The Quintessential Shakespeare: 11 Most Famous Plays in One Edition. William Shakespeare
breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer’d; beauty’s ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death’s pale flag is not advanced there.—
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favour can I do to thee
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin!—Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous;
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that I still will stay with thee,
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again: here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids: O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.—Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!—
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!
Here’s to my love! [Drinks.]—O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.
[Dies.]
[Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a lantern, crow, and spade.]
Friar.
Saint Francis be my speed! how oft tonight
Have my old feet stumbled at graves!—Who’s there?
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?
Balthasar.
Here’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Friar.
Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,
It burneth in the Capels’ monument.
Balthasar.
It doth so, holy sir; and there’s my master,
One that you love.
Friar.
Who is it?
Balthasar.
Romeo.
Friar.
How long hath he been there?
Balthasar.
Full half an hour.
Friar.
Go with me to the vault.
Balthasar.
I dare not, sir;
My master knows not but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on his intents.
Friar.
Stay then; I’ll go alone:—fear comes upon me;
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
Balthasar.
As I did sleep under this yew tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.
Friar.
Romeo! [Advances.]
Alack, alack! what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?—
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour’d by this place of peace?
[Enters the monument.]
Romeo! O, pale!—Who else? what, Paris too?
And steep’d in blood?—Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!—The lady stirs.
[Juliet wakes and stirs.]
Juliet.
O comfortable friar! where is my lord?—
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am:—where is my Romeo?
[Noise within.]
Friar.
I hear some noise.—Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents:—come, come away!
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too:—come, I’ll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet [noise within],—I dare no longer stay.
Juliet.
Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.—
[Exit Friar Lawrence.]
What’s here? a cup, clos’d in my true love’s hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:—
O churl! drink all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after?—I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restorative.
[Kisses him.]
Thy lips are warm!
1 Watch. [Within.] Lead, boy:—which way?
Juliet.
Yea, noise?—Then I’ll be brief.—O happy dagger!
[Snatching Romeo’s dagger.]
This is thy sheath [stabs herself]; there rest, and let me die.
[Falls on Romeo’s body and dies.]
[Enter Watch, with the Page of Paris.]
Page.
This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn.
1 Watch.
The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard:
Go, some of you, whoe’er you find attach.
[Exeunt some of the Watch.]
Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain;—
And Juliet bleeding; warm, and newly dead,
Who here hath lain this two days buried.—
Go, tell the prince;—run to the Capulets,—
Raise up the Montagues,—some others search:—
[Exeunt others of the Watch.]
We see the ground whereon these woes do lie;
But the true ground of all these piteous woes
We cannot without circumstance