ARKCODEX
Act IV, Scene 5
1Juliet’schamber.
2Enter Nurse.
3NurseMistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she:
Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed!
Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride!
What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The County Paris hath set up his rest,
That you shall rest but little. God forgive me,
Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep!
I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He’ll fright you up, i’ faith. Will it not be? Undraws the curtains.
What, dress’d! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you: Lady! lady! lady!
Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady’s dead!
O, well-a-day, that ever I was born!
Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!
4Enter Lady Capulet.
5Lady CapuletWhat noise is here?
6NurseO lamentable day!
7Lady CapuletWhat is the matter?
8NurseLook, look! O heavy day!
9Lady CapuletO me, O me! My child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! Call help.
10Enter Capulet.
11CapuletFor shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
12NurseShe’s dead, deceased, she’s dead; alack the day!
13Lady CapuletAlack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
14CapuletHa! let me see her: out, alas! she’s cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
15NurseO lamentable day!
16Lady CapuletO woeful time!
17CapuletDeath, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.
18Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians.
19Friar LaurenceCome, is the bride ready to go to church?
20CapuletReady to go, but never to return.
O son! the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded: I will die,
And leave him all; life, living, all is Death’s.
21ParisHave I thought long to see this morning’s face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
22Lady CapuletAccursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight!
23NurseO woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
Most lamentable day, most woeful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woeful day, O woeful day!
24ParisBeguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee beguiled,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
O love! O life! not life, but love in death!
25CapuletDespised, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d!
Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
And with my child my joys are buried.
26Friar LaurencePeace, 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.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For ’twas your heaven she should be advanced:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She’s not well married that lives married long;
But she’s best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
27CapuletAll things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
28Friar LaurenceSir, go you in; and, madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris; everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave:
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will. Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar Laurence.
29First MusicianFaith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.
30NurseHonest good fellows, ah, put up, put up;
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. Exit.
31First MusicianAy, by my troth, the case may be amended.
32Enter Peter.
33PeterMusicians, O, musicians, “Heart’s ease, Heart’s ease:” O, an you will have me live, play “Heart’s ease.”
34First MusicianWhy “Heart’s ease”?
35PeterO, musicians, because my heart itself plays “My heart is full of woe:” O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.
36First MusicianNot a dump we; ’tis no time to play now.
37PeterYou will not, then?
38First MusicianNo.
39PeterI will then give it you soundly.
40First MusicianWhat will you give us?
41PeterNo money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel.
42First MusicianThen I will give you the serving-creature.
43PeterThen 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?
44First MusicianAn you re us and fa us, you note us.
45Second MusicianPray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
46PeterThen 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,
why “silver sound”? why “music with her silver sound”? What say you, Simon Catling?
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound”—
47First MusicianMarry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
48PeterPretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
49Second MusicianI say “silver sound,” because musicians sound for silver.
50PeterPretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?
51Third MusicianFaith, I know not what to say.
52PeterO, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is “music with her silver sound,” because musicians have no gold for sounding:
“Then music with her silver sound
Exit.
With speedy help doth lend redress.”
53First MusicianWhat a pestilent knave is this same!
54Second MusicianHang him, Jack! Come, we’ll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. Exeunt.