The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 471

A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light.

Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.

[Lays him in the tomb.]

How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death. O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife!

Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 das.h.i.+ng rocks thy seasick weary bark!

Here's to my love! [Drinks.] O true apothecary!

Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Falls.

Enter Friar [Laurence], with lanthorn, crow, and spade.

Friar. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there?

Bal. 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.

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love.

Friar. Who is it?

Bal. Romeo.

Friar. How long hath he been there?

Bal. Full half an hour.

Friar. Go with me to the vault.

Bal. 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 unthrifty thing.

Bal. As I did sleep under this yew tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him.

Friar. Romeo!

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 tomb.]

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 rises.

Jul. O comfortable friar! where is my lord?

I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo?

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. I dare no longer stay.

Jul. Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.

Exit [Friar].

What's here? A cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.

O churl! drunk 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!

Chief Watch. [within] Lead, boy. Which way?

Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!

[s.n.a.t.c.hes Romeo's dagger.]

This is thy sheath; there rest, and let me die.

She stabs herself and falls [on Romeo's body].

Enter [Paris's] Boy and Watch.

Boy. This is the place. There, where the torch doth burn.

Chief Watch. 'the ground is b.l.o.o.d.y. 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 circ.u.mstance descry.

Enter [some of the Watch,] with Romeo's Man [Balthasar].

2. Watch. Here's Romeo's man. We found him in the churchyard.

Chief Watch. Hold him in safety till the Prince come hither.

Enter Friar [Laurence] and another Watchman.

3. Watch. Here is a friar that trembles, sighs, and weeps.

We took this mattock and this spade from him As he was coming from this churchyard side.

Chief Watch. A great suspicion! Stay the friar too.

Enter the Prince [and Attendants].

Prince. What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning rest?

Enter Capulet and his Wife [with others].

Cap. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad?

Wife. The people in the street cry 'Romeo,'

Some 'Juliet,' and some 'Paris'; and all run, With open outcry, toward our monument.

Prince. What fear is this which startles in our ears?

Chief Watch. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd.

Prince. Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes.

Chief Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man, With instruments upon them fit to open These dead men's tombs.

Cap. O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!

This dagger hath mista'en, for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague, And it missheathed in my daughter's bosom!

Wife. O me! this sight of death is as a bell That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

Enter Montague [and others].

Prince. Come, Montague; for thou art early up To see thy son and heir more early down.