When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it?— Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; All this is comfort; wherefore weep I, then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: That banished, that one word banished, Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,- In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.- Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Jul. O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, [Exeunt. SCENE III.-FRIAR LAWRENCE'S Cell. Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE. Fri. L. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Enter ROMEO. Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What less than doomsday is the prince's doom? Fri. L. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,— Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, say death; For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say banishment. Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, Fri. L. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness ! Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here VOL. VI. But Romeo may not; he is banished, This may flies do, when I from this must fly. Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, O friar, the damned use that word in hell; A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word banishment? Fri. L. Thou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,- Fri. L. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished?-Hang up philosophy! It helps not, it prevails not,-talk no more. Fri. L. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? Fri. L. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Fri. L. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. [Knocking within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, Mist-like, enfold me from the search of eyes. [Knocking. Fri. L. Hark how they knock !-Who's there?-Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken.-Stay awhile;-stand up; [Knocking. [Knocking. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse. [within.] Let me come in and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. Fri. L. Welcome then. Enter Nurse. Nurse. O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? Fri. L. There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse. O, he is even in my mistress' case, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.— Rom. Nurse! Nurse. Ah, sir! ah, sir!-Well, death's the end of all. Rom. Spak'st thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood remov'd but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell❜d love? Nurse. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. -0, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack Fri. L. [Drawing his sword. Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: ; And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. Nurse. O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit. |