By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!— O love! O life!—not life, but love in death! Cap. Despis'd, distrefsed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now To murder murder our solemnity? O child! O child!—my soul, and not my child!- And, with my child, my joys are buried! Friar. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death; But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. Our instruments, to melancholy bells; Friar. Sir, go you in,—and, madam, go with him;And go, sir Paris;-every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill; Move them no more, by crossing their high will. Exeunt Capulet, lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar. 1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit Nurse. 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. Enter Peter. Peter. Musicians, O, musicians, Heart's ease, heart's ease; O, an you will have me live, play-heart's ease. 1 Mus. Why heart's ease? Peter. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays—My heart is full of woe: O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. 2 Mus. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. 2 Mus. No. Peter. I will then give it you soundly. 1 Mus. What will you give us? Peter. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel. 1 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature. Peter. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you: Do you note me? 1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. Peter. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger :—Answer me like men: When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind opprefs, Then music, with her silver sound, Why silver sound? why, music with her silver sound? What say you, Simon Catling? 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. 2 Mus. I say silver sound, because musicians sound for silver. Peter. Pretty too!-What say you, James Soundpost? 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. Peter. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you. It is music with her silver sound, because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding: Then music, with her silver sound, With speedy help doth lend redress. [Exit, singing. |