me their fool. [Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO, supporting him.]
ROMEO. This gentleman, the Prince’s near kinsman and my dear friend, has been wounded for my sake under my very arm. My name, which Tybalt has lately called villain, has been made soft by love, and that softness has helped bring this disaster. O Juliet, your beauty has made me less a man in this hard hour. I am ashamed of the gentleness that stood where anger should have stood.
[Re-enter BENVOLIO in haste. His face tells the news before his tongue does.]
BENVOLIO. Romeo, Mercutio is dead. The brave spirit has gone to heaven, and Tybalt lives, though he has fled for the moment. What was a quarrel is now blood-guilt, and the city will roar with it before long. You must think what comes next.
ROMEO. This black day hangs on days yet to come, and what has happened now is only the beginning of sorrow. My heart burns where it was soft a moment ago. Mercy, farewell, and let fury guide me now. Mercutio’s soul waits above us, and Tybalt must go to keep him company, or I must follow with him.
[Re-enter TYBALT. He comes back boldly, still burning with anger. Romeo turns to meet him with a changed face.]
TYBALT. Thou miserable boy, who wast joined with Mercutio, thou shalt go with him. I have not finished with you, and now you stand before me without excuses. Draw, and let steel decide. This matter ends only in blood.
ROMEO. Then take back again the word “villain,” which your rage gave me before. Mercutio’s soul is not far above our heads, waiting for yours to join it. Either you or I, or both together, must go with him now. This sword shall settle what our words no longer can.
[They fight. The struggle is swift and fierce. TYBALT falls.]
BENVOLIO. Romeo, away, be gone. The citizens are rising, and Tybalt is slain. Do not stand amazed, because if you are taken here, the Prince will surely judge you to death. Fly now, before the street closes around you.
ROMEO. O, I am fortune’s fool. What began in love has turned in a moment into ruin. My hand has done what my soul can scarcely believe. Yet there is no time to mourn here. [Exit ROMEO.]
[Enter citizens, then the PRINCE with attendants, CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and others. The dead Tybalt lies before them, and the street is full of alarm.]
PRINCE. Where are the vile beginners of this fight? I would know at once who opened this bloody business again in my streets. My patience has been tried too often by these houses. Speak, and speak truth.
BENVOLIO. Noble Prince, I can tell the unhappy order of this fatal brawl. There lies Tybalt, slain by young Romeo, and Tybalt had first slain your kinsman Mercutio. Romeo had spoken gently to him and had tried to make peace, reminding him of your anger against these quarrels. But Tybalt, deaf to peace, fought Mercutio, and after Mercutio fell, he returned and was slain by Romeo in revenge.
LADY CAPULET. He is a kinsman to the Montagues, and affection makes Benvolio false. I ask for justice, Prince, because Tybalt’s blood cries out for blood in return. Romeo killed him, and Romeo must not live. If law means anything, let it mean that.
MONTAGUE. Romeo was Mercutio’s friend, and his fault did only what the law itself would have done to Tybalt, who had killed first. He did not begin this fray, though he has ended it terribly. Let justice see the whole truth and not only the last stroke. Mercy is not false simply because grief is loud.
PRINCE. Romeo killed Tybalt, but Tybalt killed Mercutio, whose blood also touches me. I have my own sorrow in this quarrel, and your private hate has wounded more than your own houses. Therefore I will not pardon freely, but neither will I strike blindly. Romeo is banished at once from Verona.
PRINCE. If he is found within the city after this command, that hour will be his last. No tears, excuses, or prayers shall buy this sentence back. Take away the bodies, and let all of you learn from what lies here. Mercy too often becomes cruelty when killers are forgiven without measure. [Exeunt.]
Part 7
Scene II. A room in Capulet’s house.
[Enter JULIET alone. She waits for night, when Romeo is to come to her as her husband. She does not yet know what has happened in the street.]
JULIET. Hurry, gentle night, and bring Romeo to me. Let the sun go down quickly, and let darkness cover the world so that love may move in secret and without shame. I have bought the house of love, but I have not yet entered fully into its joy, and the waiting makes every hour heavy. Lovers need no bright lesson from day, because their own beauty is enough to show them how to meet.
JULIET. Come, calm night, come, sweet and dark-faced night, and give me my Romeo. When I die, take him and cut him into little stars, and then heaven will become so beautiful that all the world will fall in love with night itself. No one will care for the harsh sun after that. O, I have learned how to love, but I have not yet had the full happiness of the thing I learned.
[Enter the NURSE in haste, with cords in her hands. She is troubled and out of breath. JULIET turns to her with eager joy, but the Nurse’s face quickly changes that joy into fear.]
JULIET. Nurse, what news is this, and why do you look so wild? Those cords were meant to make a path for Romeo to my chamber tonight. Tell me quickly what has happened, because your face frightens me more than your silence does. Is my husband safe?
NURSE. Ah, well-a-day, he is dead, he is dead, he is dead. We are undone, lady, we are undone. There is no trust left in the world, and everything is ruin. O, Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had, is gone.
JULIET. What storm of words is this? Has Romeo killed himself, and has Tybalt also died? Say one thing clearly, because I cannot bear such confusion. If Romeo is dead, and Tybalt is dead, and all joy is dead with them, then let the trumpet of the last day sound now. Who is dead?
NURSE. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo is banished. That cruel word, banished, has fallen on him after Tybalt’s death. I saw the horror of it all, and my old heart is breaking under the load. O, what a day this is.
JULIET. O God, did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood? Then there is poison hidden under the sweetest flower, and a fiend lives in a body that seemed full of grace. Was ever a fairer face used to cover a darker deed? Beautiful tyrant, angel-like demon, what strange mixture are you?
NURSE. There is no truth in men, and all oaths are broken things. Shame on Romeo, I say, for this cruel work. Give me some strong water, because grief has made me weak. These sorrows have made me old in one hour.
JULIET. Do not speak shame upon him, because shame itself would be ashamed to sit upon his brow. Shall I speak evil of the man who is my husband? My cousin is dead, yes, and that pain is real, but Tybalt would have killed Romeo if Romeo had not struck first. Back, foolish tears, because my husband lives, and that must still be counted as comfort.
JULIET. Yet one word wounds me more than Tybalt’s death, and that word is banished. That single word has slain ten thousand Tybalts in my heart. Tybalt’s death would have been grief enough if it had stood alone, but “Romeo is banished” kills father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, and Juliet all at once. There is no limit or measure in the death hidden inside that word.
NURSE. Your parents weep over Tybalt’s body now, and the whole house is full of sorrow. Will you go to them, or shall I take you elsewhere? I know where Romeo is hidden, and I can find him if you wish. He is at Friar Lawrence’s cell.
JULIET. Take these cords, poor ropes, because you and I are both deceived. They were made to lead my husband to my bed, but now I shall lie there like a maiden widow while he is driven away. Go, find him, and give him this ring from me. Tell him to come and take his last farewell tonight.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
[Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and ROMEO. Romeo is cast down upon the floor like a man struck by more than one death. The Friar tries to reason with him, but his words first fall on a heart too wild to hear.]
ROMEO. Father, what is the Prince’s judgment? What new sorrow seeks acquaintance with me now? If Tybalt’s death has not yet done enough, then let worse come quickly and end me. I am ready for any doom except one.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. The Prince has spoken more gently than you deserve, because your fault by law called for death. He has pushed aside that black word and given another in its place. You are not sentenced to die, my son. You are only banished from Verona.
ROMEO. Banishment is not mercy but torture. Heaven is here, where Juliet lives, and every fly that moves upon these walls may look upon her face, yet Romeo may not. Those little creatures are freer than I am, because they can touch the blessed hand and lips that are shut away from me. Do not call it mercy when it cuts me off from my whole world.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. You speak with the madness of youth and grief together. The world is broad and wide, and Verona is not all creation. You still live, Juliet still lives, and the Prince has spared your life when he could lawfully have taken it. Count your blessings before you curse your fate.
ROMEO. There is no world outside Verona’s walls for me, but only torment and emptiness. If you were as young as I am, with Juliet as your love, an hour only married, Tybalt dead, and you yourself driven out, then you might speak as you do. But words of patience sound thin in the ear of one who bleeds inwardly. I can do nothing but fall and measure the ground where I may soon lie dead.
[There is knocking without. The FRIAR starts. ROMEO does not rise.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Get up, good Romeo, and hide yourself at once, because danger knocks at the door. If you are taken here, your sorrow will end not in exile but in death. Run into my study and be silent. [The knocking continues.] Who knocks so hard?
NURSE. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand. I come from Lady Juliet.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Welcome then. [Enter NURSE.] Good Nurse, tell him what state your lady is in, because your face carries grief enough for two houses. He must hear all, however hard it is.
NURSE. O holy Friar, where is my lady’s lord, where is Romeo? Lady Juliet lies on her bed in tears, calling now for Tybalt and now for Romeo, and the two names seem to tear her apart. She sent this ring to him and begs him to come tonight for one last farewell. If he does not come, I fear what grief may make her do.
ROMEO. How like a beast was I to speak ill against her love when she still loves me so. Give me the ring, and let me go to her at once, because my comfort rises again at this token from her hand. Even in sorrow she thinks of me before herself. I am revived by that.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Listen now, and let reason guide what love desires. Go to Juliet tonight and comfort her as husband should, but do not stay until the watch is set, or you cannot escape the city. Before dawn, go to Mantua and remain there until we can find a time to make your marriage known, reconcile your friends, ask pardon of the Prince, and call you back with greater joy than the grief with which you leave. Hold to this plan, and life may yet be kinder than it now appears.
NURSE. O, what learning and what good counsel live in holy men. I will return and tell my lady that you will come, and she will prepare to chide you sweetly for all that has happened. The poor child lives only on that hope now. I thank you both.
ROMEO. Farewell, then, and tell my sweet to prepare. Father, I go where joy and grief meet in one chamber, and I know not which will be stronger in me when I stand before her. Yet I must go. Give me your blessing.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. My blessing goes with you, and so does all the hope I can still gather out of this broken day. Be gone before the watch is set, or at the latest go in disguise when day begins to break. I will send news from time to time through your man, so that every good chance here may reach you in Mantua. Farewell now, and be wise. [Exeunt.]
Scene IV. A room in Capulet’s house.
[Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS. The house is still mourning Tybalt, yet Capulet turns suddenly toward another plan. Paris waits respectfully, but his desire is clear.]
CAPULET. Things have fallen out so unhappily that we have not had time to speak much with our daughter. She loved her cousin Tybalt dearly, and so did I, and grief has shut her away tonight. Yet I think she will be ruled by me in all respects, and perhaps this sorrow makes it safer to settle her future quickly. I am ready now to make you a strong offer of her love.
PARIS. These are sad times for courtship, and I know her mind must be heavy. Still, I stand ready, my lord, and I would be grateful for any favor you show me. If the house is in tears, I will not ask for music and celebration. Give me only your word, and I will wait on the rest.
CAPULET. Wife, go to Juliet before you sleep and tell her of this noble lord’s love. Let her know that on Wednesday next—no, stay, what day is this? Monday? Then Wednesday is too soon. A Thursday let it be, and on Thursday she shall be married to this noble earl.
PARIS. My lord, I wish Thursday were tomorrow. I would not delay any happiness that you place within my reach. Even in this house of grief, I would count it joy to be joined with her. I thank you for your trust.
CAPULET. We will not make a great celebration, because Tybalt’s death is too recent and too close to us. Half a dozen friends will be enough, and there an end. Go now, both of you, and wife, prepare her for Thursday. My heart is lighter already. [Exeunt.]
Scene V. An open gallery to Juliet’s chamber, overlooking the garden.
[Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, after their one short night together. Morning is beginning to stir outside. They cling to the last moments, trying to deny the light.]
JULIET. Wilt thou be gone so soon? It was the nightingale and not the lark that pierced our fearful ears. Night still hangs upon the branches, and the day has not yet truly come. Stay a little longer, because leaving now feels like death.
ROMEO. It was the lark, the herald of the morning, not the nightingale. See how the jealous streaks of light begin to show in the east. The candles of night are burnt out, and day stands ready upon the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
JULIET. Then let me say it was not the lark, and that those streaks are no daylight but only some strange light from a passing star sent to guide you on your way to Mantua. Stay yet a little, because I can still fight the morning with my tongue. I cannot bear to send you away.
ROMEO. Let me be taken then, let me be put to death, if that is what your love wishes. I am willing to call that gray light not morning but your own pale sorrow, and that bird not the lark but the nightingale. More than life itself, I desire to remain where you are. Yet truth stands outside, however much we resist it.
JULIET. It is, it is the lark, and we must not deceive ourselves any longer. Be gone, my love, because the day grows crueler with every moment. The light is stronger, and our safety weaker. O, now be gone, more and more light it grows.
[The NURSE calls within. They part. ROMEO climbs down slowly. JULIET watches him with a heart already full of dark vision.]
JULIET. O God, I have an ill-divining soul. Methinks I see thee now below, as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyes deceive me, or you look pale with sorrow enough to be a ghost already. Yet go, and let me keep my tears until I can be alone.
ROMEO. Farewell, farewell. One kiss, and I descend. If all goes well, these griefs shall change to better days, and we shall meet again with fuller joy. Let sorrow sharpen love, not destroy it. Farewell, my lady. [Exit.]
[Enter LADY CAPULET. Juliet turns quickly, hiding what she can.]
LADY CAPULET. Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death? Will tears raise him from his grave? We all must mourn, but too much grief shows only too much weakness. I came also with other news for you, and you must hear it with better ears than those which listen only to sorrow. Your father has arranged a joyful day to lift this heavy cloud.
JULIET. Madam, I still mourn the loss, and I do not yet know how to stop. What joyful day can rise so quickly out of such grief? If you mean to comfort me, speak plainly. My heart is not in a state to guess at good fortune.
LADY CAPULET. Well then, on Thursday next you shall be married to County Paris at Saint Peter’s Church. That noble gentleman will make you a happy bride and draw you out of this sadness. Your father has settled it, and he thinks it wise. You should receive the news with thanks.
JULIET. I will not marry yet, and when I do, it shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, rather than Paris. That would be more wonderful indeed. I beg you, tell my lord and father so.
[Enter CAPULET and the NURSE. CAPULET sees Juliet’s refusal and turns at once from surprise to anger.]
CAPULET. How now, how now, what is this flood of tears and this answer against my will? You shall go to church on Thursday, and there marry Paris, or by me you shall never look on my face again. Do not speak, do not answer, do not reply, because my fingers already itch with anger. I thought grief for Tybalt had softened you, but instead you stand stubborn before me.
JULIET. Good father, I beg you on my knees, hear me with patience but one word. I do not refuse from pride, but from deep trouble that you do not yet know. Give me a little time. I ask only that.
CAPULET. Hang thee, young baggage, disobedient wretch. Get thee to church on Thursday, or never after look me in the face. My heart was once light because I thought you reclaimed, but now I see only an unworthy child who dares oppose her father in his own house. Speak not to me again on this matter.
LADY CAPULET. Do not speak to me, for I have done with you. I will not be a fool to plead where duty should already be plain. You have made your father mad, and it is your own doing. Help yourself as you can.
[CAPULET and LADY CAPULET go out. JULIET turns desperately to the NURSE, who has loved her from childhood.]
JULIET. O Nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith is in heaven, and how shall that faith return to earth unless he sends it by leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me, and do not leave me empty. Have you not one word of hope?
NURSE. Faith, here it is. Romeo is banished, and he dares not come back openly to claim you. Since the case stands thus, I think it best that you marry Paris, for he is a lovely gentleman, and your first husband is as good as dead where he lives beyond your use. In truth, I think you would be happier in this second match.
JULIET. Speakest thou from thy heart? Then go, counselor. Thou and my bosom shall from this day be two things, not one. I will go to Friar Lawrence’s cell to make confession and seek a remedy, and if every other help fails me, I still have power to die. [Exit.]
Part 8
ACT IV
Scene I. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
[Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and PARIS. Paris has come gladly, thinking only of the marriage ahead. The Friar speaks with caution, because he knows how much danger stands hidden under this sudden haste.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. On Thursday, sir? The time is very short for such a serious matter. A marriage should not be driven forward like a cart on a steep road. Yet I see that you are eager, and I know also that her father presses it hard. I do not like a path that runs so unevenly.
PARIS. My father Capulet will have it so, and I am not slow to follow where he leads. Juliet has been drowned in sorrow for Tybalt, and I have had little chance to speak of love with her in a house so full of tears. Her father thinks that if she is left alone with grief, it will only grow heavier in her. Therefore he hastens our marriage, hoping that company and change may cure what mourning has deepened.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. You say you do not know the lady’s mind, and yet the day is fixed almost upon us. That itself would trouble me, even if I knew no more than you have told me. When hearts are uncertain, speed does not always help them. Still, here comes the lady now, and perhaps her face will tell what words have not.
[Enter JULIET. She sees PARIS there and must at once hide her true desperation behind guarded speech. The effort costs her, but she does not break.]
PARIS. Happily met, my lady and my wife. I have hoped to see you here, though I did not expect fortune to bring you so gently to me. Thursday draws near, and with it the joy that I believe waits for us both. I trust your tears will soon give way to a happier light.
JULIET. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. What must be shall be, and there is little use in fighting words that come so firmly from others. I am here now on another matter and not to speak long of this. If I seem quiet, do not mistake quiet for joy.
PARIS. Come you to make confession to this holy father? Then I envy his office, because he hears what I would gladly hear myself. Do not deny to him that you love me, for I am sure your heart will be kinder in time. A face so full of tears deserves at last a gentler fate.
JULIET. To answer that too fully would be to confess to you, and I do not come for that. If I speak of love to him, it will be of more worth spoken behind your back than directly to your face. My face, you say, is abused by tears, but it was not beautiful enough before them to fear much loss. Holy father, if you are at leisure, I would speak with you alone.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. My leisure serves me now, pensive daughter. My lord, we must ask the time apart for devotion and counsel. There are griefs that do not stand easily before another’s eye. You will excuse us, I am sure.
PARIS. God forbid I should disturb holy business. Juliet, on Thursday early I will come to wake you, and until then I bid you farewell. Keep this holy kiss in memory until we meet again. [Exit.]
JULIET. O, shut the door, and when you have done so, come weep with me, because I am past hope, past cure, and nearly past help. The world has closed around me so tightly that I can scarcely breathe within it. If there is no remedy, then only death remains open. I am come to the end of all softer roads.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. O Juliet, I already know your grief, and it strains me beyond the reach of easy comfort. I hear that nothing may delay it, and that on Thursday next you must be married to this County. The matter stands pressed from every side. Yet I would still hear your own resolve from your own mouth.
JULIET. Tell me not that you hear of it unless you can tell me how to prevent it. If your wisdom can give no help, then call my resolution wise and do not blame what follows. God joined my heart to Romeo’s and joined our hands by your own holy work; before that hand shall be given to another, this knife shall end the treachery. Therefore give me counsel now, or watch this blade decide between my extremity and me.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hold, daughter, because I do see one kind of hope, though it asks for an action almost as desperate as the danger we would escape. If you have the strength, rather than marry Paris, to kill yourself, then perhaps you have also the strength to take upon yourself the likeness of death for a little while. If you dare that, I can offer remedy. But you must not tremble at fear halfway through it.
JULIET. O, bid me leap from a tower rather than marry Paris, or hide myself among serpents, or be chained with roaring bears. Tell me to lie among bones, skulls, and the dead in a grave newly made, and I will do it without fear. All those horrors seem lighter than living false to Romeo. I will do anything to remain the unstained wife of my sweet love.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Then go home, be merry, and give consent to marry Paris. Tomorrow night, when you are alone in your chamber and the Nurse is not lying with you, take this vial and drink what is within. At once a cold and sleepy humor shall pass through all your veins, your pulse shall stop, your warmth shall fade, your breath shall seem gone, and every part of you shall appear stiff and dead. In that borrowed likeness of death you shall continue for two and forty hours, and then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. When the bridegroom comes in the morning to wake you, there you will seem dead indeed. Then, according to the custom of your house, you will be laid out in your best clothes and carried uncovered to the ancient vault where the Capulets lie. Meanwhile I will send word to Romeo in Mantua, and he will know our whole design. He and I together will watch for your waking, and that very night Romeo shall bear you away to Mantua.
JULIET. Give me the vial, give it to me at once, and do not speak to me of fear. Love will give me strength, and strength will help me do what must be done. If this path leads me back to Romeo, then I welcome even its terror. Farewell, dear father. [Exeunt.]
Scene II. Hall in Capulet’s house.
[Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, NURSE, and SERVANTS. The house is busy with preparation, though the marriage has been arranged so suddenly that everything is in haste and confusion. Capulet is active, impatient, and full of new energy.]
CAPULET. So many guests invite as here are written, and we are short in almost every necessary thing. Go, one of you, and hire me twenty clever cooks, because I will not have this house shamed by poor food tomorrow. The day is too near for laziness now. Everything must be made ready at once.
SECOND SERVANT. You shall have none ill, sir, because I will test them by a plain rule. A bad cook is a man who cannot lick his own fingers after his work, and such a man shall not go with me. I know the signs of fitness in that trade. Leave the choosing to me.
CAPULET. Go then, and be quick. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence? Good, perhaps that holy man may work some obedience into her where our own words failed. Her stubbornness has tried me sorely. Yet if religion can bend what anger could not, I will praise the Friar well enough.
[Enter JULIET. She has returned from the Friar’s cell with a controlled and almost cheerful face. Those around her see submission, but only she knows what stands beneath it.]
NURSE. See where she comes from shrift with a merry look. Her face is changed, and I think the holy father has done her good. This is more pleasant than the storm of tears she gave us before. I like this better.
CAPULET. How now, my headstrong girl, where have you been wandering? You look less wild than when you left us. Has wisdom at last found a door into you? Speak, and let me hear what shape your thoughts now take.
JULIET. I have learned to repent the sin of disobedient opposition to you and your commands. Holy Lawrence has enjoined me to fall before you, beg your pardon, and promise henceforth to be ruled by you. Therefore I ask forgiveness, and I do so sincerely in the sight of all here. From this hour I am ever guided by your will.
CAPULET. Why, this is well indeed. Stand up, my girl, because this is exactly as it should be. Go, someone, send for the County and tell him of this good change, because I will have this knot tied tomorrow morning without delay. Before God, all our city is much bound to that reverend holy Friar.
JULIET. I met the youthful lord at Lawrence’s cell and gave him such becoming love as modesty allowed, not stepping over its bounds. Nurse, will you go with me now into my closet and help me choose the ornaments fit to furnish me tomorrow? There is much that must be put in order before the night is over. I would prepare all calmly.
LADY CAPULET. There is time enough until Thursday. Why should you press so much into one evening? The house itself is not fully ordered yet. We are all hurried already.
CAPULET. No, no, we go to church tomorrow. Go, Nurse, go with her, and let all be made ready. Wife, we may be short in provision, but I will stir about myself and see it done. My heart is wondrous light now that this same wayward girl is so reclaimed. [Exeunt all but CAPULET and LADY CAPULET.]
CAPULET. I will not to bed tonight. Let me alone with the work, because I will play the housewife for once and put all things in hand. There is still Paris to prepare, and a hundred small matters to settle. Yet none of it feels heavy now. A father’s heart grows easy when a child returns to obedience.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. Juliet’s chamber.
[Enter JULIET and the NURSE. Wedding clothes and ornaments lie ready. Juliet speaks quietly, but she is holding herself firm against a terrible inward shaking.]
JULIET. Yes, those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse, I pray you leave me to myself tonight, because I have need of many prayers to move heaven to smile upon my state, which you know is crossed and full of sin. My heart is too troubled for company. Let me be alone with my thoughts.
[Enter LADY CAPULET.]
LADY CAPULET. What, are you busy still? Do you need my help? The night is short, and tomorrow will come quickly enough. If there is anything undone, I will gladly lend a hand.
JULIET. No, madam, we have chosen what is needful for tomorrow already. So please you, let me now be left alone, and let the Nurse sit up with you tonight, because I know your hands are full in this sudden business. I would rest and pray by myself. Good night.
LADY CAPULET. Good night, then. Get yourself to bed and take your rest, because you have need of it. Tomorrow asks much of you, whether you know it or not. [Exeunt LADY CAPULET and NURSE.]
JULIET. Farewell. God knows when we shall meet again. A faint cold fear runs through my veins and almost freezes the heat of life. I should call them back again to comfort me—Nurse! But what should she do here? My terrible scene I must act alone.
JULIET. Come, vial. What if this mixture does not work at all? Shall I then be married tomorrow morning? No, no, this shall forbid it. [She lays down her dagger.] Yet what if it is a poison, subtly given by the Friar to have me dead, so that he may not be dishonored for marrying me first to Romeo? I fear it is, and yet I think it should not be, for he has always seemed a holy man.
JULIET. And what if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo comes to redeem me? Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, where no healthy air breathes in, and die strangled before my Romeo comes? Or if I live, is it not very likely that the horror of death, the night, and that ancient place where the bones of all my buried ancestors lie heaped together will drive me mad? There lies Tybalt too, still fresh in earth, and at some hours, they say, spirits walk there.
JULIET. O, if I wake, shall I not go wild among those hideous fears, playing madly with my forefathers’ bones and tearing Tybalt from his shroud? Shall I not, in that rage, dash out my own desperate brains with some great kinsman’s bone? O look, methinks I see my cousin’s ghost seeking Romeo, who struck him down. Stay, Tybalt, stay. Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, here is drink—I drink to thee. [She drinks and throws herself upon the bed.]
Part 9
Scene IV. Hall in Capulet’s house.
[Enter LADY CAPULET and the NURSE. It is deep in the night, and the house is awake with busy preparation. Servants move in and out, and the hurried joy of a wedding fills the rooms, though the audience knows that all this labor is moving toward a false morning.]
LADY CAPULET. Take these keys and fetch more spices, Nurse, because the pastry still lacks what it needs. The cooks call for dates and quinces, and every room asks for something at once. This marriage has been pressed so suddenly that the whole house seems to run without rest. We must keep order somehow till dawn.
NURSE. They pull me in ten directions, and still they think I move too slowly. Yet there is a kind of life in all this noise, and I have half a mind to laugh at the confusion if I were not so tired. The girl will soon be a bride, and everyone acts as if the world began only tonight. Still, old bones do not love such hours.
[Enter CAPULET. He is wakeful, excited, and full of restless energy. The late hour seems only to sharpen him.]
CAPULET. Stir, stir, stir. The second cock has crowed, the curfew bell has rung, and it is already three o’clock. Look well to the baked meats, and do not spare for cost, because I will have everything handsome before the bridegroom comes. A poor table would shame us all.
NURSE. Go, you housewife in a gown, and get yourself to bed before all this watching makes you sick tomorrow. You act as though your own hands must carry every dish in Verona. A man of your years should leave such labor to servants. Rest would serve you better than bustling.
CAPULET. Not a whit, not a whit. I have watched whole nights before for smaller causes than this and never been the worse for it. Do not treat me like some weak creature frightened by a little darkness and work. My heart is too light tonight to think of sleep.
LADY CAPULET. You have been a night-hunter in your time, that is true, but I would save you now from such watching if I could. Yet since you will not hear reason, I will spend no more on it. Come, Nurse, there is still work enough for us elsewhere. [Exeunt LADY CAPULET and NURSE.]
[CAPULET stays with servants who bring spits, logs, and baskets. He calls one this way and another that way, pleased with his own command and the busy disorder around him.]
CAPULET. Make haste, make haste. Fetch drier logs, and call Peter if you cannot find them, though if you have any wit you should need no guide for wood. The County will be here with music straight, for so he promised, and I think I already hear him near. Nurse, wife, what ho, what Nurse, I say.
[Re-enter NURSE.]
CAPULET. Go wake Juliet at once and trim her up. I will go speak with Paris while you make her ready, for the bridegroom is already come. Make haste, make haste, for the hour runs on. The morning waits for no one. [Exeunt.]
Scene V. Juliet’s chamber; Juliet on the bed.
[Enter the NURSE. Juliet lies still in her clothes upon the bed. The Nurse comes in cheerfully at first, thinking only to wake a sleepy bride.]
NURSE. Mistress, what, mistress, Juliet. Fast asleep, I warrant her, and no wonder after such a night. Why, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed, what not a word. Sleep for a week if you wish, for next night, I promise you, County Paris will not let you rest so much.
NURSE. How sound she sleeps, and dressed in her clothes too. I must wake her whether she likes it or not, because the bridegroom is already in the house. Madam, sweet bride, lady, lady. Alas, alas, help, help, my lady is dead.
[Enter LADY CAPULET in alarm.]
LADY CAPULET. What noise is this, and why do you cry so wildly? Has some fire broken out, or some thief entered the house? Speak plainly, woman. What is the matter?
NURSE. Look, look, O heavy day. She does not stir, she is cold, and there is no breath in her. My poor child is gone, and all this wedding morning has turned to death. O lamentable day.
LADY CAPULET. O me, O me, my child, my only life. Revive, look up, or I will die with thee. Help, help, call help from every room. This sight kills a mother before her time.
[Enter CAPULET.]
CAPULET. For shame, why do you keep Juliet back when her lord is come. Bring her forth, for all the house waits on her. Why do you stand frozen there? What strange delay is this?
NURSE. She is dead, deceased, she is dead, alack the day. I found her so, and no cry, no touch, no call could wake her. The bride lies here colder than the morning stone. The day has been struck black.
CAPULET. Let me see her. Out, alas, she is cold, her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff. Life has long been parted from those lips. Death lies on her like untimely frost upon the sweetest flower in all the field.
LADY CAPULET. O woeful time, accursed and hateful day. There was but one child, one poor and loving child, to bring us comfort and joy, and cruel death has snatched that one from my sight. I have nothing now but grief. All the house seems empty in one moment.
[Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE and PARIS, with MUSICIANS.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Come, is the bride ready to go to church? The hour is here, and the holy work should not be delayed. Why are your faces so broken and your voices so strange? What sorrow has entered before the wedding bell could sound?
CAPULET. Ready to go, but never to return. O son, on the very night before thy wedding day, death has lain with thy bride and taken her to himself. Death is my son-in-law now, death is my heir, and life, living, and all I had are death’s. There she lies, flower as she was, deflowered by him.
PARIS. Have I looked so long for this morning only to be given such a sight as this? My joy has been mocked at the door where it thought to enter. Love itself seems overthrown by cruel death. I can scarcely understand what I see.
NURSE. O woe, O woeful, woeful, woeful day. Never was seen so black a day as this, nor one so full of cries. I who dressed her like a bride must now speak of burial. O day, O hateful day.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Peace, ho, for shame. The cure for confusion does not live in greater confusion. Heaven and yourselves both had part in this fair maid, and now heaven has all, which is better for her than any earthly marriage could be.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Dry up your tears as best you may, place rosemary on this fair body, and in her best array bear her now to church, as custom asks. Though nature teaches us all to mourn, there is still reason above mourning, and heaven’s will stands higher than our broken hearts. Prepare yourselves, and do not fight against what you cannot change.
CAPULET. All things we meant for festival have turned to funeral. Our instruments become bells of sorrow, our wedding feast a burial meal, our bridal flowers serve for a corpse, and everything has changed into its contrary. There is no joy left in the house.
[CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAWRENCE go out to prepare the burial. The MUSICIANS remain, uncertain what to do.]
FIRST MUSICIAN. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone, for this is no wedding now. No silver comes where mourning stands at the door. Best to gather our things and leave quietly. Music has lost its place here.
[Enter PETER.]
PETER. Musicians, O musicians, play me “Heart’s Ease,” and you will make me live. Since my heart is full, I need something merry to drive the weight out. Come, play a little comfort for a man in a sad house. Why should grief have all the sound?
FIRST MUSICIAN. Not a dump we, for this is no time to play now. A dead bride does not call for dancing tunes. We know when pipes should speak and when they should be silent. Ask us no more.
PETER. Then I will give it you soundly, though not in coin. I will answer your refusal with wit if I cannot with payment, and my wit is as sharp as any small dagger when I choose to use it. Answer me like men, if you dare. Yet I see I spend breath on fellows no richer in laughter than in music.
SECOND MUSICIAN. Put up your wit then, and let us all wait where the mourners go. There may yet be dinner, though the wedding is gone. Come, Jack, let us not waste more time on this pestilent knave. [Exeunt.]
ACT V
Scene I. Mantua. A street.
[Enter ROMEO. He is in Mantua, cut off from Verona, yet his mood at first is strangely lifted by a dream.]
ROMEO. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, my dream promised me some joyful news at hand. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead, and by the sweetness of her kisses gave me life again until I rose like an emperor. Ah me, how sweet love itself must be when even its shadows in sleep are so rich in joy. My heart sits lightly in my breast today.
[Enter BALTHASAR.]
ROMEO. News from Verona. How now, Balthasar, dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar? How does my lady, how fares my father, and above all how fares my Juliet? I ask that again, for nothing can be ill if she is well. Speak quickly.
BALTHASAR. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill, if by heaven’s measure you can hear it so. Her body sleeps in Capel’s monument, and her immortal part lives now with angels. I saw her laid in her kindred’s vault and came at once to tell you. Forgive me for bringing so hard a message.
ROMEO. Is it even so? Then I defy you, stars. Thou knowest my lodging; get me ink and paper, and hire post-horses, for I will hence tonight. I will not stay in Mantua while Juliet lies in a grave.
BALTHASAR. I beg you, sir, have patience. Your looks are pale and wild, and they promise some desperate misadventure if I leave you in this temper. There may be more to the matter than I know. Do not rush straight toward ruin.
ROMEO. Tush, thou art deceived. Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar?
BALTHASAR. No, my good lord, none at all. I have brought only the news that my own eyes saw. I will get the horses as you command. [Exit.]
ROMEO. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. Let us see for means, for desperate thoughts are swift to find roads in a desperate man. I remember an apothecary nearby, worn to the bone with poverty, whose poor shop looked full of death even in daylight. He must sell me what Mantua’s law forbids.
[Enter APOTHECARY.]
ROMEO. Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor, and here is gold enough to make poverty forget the law. Give me a dram of poison, something quick and violent that will run through all the veins and cast a weary taker dead at once. I ask not for delay but certainty.
APOTHECARY. Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law is death to any man who sells them. If I consent, I place my own neck under the sword. Need drives me hard, yet fear still stands before me. Ask something less deadly if you can.
ROMEO. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, and yet afraid to die? Famine lives in thy cheeks, and contempt hangs upon thy back. The world gives thee no law to make thee rich, so let not that same law keep thee poor. Take this and break it.
APOTHECARY. My poverty consents, though my will does not. Put this in any liquid thing and drink it off, and even if you had the strength of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. There is no slower mercy in it. Take it then.
ROMEO. There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls than this poor compound is to the body. Farewell, buy food, and grow again into flesh if fortune ever allows it. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me to Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt.]
Scene II. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
[Enter FRIAR JOHN. Soon FRIAR LAWRENCE comes to meet him, expecting news from Mantua.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. This should be Friar John’s voice. Welcome from Mantua. What says Romeo, or if his mind is written, give me his letter. I have waited on your return with more unease than I wished to show. Speak quickly, brother.
FRIAR JOHN. Going to find another barefoot brother of our order to go with me, I entered a house where the searchers of the town believed infection had been. They sealed the doors upon us and would not let us out, so that my speed to Mantua was stayed. Thus I could not reach Romeo.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Who bore my letter then? Did no messenger carry it in your place? The matter within it was not light. A small delay may have very great danger hanging on it.
FRIAR JOHN. I could not send it, and here it is again. No man would take it from my hand, so fearful were they of infection. The whole city seemed closed against that one errand. I bring you failure where I wished to bring success.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Unhappy fortune. That letter was full of dear importance, and its neglect may do much danger. Go hence at once and fetch me an iron crow, and bring it straight unto my cell.
FRIAR JOHN. Brother, I will go and bring it thee. [Exit.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Now must I to the monument alone. Within this three hours fair Juliet will wake, and she will blame me much that Romeo has had no notice of these accidents. But I will write again to Mantua and keep her at my cell till Romeo comes. [Exit.]
Part 10
Scene III. A churchyard; in it a monument belonging to the Capulets.
[Enter PARIS and his PAGE with flowers and sweet water. It is night. The churchyard is quiet, and the stone monument stands cold in the darkness. Paris comes with grief and faithful love, wishing to honor Juliet in secret.]
PARIS. Give me thy torch, boy, and stand apart. Under no circumstances must anyone see me here tonight, because sorrow loves privacy, and this place is not for noisy company. Spread this flower-strewn bed upon the grave, and then pour out the sweet water as I have directed. Keep watch from the far side, and if you hear any footstep drawing near, whistle softly to warn me.
PAGE. I will do so, my lord, though I do not like this churchyard at night. The darkness seems full of shapes, and every small sound feels larger than it is. Still, I will keep watch as you command and not fail you. God keep us both from harm.
PARIS. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal bed, though it has become a grave before it could become a marriage chamber. The tears I should have poured upon thy hand as a bridegroom I now pour upon thy burial place. O Juliet, death has stolen what my hope had only just begun to imagine. Yet I will be faithful in sorrow if I could not be happy in love.
[He begins his mourning. The PAGE withdraws. Soon the PAGE sees movement and gives a warning whistle.]
PAGE. My lord, someone comes. I see a torch moving through the dark, and the man does not walk like one who comes in prayer. Hide yourself if you would not be seen. He draws nearer every moment.
[PARIS withdraws into the shadows. Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR with a torch, mattock, and iron bar. Romeo’s face is set with fatal calm, and Balthasar is frightened by the look in him.]
ROMEO. Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron, and take this letter early tomorrow morning to my father. Give me the light too, because I will go into the monument alone. If, as I suspect, thou stayest to watch what I do, then by heaven I will tear thee joint by joint and leave thee in the churchyard. My thoughts are wild and desperate, more savage than empty tigers or the sea when it rages.
BALTHASAR. I will be gone, sir, and I will not trouble you, though I fear you more tonight than any enemy. Yet I mean no harm and would gladly help if help were possible. Your looks are so strange that they frighten even those who love you. I will hide near enough to hear if you call.
ROMEO. So shalt thou show me friendship indeed. Live, and be prosperous, and farewell, good fellow. I thank thee for thy love and service, which have been better than my fortune deserved. Leave me now to my last work.
[BALTHASAR withdraws but remains hidden. ROMEO approaches the monument and reads the writing upon the tomb.]
ROMEO. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, thus I force thy rotten jaws open once more. [He breaks the tomb open.] In this dark house I will remain with worms as my chamber-fellows, and here I set up my everlasting rest. The stars that ruled me shall no longer command me after this night.
[PARIS comes forward, having watched in horror.]
PARIS. This is that banished and proud Montague who slew my love’s cousin and, I think, by grief killed the bride herself. He has come now to do some further shame upon the dead. Stop, thou condemned villain, and come with me, for I must arrest thee. Obey, and if not, prepare to fight.
ROMEO. I must indeed love thee better than myself, because I come armed against myself alone and not against thee. Young man, put not another sin upon thy head by forcing one who is already desperate. Tempt me not, and leave me, for I love thee more than thou canst know. If thou hast any pity, go away and remember later that a madman warned thee kindly.
PARIS. I do defy thy conjurations and arrest thee here as a felon. Thou shalt not fright me from my duty with wild speeches and desperate looks. Draw, if thou wilt not yield. The law still lives even in a graveyard.
ROMEO. Then wilt thou provoke me? Let us have done. [They fight.] This hand that seeks only its own death has no choice now but to answer thine. Thou hast pressed me too hard at the edge of the tomb. [PARIS falls.]
PARIS. O, I am slain. If thou be merciful, open the tomb and lay me with Juliet. My strength fails, and I can say little more. Let death at least bring me near to her whom life denied me.
ROMEO. In faith, I will. Let me look upon thy face. Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris, what said my servant when my mind was wild and I scarcely heard him? Did he not say Paris should have married Juliet? Or did I only dream it? Poor gentleman, I will bury thee in a triumphal grave beside the lady thou didst love.
[He drags PARIS into the monument and enters. Inside lies JULIET, still in her deathlike sleep.]
ROMEO. O my love, my wife, death that has sucked the honey of thy breath hath yet had no power upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered. Beauty’s ensign is yet crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, and death’s pale flag has not been planted there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody shroud? O cousin, I will do thee one last favor by killing with this same hand thy murderer’s self.
ROMEO. Ah, dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous and keeps thee here in darkness to be his mistress? For fear of that, here, here will I remain with thee and never from this palace of dim night depart again. Eyes, look your last; arms, take your last embrace; and lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a bargain with engrossing death.
ROMEO. Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the rocks thy seasick weary bark. Here is to my love. [He drinks.] O true apothecary, thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies.]
[A little later, FRIAR LAWRENCE enters with a lantern, crow, and spade. He is uneasy and hurries toward the monument.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Saint Francis be my speed. How often tonight have my old feet stumbled at graves. The danger I feared may already have outrun me. I must get to Juliet before fear or chance destroys all. Heaven forgive what has gone wrong through delay.
[BALTHASAR comes out from hiding.]
BALTHASAR. Here is the place, holy sir, and there is the man you seek lying there before the door. I told him of Juliet’s death, and he came with a face so fixed on ruin that I dared not follow openly. He threatened me if I remained, yet I stayed near because fear kept me close. There has been fighting too, for another man lies dead within.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Romeo? Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains the stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords? [He enters.] Romeo, ah, and Paris too. The cup is empty, and no friendly drop remains to help us.
[JULIET wakes.]
JULIET. O comfortable Friar, where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, and there I am. But where is Romeo? The place is dark, and your face is full of fear. Tell me quickly what has happened.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest of death and unnatural sleep. A greater power than we can resist has crossed our purposes. Thy husband lies dead there, and Paris too. Come, I will dispose of thee among a sisterhood of holy nuns. Ask me no questions now, because the watch is coming. We must away.
JULIET. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. What is here, a cup closed in my true love’s hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. O churl, drink all and leave no friendly drop for me? I will kiss thy lips, and perhaps some poison yet hangs on them to help me die with a restoring sweetness.
[She kisses Romeo.]
JULIET. Thy lips are warm. But I hear people coming, and there is no more time for tears. Then I will be brief. [She takes Romeo’s dagger.] O happy dagger, this is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die. [She stabs herself and falls on Romeo.]
[Enter WATCH with the PAGE and others. They have been drawn by the noise.]
PAGE. This is the place, and here is the blood. The torch, the broken tomb, the dead County Paris, and others besides. I whistled as I was told, and then all the night seemed to open with danger. Never have I seen such a fearful sight.
FIRST WATCH. The ground is bloody, and the monument is open. Some bodies lie within, and one lies near the door. Go, wake the Prince, rouse Capulet and Montague, and let others search for those who fled from this place. We stand in the middle of some dreadful business.
[Enter PRINCE with attendants, then CAPULET and LADY CAPULET. Soon MONTAGUE enters also.]
PRINCE. What misadventure is so early up that calls our person from our morning rest? The day has not fully broken, and yet Verona is shaken again. Speak, and let me know what horror has risen now. I fear our old wound has opened deeper than before.
CAPULET. O heavens, O wife, look how our daughter bleeds. This dagger hath mistaken, for lo, his house is empty on the back of Montague’s boy, and it is missheathed in my daughter’s bosom. O sight past all a father’s strength.
LADY CAPULET. O me, this sight of death is as a bell that warns me to my grave. My child, my child, and on such a morning too. There is no end to grief in this house. Even my tears feel broken.
MONTAGUE. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight. Grief of my son’s exile hath stopped her breath. What further sorrow can there be now, that I should be called to see this too? My age was already bent, and now it is crushed.
PRINCE. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. We must have truth even if truth itself is bitter. Call forth those who can speak. Nothing less will do before such a heap of death.
[Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE, guarded.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE. I am the greatest, yet least able to do least, in this suspected place. Time and circumstance press heavily against me, and this bloody scene gives witness against my peace. Yet here I stand both to accuse and to excuse myself. Hear me with patience, and you shall learn the whole unhappy course.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. Romeo was Juliet’s husband by secret marriage, and she was his faithful wife. Tybalt’s death drove Romeo into banishment. Then Juliet’s father, knowing nothing of her marriage, set a sudden wedding with Paris. To escape that second marriage, I gave her a sleeping potion that made her seem dead, intending that Romeo should be told and that he and I would take her from the tomb when she awoke.
FRIAR LAWRENCE. But the letter I sent never reached Romeo, because chance and misfortune held it back. He came instead on false news of Juliet’s death, brought poison, and died here by her side. When she awoke and found him dead, she would not leave with me, but chose the dagger and followed him. Here lies all, as grief and error have now finished it.
[BALTHASAR is brought forward.]
BALTHASAR. I brought my master word that Juliet was dead, for so I believed from what I saw. He wrote a letter for his father, came by night to this monument, gave me strict warning to depart, and then broke the tomb. I stayed hidden because fear kept me near, and so I witnessed the dreadful end from outside. I meant no harm.
[The PRINCE reads Romeo’s letter, or has it read, and finds it agrees with the Friar’s account.]
PRINCE. This letter from Romeo’s hand confirms the Friar’s story and tells again of the love between him and Juliet, of the poison bought, and of his resolve to die beside her. The truth is now plain, though it comes too late to save any of them. See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, that heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I, for allowing your discords to live so long, have lost a brace of kinsmen too.
CAPULET. O brother Montague, give me thy hand. This is my daughter’s jointure, for no more can I demand. Our children are dead, and their love has ended what our wisdom never could. I have no pride left that is greater than this grief.
MONTAGUE. But I can give thee more, for I will raise her statue in pure gold, so that while Verona by that name is known there shall no figure be held in such honor as true and faithful Juliet. Her beauty shall live in metal where life could not remain in flesh. This is the poor gift of a broken father.
CAPULET. As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie, poor sacrifices of our enmity. If gold can keep memory shining, then let both our children stand together in it. Their love deserves that much from those who gave them hate instead of peace. Let this be the first work of our new friendship.
PRINCE. A glooming peace this morning with it brings. The sun itself, 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 there never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.