Rom. How should they, When wisemen haue no eyes? Fri. Let me dispaire with thee of thy estate, Rom. Thou can'st not speake of that y dost not feele, Wert thou as young as Iuliet my Loue: An houre but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished, Then mightest thou speake, Then mightest thou teare thy hayre, And fall vpon the ground as I doe now, Taking the measure of an vnmade graue. Enter Nurse, and knockes.

Frier. Arise one knockes, Good Romeo hide thy selfe

Rom. Not I, Vnlesse the breath of Hartsicke groanes Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.


Fri. Harke how they knocke: (Who's there) Romeo arise, Thou wilt be taken, stay a while, stand vp:


Run to my study: by and by, Gods will What simplenesse is this: I come, I come.


Who knocks so hard? Whence come you? what's your will? Enter Nurse.

Nur. Let me come in, And you shall know my errand: I come from Lady Iuliet

Fri. Welcome then

Nur. O holy Frier, O tell me holy Frier, Where's my Ladies Lord? where's Romeo? Fri. There on the ground, With his owne teares made drunke

Nur. O he is euen in my Mistresse case, Iust in her case. O wofull simpathy: Pittious predicament, euen so lies she, Blubbring and weeping, weeping and blubbring, Stand vp, stand vp, stand and you be a man, For Iuliets sake, for her sake rise and stand: Why should you fall into so deepe an O

Rom. Nurse

Nur. Ah sir, ah sir, deaths the end of all

Rom. Speak'st thou of Iuliet? how is it with her? Doth not she thinke me an old Murtherer, Now I haue stain'd the Childhood of our ioy, With blood remoued, but little from her owne? Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayes My conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Loue? Nur. Oh she sayes nothing sir, but weeps and weeps, And now fals on her bed, and then starts vp, And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries, And then downe falls againe

Ro. As if that name shot from the dead leuell of a Gun, Did murder her, as that names cursed hand Murdred her kinsman. Oh tell me Frier, tell me, In what vile part of this Anatomie Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sacke The hatefull Mansion

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy forme cries out thou art: Thy teares are womanish, thy wild acts denote The vnreasonable Furie of a beast. Vnseemely woman, in a seeming man, And ill beseeming beast in seeming both, Thou hast amaz'd me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slaine Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy selfe? And slay thy Lady, that in thy life lies, By doing damned hate vpon thy selfe? Why rayl'st thou on thy birth? the heauen and earth? Since birth, and heauen and earth, all three do meete In thee at once, which thou at once would'st loose. Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy loue, thy wit, Which like a Vsurer abound'st in all: And vsest none in that true vse indeed, Which should bedecke thy shape, thy loue, thy wit: Thy Noble shape, is but a forme of waxe, Digressing from the Valour of a man, Thy deare Loue sworne but hollow periurie, Killing that Loue which thou hast vow'd to cherish. Thy wit, that Ornament, to shape and Loue, Mishapen in the conduct of them both: Like powder in a skillesse Souldiers flaske, Is set a fire by thine owne ignorance, And thou dismembred with thine owne defence. What, rowse thee man, thy Iuliet is aliue, For whose deare sake thou wast but lately dead. There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt, there art thou happie. The law that threatned death became thy Friend. And turn'd it to exile, there art thou happy. A packe or blessing light vpon thy backe, Happinesse Courts thee in her best array, But like a mishaped and sullen wench, Thou puttest vp thy Fortune and thy Loue: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Goe get thee to thy Loue as was decreed, Ascend her Chamber, hence and comfort her: But looke thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not passe to Mantua, Where thou shalt liue till we can finde a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your Friends, Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee backe, With twenty hundred thousand times more ioy Then thou went'st forth in lamentation. Goe before Nurse, commend me to thy Lady, And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heauy sorrow makes them apt vnto. Romeo is comming

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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