Shakespeare's Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet

ACT I Scene I.

William Shakespeare

Verona. A Public Place.

Enter Sampson and Gregory, of the house of Capulet,
with swords and bucklers

Sampson. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.

Gregory. No, for then we should be colliers.

Sampson. I mean, an we be in choler we'll draw.

Gregory. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
o' the collar.

Sampson. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gregory. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

Sampson. A dog of the house of Montague moves
me. 10

Gregory. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is
to stand; therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st
away.

Sampson. A dog of that house shall move me to
stand; I will take the wall of any man or maid of
Montague's.

Gregory. That shows thee a weak slave; for the
weakest goes to the wall.

Sampson. True; and therefore women, being the
weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore 20
I will push Montague's men from the wall, and
thrust his maids to the wall.

Gregory. The quarrel is between our masters and
us their men.

Sampson. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant;
when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel
with the maids and cut off their heads.

Gregory. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the
house of the Montagues.

Sampson. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I 30
will back thee.

Gregory. How? turn thy back and run?

Sampson. Fear me not.

Gregory. No, marry; I fear thee!

Sampson. Let us take the law of our sides; let
them begin.

Gregory. I will frown as I pass by, and let them
take it as they list.

Sampson. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb
at them, which is a disgrace to them if they bear it. 40

Enter Abram and Balthasar

Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sampson. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

Sampson. [Aside to Gregory] Is the law of our
side, if I say ay?

Gregory. No.

Sampson. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you,
sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gregory. Do you quarrel, sir?

Abram. Quarrel, sir! no, sir. 50

Sampson. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as
good a man as you.

Abram. No better.

Sampson. Well, sir.

Gregory. [Aside to Sampson] Say 'better'; here
comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sampson. Yes, better, sir.

Abram. You lie.

Sampson. Draw, if you be men.—Gregory, remember
thy swashing blow. [They fight. 60

Scene II.

A Street

Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant

Capulet. But Montague is bound as well as I,

In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,

For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Paris. Of honourable reckoning are you both,

And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.

But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Capulet. But saying o'er what I have said before.

My child is yet a stranger in the world;

She hath not seen the change of fourteen years.

Let two more summers wither in their pride

Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Paris. Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Capulet. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she,

She is the hopeful lady of my earth.

But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,

My will to her consent is but a part;

An she agree, within her scope of choice

Lies my consent and fair according voice.

This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,

Whereto I have invited many a guest,

Such as I love; and you, among the store,

One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

At my poor house look to behold this night

Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.

Such comfort as do lusty young men feel

When well-apparell'd April on the heel

Of limping winter treads, even such delight

Among fresh female buds shall you this night

Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,

And like her most whose merit most shall be;

Which on more view of many, mine being one

May stand in number, though in reckoning none.

Come, go with me.—[To Servant, giving a paper] Go, sirrah, trudge about

Through fair Verona; find those persons out

Whose names are written there, and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Servant. Find them out whose names are written
here! It is written that the shoemaker should meddle
with his yard and the tailor with his last, the 40
fisher with his pencil and the painter with his nets;
but I am sent to find those persons whose names are
here writ, and can never find what names the writing
person hath here writ. I must to the learned.—In
good time.

Enter Benvolio and Romeo

Benvolio. Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish;

Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;

One desperate grief cures with another's languish.

Take thou some new infection to thy eye,

And the rank poison of the old will die.

Romeo. Your plantain-leaf is excellent for that.

Benvolio. For what, I pray thee?

Romeo. For your broken shin.

Benvolio. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Romeo. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is;

Shut up in prison, kept without my food,

Whipp'd and tormented and—Good-den, good fellow.

Servant. God gi' good-den.—I pray, sir, can you
read?

Romeo. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 60

Servant. Perhaps you have learned it without book;
but, I pray, can you read any thing you see?

Romeo. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.

Servant. Ye say honestly; rest you merry!

Romeo. Stay, fellow; I can read.

[Reads] 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the
lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio and his
lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine;
mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair 70
niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his
cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena?'
A fair assembly; whither should they come?

Servant. Up.

Romeo. Whither?

Servant. To supper; to our house.

Romeo. Whose house?

Servant. My master's.

Romeo. Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before.

Servant. Now I'll tell you without asking. My 80
master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not
of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush
a cup of wine. Rest you merry! [Exit.

Benvolio. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's

Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov'st,

With all the admired beauties of Verona.

Go thither, and with unattainted eye

Compare her face with some that I shall show,

And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Romeo. When the devout religion of mine eye

Maintains such falsehood then turn tears to fires;

And these, who often drown'd could never die,

Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!

One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun

Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.

Benvolio. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,

Herself pois'd with herself in either eye;

But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd

Your lady's love against some other maid

100

That I will show you shining at this feast,

And she shall scant show well that now shows best.

Romeo. I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,

But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

Scene III.

A Room in Capulet's House

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse

Lady Capulet. Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me.

Nurse. Now, by my maidenhead at twelve year old,

I bade her come.—What, lamb! what, lady-bird!—

God forbid!—Where's this girl?—What, Juliet!

Enter Juliet

Juliet. How now! who calls?

Nurse. Your mother.

Juliet. Madam, I am here.

What is your will?

Lady Capulet. This is the matter:—Nurse, give leave awhile,

We must talk in secret.—Nurse, come back again;

I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel.

Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age.

Nurse. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.

Lady Capulet. She's not fourteen.

Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,—

And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,—

She is not fourteen. How long is it now

To Lammas-tide?

Lady Capulet. A fortnight and odd days.

Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year,

Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen.

Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!—

Were of an age; well, Susan is with God,

She was too good for me; but, as I said,

On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen;

That shall she, marry; I remember it well.

'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;

And she was wean'd,—I never shall forget it,—

Of all the days of the year, upon that day,

For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,

Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall;

My lord and you were then at Mantua,—

Nay, I do bear a brain;—but, as I said,

When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple

Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool,

To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug!

Shake, quoth the dove-house; 'twas no need, I trow,

To bid me trudge.

And since that time it is eleven years,

For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,

She could have run and waddled all about.—

God mark thee to his grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd;

An I might live to see thee married once,

I have my wish.

Lady Capulet. Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme

I came to talk of.—Tell me, daughter Juliet,

How stands your disposition to be married?

Juliet. It is an honour that I dream not of.

Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse,

I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat.

Lady Capulet. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you

Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,

Are made already mothers. By my count,

I was your mother much upon these years

That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief:

The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man

As all the world—why, he's a man of wax.

Lady Capulet. Verona's summer hath not such a flower.

Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower.

Lady Capulet. What say you? can you love the gentleman?

This night you shall behold him at our feast;

Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,

And find delight writ there with beauty's pen.

Examine every married lineament

And see how one another lends content;

And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies

Find written in the margent of his eyes.

This precious book of love, this unbound lover,

To beautify him, only lacks a cover;

The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride

For fair without the fair within to hide.

That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,

That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;

So shall you share all that he doth possess,

By having him making yourself no less.

Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love?

Juliet. I'll look to like, if looking liking move;

But no more deep will I endart mine eye

Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant

Servant. Madam, the guests are come, supper

served up, you called, my young lady asked for,

the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in

extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you,

follow straight.

Lady Capulet. We follow thee.—[Exit Servant.] Juliet, the county stays.

Nurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. [Exeunt.

Scene IV.

A Street

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and others

Scene V.

A Hall in Capulet's House

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkins

1 Servingman. Where's Potpan, that he helps not
to take away? He shift a trencher! he scrape a
trencher!

2 Servingman. When good manners shall lie all
in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too,
'tis a foul thing.

1 Servingman. Away with the joint-stools, remove
the court-cupboard, look to the plate.—Good thou,
save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest
10me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and
Nell.—Antony!—and Potpan!

2 Servingman. Ay, boy, ready.

1 Servingman. You are looked for and called for,
asked for and sought for, in the great chamber.

2 Servingman. We cannot be here and there too.
—Cheerly, boys; be brisk a while, and the longer
liver take all.

Enter Capulet, with Juliet and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers

Capulet. Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes

Unplagu'd with corns will have a bout with you.—

Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all

Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty,

She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now?—

Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day

That I have worn a visor and could tell

A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear,

Such as would please; 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone.—

You are welcome, gentlemen!—Come, musicians, play.—

A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.— [Music plays, and they dance.

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,

And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.—

Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well.—

Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet,

For you and I are past our dancing days.

How long is 't now since last yourself and I

Were in a mask?

2 Capulet. By 'r lady, thirty years.

Capulet. What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much!

'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,

Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,

Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd.

2 Capulet. 'Tis more, 'tis more! His son is elder, sir;

His son is thirty.

Capulet. Will you tell me that?

His son was but a ward two years ago.

Romeo. [To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand

Of yonder knight?

Servingman. I know not, sir.

Romeo. O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!

Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows

As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.

The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,

And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Tybalt. This, by his voice, should be a Montague.—

Fetch me my rapier, boy.—What dares the slave

Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,

To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,

To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Capulet. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

Tybalt. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,

A villain that is hither come in spite,

To scorn at our solemnity this night.

Capulet. Young Romeo is it?

Tybalt. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

Capulet. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.

He bears him like a portly gentleman;

And, to say truth, Verona brags of him

To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth.

I would not for the wealth of all the town

Here in my house do him disparagement;

Therefore be patient, take no note of him.

It is my will, the which if thou respect,

Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,

An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

Tybalt. It fits when such a villain is a guest;

I'll not endure him.

Capulet. He shall be endur'd;

What, goodman boy! I say he shall. Go to;

Am I the master here, or you? go to.

You'll not endure him!—God shall mend my soul!—

You'll make a mutiny among my guests!

You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

Tybalt. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

Capulet Go to, go to;

You are a saucy boy.—Is 't so, indeed?—

This trick may chance to scathe you,—I know what.

You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.—

Well said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go!

Be quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame!

I'll make you quiet. What!—Cheerly, my hearts!

Tybalt. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting

Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.

I will withdraw; but this intrusion shall,

Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [Exit.

Romeo. [To Juliet] If I profane with my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Juliet. Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,

100

Which mannerly devotion shows in this;

For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,

And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

Romeo. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Juliet. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

Romeo. O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Juliet. Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Romeo. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

Thus from my lips by thine my sin is purg'd. [Kissing her.

Juliet. Then have my lips the sin that they have took.

Romeo. Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!

Give me my sin again.

112

Juliet. You kiss by the book.

Nurse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Romeo. What is her mother?

Nurse. Marry, bachelor,

Her mother is the lady of the house,

And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.

I nurs'd her daughter that you talk'd withal;

I tell you, he that can lay hold of her

Shall have the chinks.

Romeo. Is she a Capulet?

120

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

Benvolio. Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.

Romeo. Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.

Capulet. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone;

We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.—

Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all;

I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.—

More torches here!—Come on then, let's to bed.

Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late;

I'll to my rest. [Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse.

Juliet. Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman?

131

Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio.

Juliet. What's he that now is going out of door?

Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio.

Juliet. What's he that follows there, that would not dance?

Nurse. I know not.

Juliet. Go, ask his name.—If he be married,

My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague,

The only son of your great enemy.

140

Juliet. My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

That I must love a loathed enemy.

Nurse. What's this? what's this?

Juliet. A rhyme I learn'd even now

Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within 'Juliet.'

Nurse. Anon, anon!—

Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. [Exeunt.

Capulet's Garden

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