Mistress! 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? (opens the bed curtains)
What, dressed and in your clothes, and down again?
I must needs wake you. Lady, lady, lady!—
Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!—
Oh, welladay, that ever I was born!—
Some aqua vitae, ho!—My lord! My lady!
Mistress! Hey, mistress! Juliet! Fast asleep, I bet.
Hey, lamb! Hey, lady! Hey, you sleepyhead! Hey, love, I say! Madam!
Sweetheart! Hey, bride! What, not a single word to say? Enjoy this last bit
of sleep now. Get a week’s worth of sleep, because tonight, I bet, Count
Paris will make sure that you don’t get much rest. God forgive me. Indeed, and
amen. How sound asleep she is! I have to wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Yeah,
let the count take you in your bed. He’ll wake you up, no doubt. Won’t he? (opens the bed curtains) What? Still dressed in your
clothes but asleep. I must wake you. Lady, lady, lady! No, no! Help, help! My
lady’s dead! Oh curse the day I was born! Hey! Get me some liquor! My lord!
Enter LADY CAPULET
LADY CAPULET enters.
What noise is here?
What’s with all the noise?
O lamentable day!
Oh, terrible day!
What is the matter?
What’s the matter?
Look, look. O heavy day!
Look, look! Oh, what an awful day!
O me, O me! My child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!—
Help, help! Call help.
Oh no, oh no! My child, my reason for being, come back,
look up, or I’ll die with you! Help, help! Call for help.
For shame, bring Juliet forth. Her lord is come.
For shame, get Juliet out here. Her bridegroom has
She’s dead, deceased, she’s dead. Alack the day!
She’s dead, deceased, dead. Curse the day!
Alack the day. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
Curse the day. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
* * * * *
Ha? 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.
What? Let me see her. No! She’s cold. Her blood has
stopped, and her joints are stiff. Life left her body a long while ago. Death
rests on her like an unexpected frost that killed the most beautiful flower.
O lamentable day!
Oh terrible day!
O woeful time.
Oh awful time!
Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
Death, which has taken her away to make me cry, ties up
my tongue and will not let me speak.
Enter FRIAR LAWRENCE, County PARIS, and MUSICIANS
FRIAR LAWRENCE and PARIS enter with MUSICIANS.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
35 * * * *
Ready 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.
She’s ready to go, but not to return. (to PARIS) Oh son! On the night
before your wedding day, death has slept with your wife. There she lies, a
flower who was deflowered by death. Death is my son-in-law. Death is my heir.
Death has married my daughter. I will die and leave everything to Death.
Life, living, it all is now Death’s.
Have I thought long to see this morning’s face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Have I waited to see this morning for so long, only for
it to look like this?
Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage.
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catched it from my sight!
Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! The most
miserable hour that ever existed in all of time. I had just one child, one
poor child, one poor and loving child. Just one thing to rejoice and find
comfort in. Now cruel Death has stolen it from my sight!
50 * * * *
O 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!
Oh misery! Oh miserable, miserable, miserable day! The
saddest day, most miserable day that I ever, ever saw! Oh day! Oh day! Oh day!
Oh hateful day! There has never been a day as black as this one. Oh miserable
day, Oh miserable day!
Beguiled, divorcèd, wrongèd, spited, slain!
Most detestable Death, by thee beguiled,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown!
O love! O life! Not life, but love in death.
She was tricked, divorced, wronged, spited, killed!
Detestable Death tricked her. Cruel, cruel Death murdered her. Oh love! Oh
life! There is no life because my love is dead.
60 * * * *
Despised, distressèd, hated, martyred, killed!
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.
Despised, distressed, hated, martyred, killed! Why did
you come now, Death, to murder, murder our joy? Oh child! Oh child! My soul
and not my child! You are dead! No! My child is dead. My child will be buried
together with my joy.
* * *
70 * * * *
75 * * * *
Peace, 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?
Oh, 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,
And in her best array, bear her to church.
For though some nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
Quiet, for shame! Your outcries are no cure for
confusion. Both you and heaven played a part in giving you your child. Now
heaven has her, and she is better off. The part of her that came from you
could not stop her from dying, but the part she got from heaven gives her
eternal life. The most you could hope for her was that she marry well. Your
idea of heaven for her was that she move up the social ladder. Yet now you
weep, even though she has risen up above the clouds, all the way to heaven
itself? Oh, by mourning her death you love your child so poorly, going mad
even though she is well and in heaven. It is better for a girl to die young
while her marriage is still fresh and loving than to be married for a long
time. Dry your tears, and place your rosemary (editor’s
note: rosemary signifies enduring love) on this beautiful corpse. And,
as is the custom, put her in her finest clothes and carry her to church. It’s
human nature to shed tears, but reason says that we should be joyful.
85 * * * *
All 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.
The things that we prepared for the wedding now will be
used instead for the funeral. Our music instruments will be exchanged for
mourning bells. Our wedding banquet will be instead a sad burial feast. Our
celebratory hymns will change to sad funeral dirges. Our bridal flowers will
cover a buried corpse. Everything will be used for the purpose opposite that
which we expected.
* * * *
Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris. Every one 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.
Sir, you go in. Madam, go with him. And you too, Sir
Paris. Everyone prepare to follow this beautiful corpse to her grave. The
heavens hang over you for some unknown reason. Stop fighting heaven’s will
and it will no longer move against you.
Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR
CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR
Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
I guess we can put our pipes away and leave.
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,
For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.
Honest good men, yes, put them away, away. As you know,
this is a sad case.
The NURSE exits.
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Yes, but this case at least can be mended. (editor’s note: the musician is referring to the case for his
flute, which is broken)
Musicians, O musicians, “Heart’s Ease,” “Heart’s Ease.” O, an
you will have me live, play “Heart’s Ease.”
Musicians, oh, musicians, play “Heart’s Ease,” “Heart’s
Ease.” Oh, if you want me to live, play “Heart’s Ease.”
Why “Heart’s ease?”
Why “Heart’s Ease”?
O musicians, because my heart itself plays “My Heart is
Full.” O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.
Oh, musicians, because my heart itself is playing “My
Heart is Full of Woe.” Oh, play me some happy mournful tune to comfort me.
Not a dump, we. ‘Tis no time to play now.
No, we won’t play a sad song. Now is not the time for
You will not then?
You won’t, then?
I will then give it you soundly.
Then I’ll give you something you won’t forget.
What will you give us?
What will you give us?
No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the
Not money, I swear. But I’ll insult you, and call you
Then I will give you the serving creature.
Then I’ll call you a lowly servant.
Then 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?
Then I’ll take my serving knife to smack you upside the
head. I won’t need to sing. I’ll make you sing. Do you hear me?
An you re us and fa us, you note us.
If you make us sing, you’ll hear us.
Pray you, put up your dagger and put out your wit.
Please, put away your knife and show some wits.
Then 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. (sings) When griping grief the heart doth wound And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound— (speaks) Why “silver sound”? Why “music with her
silver sound”? What say you, Simon Catling?
I’ll attack you with my wit! I’ll put away my iron
dagger and thrash you with my wicked wit. Answer me like men. (sings) When grief wounds your heart, And sadness presses on your mind, Then music with her silver sound— (speaks) Why “silver sound”? What does “music with her silver sound” mean? What do
you say, Simon Catling?
Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Well, sir, because silver has a sweet sound.
Pretty.—What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
A witty reply! What do you say, Hugh Rebeck?
I say, “silver sound” because musicians sound for silver.
I say “silver sound,” because musicians play music to
Pretty too.—What say you, James Soundpost?
More wit! What do you say, James Soundpost?
Faith, I know not what to say.
Well, I don’t know what to say.
Oh, 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
Oh, I beg your pardon. You’re the singer (editor’s note: singers were considered unintelligent).
I’ll answer for you. It is “music with her silver sound,” because musicians
will never get rich.
(sings) Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.
(sings) Then music with her silver sound quickly makes you feel all right.
What a pestilent knave is this same!
What an annoying jerk!
Hang him, Jack! Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners
and stay dinner.
Screw him, Jack! Come on, we’ll go in there, wait for
the mourners to return, and stay for dinner.