Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Thy noble Shape is but a Form of Wax,
Digreffing from the Valour of a Man;
Thy dear Love fworn, but hollow Perjury,
Killing that Love, which thou haft vow'd to cherish.
Thy Wit, that Ornament to Shape and Love,
Mif-shapen in the Conduct of them Both,
Like Powder in a skill-lefs Soldier's Flask,
Is fet on Fire by thine own Ignorance,

And thou difmember'd with thine own Defense.
What, rouse thee, man, thy Juliet is alive,
For whofe dear fake thou waft but lately dead :
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou flew'it Tybalt; there thou'rt happy too.
The law, that threatned death, became thy friend,
And turn'd it to exile; there art thou happy;
A pack of bleffings light upon thy back,
Happiness courts thee in her beft array,
But, like a misbehav'd and fullen wench,
Thou pout'ft upon thy fortune and thy love.
Take heed, take heed, for fuch die miferable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Afcend her chamber, hence and comfort her:
But, look, thou ftay not 'till the Watch be fet;
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua :
Where thou shalt live, 'till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of thy Prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy,
Than thou went'it forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse; commend me to thy lady,
And bid her haften all the house to bed,
Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.

Nurfe. O lord, I could have ftaid here all night long, To hear good counfel: oh, what Learning is!

My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do fo, and bid my Sweet prepare to chide. Nurfe. Here, Sir, a ring fhe bid me give you, Sir: Hie you, make hafte, for it grows very late.

Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

Fri. Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he fhall fignifie from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here:
Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewel, good night.
Rom. But that a joy, paft joy, calls out on me,
It were a grief, fo brief to part with thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Capulet's House.

Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.

Cap. T

Hings have fallen out, Sir, fo unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our
daughter:

Look you, the lov'd her kinfman Tybalt dearly,
And fo did I. Well, we were born to die.

--

'Tis very late, fhe'll not come down to night. I promise you, but for your Company,

I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to wooe: Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her Mind early to

morrow:

To night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a defperate tender
Of my child's love; I think, fhe will be rul'd
In all refpects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here with my fon Paris' love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,-
But, foft; what day is this?

Par. Monday, my lord.

Cap. Monday? Ha ha! well, Wednesday is too foon,

On Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,
She fhall be married to this noble Earl.
Will you be ready? Do you like this Hafte?
We'll keep no great a-do-a friend or two-
For, hark you, Tybalt being flain fo late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,

Being our kinfman, if we revel much :

Therefore we'll have fome half a dozen friends,

And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday? Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone-on Thursday be it then : Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [To lady Cap. Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.

Farewel, my lord- light to my chamber, hoa! 'Fore me, it is fo very late, that we

May call it early by and by. Good night.

[Exeunt,

SCENE, Juliet's Chamber looking to the

Garden.

Enter Romeo and Juliet, above at a window; a ladder of ropes fet.

Jul.W

Ilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the Nightingale, and not the Lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly fhe fings on yon pomgranate tree :
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the Lark, the herald of the morn,
No Nightingale. Look, love, what envious ftreaks.
Do lace the fevering clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the mifty mountains' tops.
I must be gone and live, or ftay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it well:
It is fome meteor that the Sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua;
Then stay a while, thou shalt not go fo foon.
Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death,
I am content, if thou wilt have it fo.
I'll fay, yon gray is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whofe notes do beat
The vaulty heav'ns fo high above our heads.
I have more care to stay, than will to go.

Come

Come death, and welcome: Juliet wills it fo.
How is't, my Soul? let's talk, it is not day.
Jul. It is, it is; hie hence, be gone, away:
It is the lark that fings fo out of tune,

Straining harsh difcords, and unpleafing sharps.
Some fay, the lark makes fweet divifion;
This doth not fo: for fhe divideth us.

Some fay, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
Rom. More light and light? More dark and dark

our Woes.

Nurse. Madam,

Jul. Nurfe?

Enter Nurse.

Nurfe. Your lady mother's coming to your chamber: The day is broke, be wary, look about. [Exit Nurse. Jul. Then, Window, let Day in, and let Life out. Rom. Farewel, farewel; one Kiss, and I'll defcend. [Romeo defcends. ful. Art thou gone fo? love! lord! ah husband!

friend!

I must hear from thee ev'ry day in th' hour,
For in a minute there are many days.
O, by this count I fhall be much in years,
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewel: I will omit no opportunity,
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.

Jul. O think ft thou, we fhall ever meet again? Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes fhall ferve For fweet difcourfes, in our time to come. Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining foul. Methinks, I fee thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eye-fight fails, or thou look'ft pale. Rom. And truft me, love, in mine eye so do you: Dry Sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu. [Exit Romeo. Jul. Oh fortune, fortune, all men call thee fickle:

If thou art fickle, what doft thou with him
That is renown'd for faith? be fickle, fortune:
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But fend him back.

Enter lady Capulet.

La. Cap. Ho, daughter, are you up?

Jul. Who is't, that calls? is it my lady mother?
What unaccustom'd caufe procures her hither?
La. Cap. Why, how now, Juliet ?

Jul. Madam, I am not well.

La. Cap. Evermore weeping for your coufin's death ? What, wilt thou wash him from his Grave with tears? An' if thou could'ft, thou could'st not make him live; Therefore, have done. Some Grief fhews much of Love;

But much of Grief fhews ftill fome want of Wit.

Jul. Yet let me weep for fuch a feeling lofs.

La. Cap. So fhall you feel the Lofs, but not the Friend Which you do weep for.

Jul. Feeling fo the Lofs,

I cannot chufe but ever weep the Friend.

La. Cap. Well, girl, thou weep'ft not fo much for his death,

As that the villain lives which flaughter'd him.

ful. What villain, Madam?

La. Ca. That fame villain, Romeo.

Jul. Villain and he are many miles asunder. God pardon him! I do, with all

my Heart :

And, yet, No Man like He doth grieve my Heart.
La. Cap. That is, because the Traytor lives.

Jul. I, Madam, from the Reach of these my hands: 'Would, None but I might venge my Coufin's Death! La. Cap. We will have Vengeance for it, fear Thou

not:

Then weep no more. I'll fend to one in Mantua,
Where That fame banish'd Runagate doth live,
Shall give him fuch an unaccustom'd Dram,
That he shall foon keep Tybalt Company.
And then, I hope, thou wilt he fatisfy'd..

Jul.

« ZurückWeiter »