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Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. |
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that. |
Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. |
Bal. [aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout. |
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.] |
Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, |
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, |
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, |
And in despite I'll cram thee with more food. |
Romeo opens the tomb. |
Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague |
That murd'red my love's cousin- with which grief |
It is supposed the fair creature died- |
And here is come to do some villanous shame |
To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him. |
Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague! |
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death? |
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee. |
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. |
Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. |
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man. |
Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone; |
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, |
But not another sin upon my head |
By urging me to fury. O, be gone! |
By heaven, I love thee better than myself, |
For I come hither arm'd against myself. |
Stay not, be gone. Live, and hereafter say |
A madman's mercy bid thee run away. |
Par. I do defy thy, conjuration |
And apprehend thee for a felon here. |
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy! |
They fight. |
Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. |
[Exit. Paris falls.] |
Par. O, I am slain! If thou be merciful, |
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.] |
Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. |
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! |
What said my man when my betossed soul |
Did not attend him as we rode? I think |
He told me Paris should have married Juliet. |
Said he not so? or did I dream it so? |
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet |
To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, |
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! |
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave. |
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 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 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? |
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