| PROLOGUE |
| Two households, both alike in dignity, |
| In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, |
| From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, |
| Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. |
| From forth the fatal loins of these two foes | 5 |
| A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; |
| Whose misadventured piteous overthrows |
| Do with their death bury their parents' strife. |
| The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, |
| And the continuance of their parents' rage, | 10 |
| Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, |
| Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; |
| The which if you with patient ears attend, |
| What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. |
| ACT I SCENE I | Verona. A public place. | |
|
Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet,
armed with swords and bucklers
|
| SAMPSON | Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. |
| GREGORY | No, for then we should be colliers. |
| SAMPSON | I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. |
| GREGORY | Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. |
| SAMPSON | I strike quickly, being moved. | 5 |
| GREGORY | But thou art not quickly moved to strike. |
| SAMPSON | A dog of the house of Montague moves me. |
| GREGORY | To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: |
| therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. |
| SAMPSON | A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will | 10 |
| take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. |
| GREGORY | That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes |
| to the wall. |
| SAMPSON | True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, |
| are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push | 15 |
| Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids |
| to the wall. |
| GREGORY | The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. |
| SAMPSON | 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I |
| have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the | 20 |
| maids, and cut off their heads. |
| GREGORY | The heads of the maids? |
| SAMPSON | Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; |
| take it in what sense thou wilt. |
| GREGORY | They must take it in sense that feel it. | 25 |
| SAMPSON | Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and |
| 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. |
| GREGORY | 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou |
| hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes |
| two of the house of the Montagues. | 30 |
| SAMPSON | My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. |
| GREGORY | How! turn thy back and run? |
| SAMPSON | Fear me not. |
| GREGORY | No, marry; I fear thee! |
| SAMPSON | Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. | 35 |
| GREGORY | I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as |
| they list. |
| SAMPSON | Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; |
| which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. |
| Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR |
| ABRAHAM | Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? | 40 |
| SAMPSON | I do bite my thumb, sir. |
| ABRAHAM | Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? |
| SAMPSON | Aside to GREGORY Is the law of our side, if I say
|
| ay? |
| GREGORY | No. | 45 |
| SAMPSON | No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I |
| bite my thumb, sir. |
| GREGORY | Do you quarrel, sir? |
| ABRAHAM | Quarrel sir! no, sir. |
| SAMPSON | If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. | 50 |
| ABRAHAM | No better. |
| SAMPSON | Well, sir. |
| GREGORY | Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. |
| SAMPSON | Yes, better, sir. |
| ABRAHAM | You lie. | 55 |
| SAMPSON | Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. |
| They fight |
| Enter BENVOLIO |
| BENVOLIO | Part, fools! |
| Put up your swords; you know not what you do. |
| Beats down their swords |
| Enter TYBALT |
| TYBALT | What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? |
| Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. | 60 |
| BENVOLIO | I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, |
| Or manage it to part these men with me. |
| TYBALT | What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, |
| As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: |
| Have at thee, coward! | 65 |
| They fight |
|
Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray;
then enter Citizens, with clubs
|
| First Citizen | Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! |
| Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! |
| Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET |
| CAPULET | What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! |
| LADY CAPULET | A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? |
| CAPULET | My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, | 70 |
| And flourishes his blade in spite of me. |
| Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE |
| MONTAGUE | Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. |
| LADY MONTAGUE | Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. |
| Enter PRINCE, with Attendants |
| PRINCE | Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, |
| Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- | 75 |
| Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, |
| That quench the fire of your pernicious rage |
| With purple fountains issuing from your veins, |
| On pain of torture, from those bloody hands |
| Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, | 80 |
| And hear the sentence of your moved prince. |
| Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, |
| By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, |
| Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, |
| And made Verona's ancient citizens | 85 |
| Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, |
| To wield old partisans, in hands as old, |
| Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: |
| If ever you disturb our streets again, |
| Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. | 90 |
| For this time, all the rest depart away: |
| You Capulet; shall go along with me: |
| And, Montague, come you this afternoon, |
| To know our further pleasure in this case, |
| To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. | 95 |
| Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. |
| Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO |
| MONTAGUE | Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? |
| Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? |
| BENVOLIO | Here were the servants of your adversary, |
| And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: | 100 |
| I drew to part them: in the instant came |
|
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, |
| Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, |
| He swung about his head and cut the winds, |
| Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: | 105 |
| While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, |
| Came more and more and fought on part and part, |
| Till the prince came, who parted either part. |
| LADY MONTAGUE | O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? |
| Right glad I am he was not at this fray. | 110 |
| BENVOLIO | Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun |
| Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, |
| A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; |
| Where, underneath the grove of sycamore |
| That westward rooteth from the city's side, | 115 |
| So early walking did I see your son: |
| Towards him I made, but he was ware of me |
| And stole into the covert of the wood: |
| I, measuring his affections by my own, |
| That most are busied when they're most alone, | 120 |
| Pursued my humour not pursuing his, |
| And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. |
| MONTAGUE | Many a morning hath he there been seen, |
| With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. |
| Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; | 125 |
| But all so soon as the all-cheering sun |
| Should in the furthest east begin to draw |
| The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, |
| Away from the light steals home my heavy son, |
| And private in his chamber pens himself, | 130 |
| Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out |
| And makes himself an artificial night: |
| Black and portentous must this humour prove, |
| Unless good counsel may the cause remove. |
| BENVOLIO | My noble uncle, do you know the cause? | 135 |
| MONTAGUE | I neither know it nor can learn of him. |
| BENVOLIO | Have you importuned him by any means? |
| MONTAGUE | Both by myself and many other friends: |
| But he, his own affections' counsellor, |
| Is to himself--I will not say how true-- | 140 |
| But to himself so secret and so close, |
| So far from sounding and discovery, |
| As is the bud bit with an envious worm, |
| Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, |
| Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. | 145 |
| Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. |
| We would as willingly give cure as know. |
| Enter ROMEO |
| BENVOLIO | See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; |
| I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. |
| MONTAGUE | I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, | 150 |
| To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. |
| Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE |
| BENVOLIO | Good-morrow, cousin. |
| ROMEO | Is the day so young? |
| BENVOLIO | But new struck nine. |
| ROMEO | Ay me! sad hours seem long. | 155 |
| Was that my father that went hence so fast? |
| BENVOLIO | It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? |
| ROMEO | Not having that, which, having, makes them short. |
| BENVOLIO | In love? |
| ROMEO | Out-- | 160 |
| BENVOLIO | Of love? |
| ROMEO | Out of her favour, where I am in love. |
| BENVOLIO | Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, |
| Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! |
| ROMEO | Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, | 165 |
| Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! |
| Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? |
| Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. |
| Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. |
| Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! | 170 |
| O any thing, of nothing first create! |
| O heavy lightness! serious vanity! |
| Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! |
| Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, |
| sick health! | 175 |
| Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! |
| This love feel I, that feel no love in this. |
| Dost thou not laugh? |
| BENVOLIO | No, coz, I rather weep. |
| ROMEO | Good heart, at what? | 180 |
| BENVOLIO | At thy good heart's oppression. |
| ROMEO | Why, such is love's transgression. |
| Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, |
| Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest |
| With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown | 185 |
| Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. |
| Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; |
| Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; |
| Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: |
| What is it else? a madness most discreet, | 190 |
| A choking gall and a preserving sweet. |
| Farewell, my coz. |
| BENVOLIO | Soft! I will go along; |
| An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. |
| ROMEO | Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; | 195 |
| This is not Romeo, he's some other where. |
| BENVOLIO | Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. |
| ROMEO | What, shall I groan and tell thee? |
| BENVOLIO | Groan! why, no. |
| But sadly tell me who. | 200 |
| ROMEO | Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: |
| Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! |
| In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. |
| BENVOLIO | I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. |
| ROMEO | A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. | 205 |
| BENVOLIO | A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. |
| ROMEO | Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit |
| With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; |
| And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, |
| From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. | 210 |
| She will not stay the siege of loving terms, |
| Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, |
| Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: |
| O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, |
| That when she dies with beauty dies her store. | 215 |
| BENVOLIO | Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? |
| ROMEO | She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, |
| For beauty starved with her severity |
| Cuts beauty off from all posterity. |
| She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, | 220 |
| To merit bliss by making me despair: |
| She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow |
| Do I live dead that live to tell it now. |
| BENVOLIO | Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. |
| ROMEO | O, teach me how I should forget to think. | 225 |
| BENVOLIO | By giving liberty unto thine eyes; |
| Examine other beauties. |
| ROMEO | 'Tis the way |
| To call hers exquisite, in question more: |
| These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows | 230 |
| Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; |
| He that is strucken blind cannot forget |
| The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: |
| Show me a mistress that is passing fair, |
| What doth her beauty serve, but as a note | 235 |
| Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? |
| Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. |
| BENVOLIO | I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. |
| Exeunt |
