Romeo and Juliet
Act 4, Scene 5
- Enter Nurse
Nurse2 - 18
- 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 needs must 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?
- Draws back the curtains.
- 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!
- O, weraday, that ever I was born!
- Some aqua-vitae ho! My lord! My lady!
- Enter Mother, Lady Capulet.
- What noise is here?
- O lamentable day!
- What is the matter?
- Look, look! O heavy day!
Lady Capulet24 - 26
- O me, O me, my child, my only life!
- Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
- Help, help! Call help.
- Enter Father Capulet.
- For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.
- She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead, alack the day!
- Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
Capulet31 - 35
- Hah, 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.
- O lamentable day!
- O woeful time!
Capulet38 - 39
- Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
- Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
- Enter Friar Lawrence and the County Paris with the
- Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Capulet43 - 49
- 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.
Paris50 - 51
- Have I thought long to see this morning’s face,
- And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Lady Capulet52 - 57
- Accurs’d, 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 catch’d it from my sight!
Nurse58 - 63
- 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!
Paris64 - 67
- Beguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
- Most detestable Death, by thee beguil’d,
- By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
- O love, O life! Not life, but love in death!
Capulet68 - 73
- Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d!
- Uncomfortable time, why cam’st 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.
Friar Lawrence74 - 92
- 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,
- And in her best array, bear her to church;
- For though fond nature bids us all lament,
- Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
Capulet93 - 99
- 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.
Friar Lawrence100 - 104
- 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 low’r upon you for some ill;
- Move them no more by crossing their high will.
- They all, but the Nurse and the Musicians, go forth, casting
- rosemary on her, and shutting the curtains.
- Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
Nurse108 - 109
- Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,
- For well you know this is a pitiful case.
- Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
- Enter Peter.
Peter113 - 114
- Musicians, O musicians, “Heart’s ease,” “Heart’s ease”! O,
- and you will have me live, play “Heart’s ease.”
- Why “Heart’s ease”?
Peter116 - 117
- O musicians, because my heart itself plays “My heart is
- full.” O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.
- Not a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.
- You will not then?
- I will then give it you soundly.
- What will you give us?
Peter123 - 124
- No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the
- Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Peter126 - 128
- 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?
- And you re us and fa us, you note us.
- Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Peter131 - 137
- 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:
- “When griping griefs the heart doth wound,
- And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
- Then music with her silver sound”—
- Why “silver sound”? Why “music with her silver sound”? What
- say you, Simon Catling?
- Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
- Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
- I say, “silver sound,” because musicians sound for silver.
- Pretty too! What say you, James Sound-post?
- Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter143 - 147
- O, 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 sounding:
- “Then music with her silver sound
- With speedy help doth lend redress.”
- What a pestilent knave is this same!
Second Musician150 - 151
- Hang him. Jack! Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners,
- and stay dinner.