How if, when I am laid into the tomb,

I wake before the time that Romeo

Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!

Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,

The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,

-

Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;

Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,

So early waking, what with loathsome smells;
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad; -
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? -
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point: - stay, Tybalt, stay!-
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[Drinks, and throws herself on the bed.

SCENE IV. The same. Hall in CAPULET's house.

Enter Lady CAPULET and Nurse.

La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices,

nurse.

Nurse. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

Enter CAPULET.

Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock:

Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica:

Spare not for cost.

Nurse.

Go, you cot-quean, go,

Get you to bed; faith, you'll be sick to-morrow
For this night's watching.

Cap. No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now
All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick.

La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now.

[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.

Cap. A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!

Enter Servants, with spits, logs, and baskets.

What's there?

Now, fellow,

First Serv. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. Cap. Make haste, make haste. [Exit First Serv.]— Sirrah, fetch drier logs:

Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.

Sec. Serv. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter.

Cap. Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day:

The county will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would: - I hear him near.
Nurse!-wife! what, ho! — what, nurse,

Re-enter Nurse.

Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up:

[Exit.

[Music within. I say!

I'll
go and chat with Paris: — hie, make haste,
Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. The same. JULIET's chamber; JULIET on the bed.

Why, lamb! - why, lady! - fie, you slug-a-bed! -
Why, love, I say! madam! sweetheart! ·

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.
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He'll fright you up, i' faith.

- Madam, madam, madam!

- Will it not be?

What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you: ·

Lady! lady! lady!—

Alas, alas! — Help, help! my lady's dead!

Some aqua-vitæ, ho! - My lord! my lady!

Enter Lady Capulet.

La. Cap. What noise is here?
Nurse.

La. Cap. What is the matter?
Nurse.

O me!

O lamentable day!

Look, look! O heavy day! La. Cap. O me, My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! call help.

Enter CAPULET.

Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead; alack the day! La. Cap. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! Cap. 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.
Nurse. O lamentable day!

La. Cap.

O woful time!

Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.

Enter Friar LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians.
Fri. L. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return:
O son, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife:
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.

see there she lies,

Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw

In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,

But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

And cruel Death hath catch'd it from my sight!
Nurse.

O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!

Most lamentable day, most woful 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 woful day, O woful day!

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wrongèd, spited, slain!
Most détestable Death, by thee beguil'd,

By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!

O love! O life!

not life, but love in death!

Cap. Despis'd, distressèd, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now

To murder, murder our solemnity?

O child! O child!
Dead art thou, dead!

alack, my child is dead;

And with my child my joys are burièd!

Fri. L. 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 advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, 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,
In all her best array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Cap. All things that we ordainèd 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.

Fri. L. 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.

[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.

First Mus. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.