Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare (cool books to read .txt) 📗

Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh:

Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;

Act II, scene i

Cry but ‘Ay me!’ pronounce but ‘love’ and ‘dove;’ Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,

One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid!

He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.

I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,

By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh

And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us!

BENVOLIO: And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO: This cannot anger him: ’twould anger him

To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle

Of some strange nature, letting it there stand

Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation

Is fair and honest, and in his mistress’ name

I conjure only but to raise up him.

 

BENVOLIO: Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,

 

 

To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark.

 

MERCUTIO: If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree,

And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were

An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I’ll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go?

 

BENVOLIO: Go, then; for ’tis in vain

To seek him here that means not to be found. [Exeunt.]

 

SCENE II: Capulet’s orchard.

 

[Enter ROMEO.]

 

ROMEO: He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

[JULIET appears above at a window.]

 

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious;

Her vestal livery is but sick and green

And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.

It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!

She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it.

I am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return.

What if her eyes were there, they in her head?

The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven

Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!

O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek! JULIET: Ay me!

ROMEO: She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art

As glorious to this night, being o’er my head

As is a winged messenger of heaven

Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air.

 

JULIET: O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name;

Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

 

ROMEO: [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

 

JULIET: ’Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm,

nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet;

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself.

 

ROMEO: I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

 

JULIET: What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night

So stumblest on my counsel?

 

ROMEO: By a name

I know not how to tell thee who I am:

My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee;

Had I it written, I would tear the word.

JULIET: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words

Of that tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

ROMEO: Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET: How camest thou hither, tell me, and where

fore?

The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

 

ROMEO: With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

JULIET: If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye

Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,

And I am proof against their enmity.

JULIET: I would not for the world they saw thee here.

 

ROMEO: I have night’s cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here:

My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

JULIET: By whose direction found’st thou out this place? ROMEO: By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;

He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.

I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far

As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise.

 

JULIET: Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night

Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ‘Ay,’ And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear’st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers’ perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,

If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:

Or if thou think’st I am too quickly won, I’ll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,

So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,

And therefore thou mayst think my ‘havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true

Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ware,

My true love’s passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered.

 

ROMEO: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear

That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—

 

JULIET: O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb,

Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO: What shall I swear by?

JULIET: Do not swear at all;

Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,

Which is the god of my idolatry, And I’ll believe thee.

ROMEO: If my heart’s dear love— JULIET: Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,

I have no joy of this contract to-night:

It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;

Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say ‘It lightens.’ Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath,

May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

 

ROMEO: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

JULIET: What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO: The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for

mine.

 

JULIET: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:

And yet I would it were to give again.

 

ROMEO: Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

 

JULIET: But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have:

My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

 

[Nurse calls within.]

 

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.

 

[Exit, above.]

 

ROMEO: O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream,

Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. [Re-enter JULIET, above.]

JULIET: Three words, dear Romeo, and good night in

deed.

If that thy bent of love be honorable,

Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I’ll procure to come to thee,

Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay

And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse: [Within] Madam!

JULIET: I come, anon.—But if thou mean’st not well, I do beseech thee—

 

Nurse: [Within] Madam!

 

JULIET: By and by, I come:— To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send.

ROMEO: So thrive my soul— JULIET: A thousand times good night! [Exit, above.]

 

ROMEO: A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from

their books,

But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring.]

[Re-enter JULIET, above.]

 

JULIET: Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer’s voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again!

Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,

And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo’s name.

 

ROMEO: It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

JULIET: Romeo! ROMEO: My dear?

JULIET: At what o’clock to-morrow

Shall I send to thee?

 

ROMEO: At the hour of nine.

 

JULIET: I will not fail: ’tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back.

ROMEO: Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET: I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,

Remembering how I love thy company.

 

ROMEO: And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this.

 

JULIET: ’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton’s bird;

Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty.

 

ROMEO: I would I were thy bird.

JULIET: Sweet, so would I:

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,

That I shall say good night till it be morrow. [Exit above.]

ROMEO: Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!

Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father’s cell,

His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.]

 

SCENE III: Friar Laurence’s cell.

 

 

[Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket.]

 

FRIAR LAURENCE: The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,

Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,

And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,

The day to cheer and night’s dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours

With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind

We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent,

None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies

In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give,

Nor aught so good but strain’d from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;

And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power:

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each

part;

Being