That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; · And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,-- There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewel. SCENE III. [Exeunt. FRIAR LAURENCE'S CELL. Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. Fri. Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man; Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. Rom. What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha! banishment? be merciful, say-death: Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, And little mouse, every unworthy thing, More honourable state, more courtship lives And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, O friar, the damned use that word in hell; A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word-banishment? Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished?-Hang up philosophy! Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom; no eyes? Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy self. [Knocking within. Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. [Knocking. Fri. Hark, how they knock!-Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken :-Stay a-while:-stand up; [Knocking. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse. [within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from lady Juliet. Fri, Welcome then. |