Romeo and Juliet Quotes if Ever You Disturb Our Streets Again
In religion, I will. Permit me peruse this face.
Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris!
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did not nourish him as we rode? I call up
He told me Paris should have married Juliet:
Said he non so? or did I dream information technology so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was then? O, give me thy manus,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's volume!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;
A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth,
For hither lies Juliet, and her dazzler makes
This vault a feasting presence full of lite.
Death, prevarication thou in that location, by a dead man interr'd.
[Laying PARIS in the tomb]
How oftentimes when men are at the betoken of expiry
Take they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death: O, how may I
Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife!
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy jiff,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd; beauty'southward ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's stake flag is non advanced there.
Tybalt, liest thou in that location in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cutting thy youth in twain
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin! Ah, love Juliet,
Why art thou even so so fair? shall I believe
That unsubstantial decease is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to exist his paramour?
For fear of that, I even so will stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart once more: hither, hither will I remain
With worms that are thy sleeping accommodation-maids; O, hither
Will I set up my everlasting balance,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this globe-exhausted flesh. Optics, look your last!
Arms, take your last cover! and, lips, O you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous osculation
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide!
Grand drastic airplane pilot, now at in one case run on
The dashing rocks thy sea-ill weary bark!
Here'southward to my beloved!
[Drinks]
O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I dice.
[Dies] 
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Did ever dragon keep and so fair a cavern?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just reverse to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature, what hadst chiliad to do in hell,
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In moral paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was always book containing such vile matter
And so fairly spring? O that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
Religion, here it is.
Romeo is blackball'd; and all the world to nothing,
That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you;
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case and so stands equally now information technology doth,
I think it all-time you married with the county.
O, he's a lovely gentleman!
Romeo'south a dishclout to him: an hawkeye, madam,
Hath not and so green, so quick, so fair an heart
Equally Paris hath. Beshrew my very centre,
I think y'all are happy in this 2nd match,
For it excels your outset: or if information technology did non,
Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were,
Every bit living hither and you no use of him.
Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come up Lammas-eve at night shall she be 14.
Susan and she.God residue all Christian souls!.
Were of an historic period: well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: only, as I said,
On Lammas-eve at night shall she be 14;
That shall she, marry; I remember information technology well.
'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,.I never shall forget it,.
Of all the days of the year, upon that mean solar day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the pigeon-house wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua:.
Nay, I exercise carry a brain:.only, equally I said,
When it did gustation the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt information technology biting, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy and autumn out with the dug!
Shake quoth the dove-firm: 'twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge:
And since that fourth dimension it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And and so my husband.God exist with his soul!
A' was a merry man.took up the child:
'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost k fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more than wit;
Wilt m non, Jule?' and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.'
To see, now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should alive a yard years,
I never should forget it: 'Wilt grand not, Jule?' quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.'
What say y'all? tin can y'all love the admirer?
This dark you shall behold him at our banquet;
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with dazzler'southward pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one some other lends content
And what obscured in this off-white volume lies
Detect written in the margent of his optics.
This precious volume of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, simply lacks a embrace:
The fish lives in the body of water, and 'tis much pride
For fair without the off-white within to hibernate:
That book in many'southward optics doth share the glory,
That in gilt clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
Past having him, making yourself no less.
Juliet. O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art grand Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if chiliad wilt not, be simply sworn my dear,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Romeo. [Aside] Shall I hear more than, or shall I speak at this?
Juliet. 'Tis just thy proper name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What'southward Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor confront, nor any other role
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What'southward in a proper name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell equally sugariness;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo telephone call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy proper noun,
And for that name which is no function of thee
Have all myself.
Thou know'st the mask of dark is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which yard hast heard me speak to-night
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I accept spoke: but farewell compliment!
Dost chiliad beloved me? I know yard wilt say 'Ay,'
And I volition take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst testify false; at lovers' perjuries
And so say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
Or if chiliad think'st I am too apace won,
I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo; only else, not for the earth.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
And therefore k mayst think my 'havior light:
Merely trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more truthful
Than those that have more cunning to exist strange.
I should have been more than strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
My truthful dear's passion: therefore pardon me,
And non impute this yielding to light dearest,
Which the night night hath so discovered.
The clock struck 9 when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not and then.
O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun'due south beams,
Driving back shadows over louring hills:
Therefore exercise nimble-pinion'd doves draw love,
And therefore hath the current of air-swift Cupid wings.
Now is the sun upon the highmost colina
Of this day's journeying, and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours, nonetheless she is not come.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would be equally swift in move as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me:
But one-time folks, many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale every bit atomic number 82.
O God, she comes!
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close mantle, love-performing night,
That delinquent'south eyes may wink and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.
Lovers can meet to practise their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be bullheaded,
It all-time agrees with night. Come up, civil night,
Chiliad sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:
Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black drapery; till strange love, grown bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
Come up, night; come, Romeo; come, thou 24-hour interval in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven'due south dorsum.
Come, gentle dark, come, loving, black-forehead'd dark,
Requite me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he volition make the face up of sky so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sunday.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
Simply non possess'd information technology, and, though I am sold,
Not yet relish'd: so wearisome is this day
Every bit is the night earlier some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O, hither comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every natural language that speaks
But Romeo'due south name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Shall I speak sick of him that is my husband?
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall shine thy proper noun,
When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
But, wherefore, villain, didst chiliad kill my cousin?
That villain cousin would have kill'd my hubby:
Dorsum, foolish tears, dorsum to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you lot, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My married man lives, that Tybalt would accept slain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me: I would forget it fain;
But, O, it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds:
'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo.banished;'
That 'banished,' that one give-and-take 'banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt'southward death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt'southward dead,'
Thy begetter, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentations might have moved?
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt'south death,
'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!'
There is no end, no limit, measure, spring,
In that word'due south death; no words can that woe audio.
Juliet. Is at that place no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the lesser of my grief?
O, sweetness my mother, bandage me not away!
Delay this marriage for a month, a week;
Or, if y'all do not, brand the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
[Leave] Lady Capulet. Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word:
Practise equally thou wilt, for I accept done with thee.
Juliet. O God!.O nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My hubby is on globe, my faith in sky;
How shall that religion render again to earth,
Unless that hubby ship information technology me from heaven
By leaving earth? condolement me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems
Upon so soft a subject every bit myself!
What say'st 1000? hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, nurse.
Tell me non, friar, that yard hear'st of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it:
If, in thy wisdom, grand canst give no help,
Do yard simply call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll aid it shortly.
God bring together'd my eye and Romeo's, thou our hands;
And ere this mitt, by thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to another deed,
Or my truthful heart with treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this shall slay them both:
Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time,
Give me some nowadays counsel, or, behold,
'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife
Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that
Which the committee of thy years and fine art
Could to no issue of true honour bring.
Be not and then long to speak; I long to die,
If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
[JULIET appears higher up at a window]
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the dominicus.
Arise, fair dominicus, and impale the envious moon,
Who is already sick and stake with grief,
That thou her maid fine art far more fair than she:
Be non her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and light-green
And none merely fools do wearable it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O, information technology is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
Her eye discourses; I volition answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis non to me she speaks:
Ii of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her optics in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and recollect it were not night.
Run across, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch on that cheek!
Farewell! God knows when we shall come across over again.
I accept a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almost freezes up the oestrus of life:
I'll phone call them back again to comfort me:
Nurse! What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must deed lone.
Come, vial.
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married and so to-morrow morning time?
No, no: this shall forbid it: lie one thousand there.
[Laying downwardly her dagger]
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should exist dishonour'd,
Because he married me earlier to Romeo?
I fearfulness information technology is: and yet, methinks, it should non,
For he hath still been tried a holy man.
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come up to redeem me? there's a fearful signal!
Shall I not, so, exist stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And at that place die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of expiry and nighttime,
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 packed:
Where bloody Tybalt, nevertheless simply 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 on waking, what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the globe,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:.
O, if I wake, shall I not exist distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefather'south joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some smashing kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?
O, look! methinks I encounter my cousin'south ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romeo, I come! this practice I drink to thee.
[She falls upon her bed, within the curtains]
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,--
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the burn of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody easily
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three ceremonious brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Take thrice disturb'd the placidity of our streets,
And made Verona's aboriginal citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in easily as former,
Canker'd with peace, to role your herpes'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets once more,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the residue depart away:
Yous Capulet; shall go on with me:
And, Montague, come y'all this afternoon,
To know our further pleasance in this instance,
To former Free-boondocks, our common judgment-identify.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
The grey-eyed morning time smiles on the frowning nighttime,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And flecked darkness similar a drunk reels
From forth solar day'south path and Titan'due south peppery wheels:
Now, ere the sunday accelerate his burning eye,
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry out,
I must up-fill this osier muzzle of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave that is her womb,
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom discover,
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some and still all unlike.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the globe doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give,
Nor aught so proficient but strain'd from that fair use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, beingness misapplied;
And vice sometimes past action dignified.
Within the babe rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence and medicine ability:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each office;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed kings encamp them still
In homo as well as herbs, grace and rude volition;
And where the worser is predominant,
Total soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Holy Saint Francis, what a modify is hither!
Is Rosaline, whom g didst beloved so love,
And then before long forsaken? young men'due south dearest and so lies
Non truly in their hearts, but in their optics.
Jesu Maria, what a bargain of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much table salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of information technology doth not taste!
The lord's day not all the same thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring nonetheless in my ancient ears;
Lo, hither upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet:
If always 1000 wast thyself and these woes thine,
One thousand and these woes were all for Rosaline:
And art k changed? pronounce this judgement then,
Women may fall, when there'southward no strength in men.
[Give this line of Benvolio'due south to Mercutio for the purposes of this monologue]: Benvolio. Why, what is Tybalt?
Mercutio. More than prince of cats, I tin can tell you. O, he is the mettlesome captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps fourth dimension, altitude, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, 1, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the start and 2nd cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai!
Benvolio. The what?
Mercutio. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'Past Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall homo! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a deplorable thing, grandsire, that nosotros should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi'due south, who stand up so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the quondam bench? O, their bones, their bones!
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;
Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged even so
Your loftier displeasure: all this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio'southward breast,
Who all as hot, turns deadly point to bespeak,
And, with a martial scorn, with one manus beats
Cold decease aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,
Retorts information technology: Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats downwardly their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
Simply by and past comes back to Romeo,
Who had simply newly entertain'd revenge,
And to 't they become like lightning, for, ere I
Could describe to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.
And, every bit he vicious, did Romeo plow and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every true cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
Just Romeo may not: more than validity,
More honourable land, more than courtship lives
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize
On the white wonder of love Juliet'south mitt
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who even in pure and vestal modesty,
Nonetheless blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
They are free men, just I am banished.
And say'st thou yet that exile is not expiry?
Hadst thou no poisonous substance mix'd, no sharp-ground pocketknife,
No sudden hateful of decease, though ne'er so hateful,
But 'banished' to kill me?.'banished'?
O friar, the damned use that give-and-take in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that discussion 'banished'?
Agree thy desperate mitt:
Fine art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art:
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts announce
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman in a seeming human being!
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
G hast amazed me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And stay thy lady also that lives in thee,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail'st grand on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thousand at in one case wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:
Thy noble shape is but a course of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man;
Thy beloved love sworn but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skitless soldier'southward flask,
Is prepare ablaze past thine own ignorance,
And k dismember'd with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is live,
For whose dear sake one thousand wast but lately dead;
There art m happy: Tybalt would impale thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; at that place are m happy too:
The law that threaten'd expiry becomes thy friend
And turns information technology to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, similar a misbehaved and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
Have listen, take mind, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her sleeping accommodation, hence and comfort her:
Simply look thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst non pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt alive, till we tin can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With 20 hundred k times more joy
Than k went'st along in lamentation.
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.
God'southward breadstuff! it makes me mad:
Day, nighttime, hr, tide, time, work, play,
Lonely, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match'd: and having at present provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd,
Stuff'd, equally they say, with honourable parts,
Proportion'd as ane'southward thought would wish a man;
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune'due south tender,
To reply 'I'll not wed; I cannot love,
I am too immature; I pray you, pardon me.'
But, every bit yous will not wed, I'll pardon you:
Graze where yous volition you shall not business firm with me:
Wait to't, think on't, I practice not use to jest.
Thursday is almost; lay hand on eye, advise:
An you be mine, I'll requite you to my friend;
And you be non, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,
For, by my soul, I'll ne'er admit thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good:
Trust to't, bethink you lot; I'll not be forsworn.
Hold, so; go domicile, be merry, requite consent
To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow:
To-morrow dark look that thou lie alone;
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy bedroom:
Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor potable thou off;
When before long through all thy veins shall run
A common cold and drowsy sense of humor, for no pulse
Shall continue his native progress, just surcease:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify one thousand livest;
The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall,
Similar decease, when he shuts upward the day of life;
Each function, deprived of supple authorities,
Shall, potent and stark and cold, appear like decease:
And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death
Thou shalt go along 2 and forty hours,
And so awake every bit from a pleasant sleep.
Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art chiliad expressionless:
So, equally the manner of our state is,
In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier
Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault
Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.
In the hateful time, against thou shalt awake,
Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift,
And hither shall he come: and he and I
Will watch thy waking, and that very night
Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua.
And this shall free thee from this present shame;
If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fearfulness,
Allay thy valour in the acting information technology.
Peace, ho, for shame! defoliation'due south cure lives not
In these confusions. Sky and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; at present heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not proceed from decease,
But heaven keeps his function in eternal life.
The nigh y'all sought was her promotion;
For 'twas your sky she should be advanced:
And weep ye at present, seeing she is avant-garde
Above the clouds, as loftier as heaven itself?
O, in this dearest, yous love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She'due south not well married that lives married long;
But she'due south best married that dies married young.
Dry out up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this off-white corse; and, every bit the custom is,
In all her all-time array bear her to church:
For though fond nature bids united states an lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason'south merriment.
I volition be cursory, for my curt date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
Romeo, at that place dead, was hubby to that Juliet;
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful married woman:
I married them; and their stol'north marriage-day
Was Tybalt's dooms-24-hour interval, whose untimely decease
Banish'd the new-made benedict from the metropolis,
For whom, and non for Tybalt, Juliet pined.
Yous, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth'd and would have married her perforce
To County Paris: then comes she to me,
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my jail cell there would she kill herself.
Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,
A sleeping potion; which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo,
That he should hither come every bit this dire night,
To help to take her from her borrow'd grave,
Being the fourth dimension the potion's force should cease.
Only he which bore my alphabetic character, Friar John,
Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight
Return'd my letter back. And so all alone
At the prefixed 60 minutes of her waking,
Came I to take her from her kindred'southward vault;
Meaning to continue her closely at my prison cell,
Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:
Simply when I came, some infinitesimal ere the time
Of her awaking, here untimely lay
The noble Paris and true Romeo expressionless.
She wakes; and I entreated her come forth,
And bear this work of heaven with patience:
Only so a noise did scare me from the tomb;
And she, too desperate, would non go with me,
But, as it seems, did violence on herself.
All this I know; and to the marriage
Her nurse is privy: and, if zero in this
Miscarried past my fault, let my erstwhile life
Be sacrificed, some 60 minutes before his time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.
O, then, I run into Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-rock
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of petty atomies
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep;
Her wagon-spokes fabricated of long spiders' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider's web,
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
Her whip of cricket'southward bone, the lash of flick,
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not so big as a round fiddling worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid;
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut
Fabricated by the joiner squirrel or erstwhile grub,
Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night past nighttime
Through lovers' brains, and and then they dream of dearest;
O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight,
O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees,
O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Old she gallops o'er a courtier's olfactory organ,
Then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig'southward tail
Tickling a parson'due south nose as a' lies comatose,
So dreams, he of another benefice:
Onetime she driveth o'er a soldier'southward neck,
And then dreams he of cut strange throats,
Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,
Of healths five-fathom deep; and and so betimes
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,
And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the nighttime,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which in one case untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids prevarication on their backs,
That presses them and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she—
Mercutio. More than prince of cats, I tin can tell you. O, he is
the courageous helm of compliments. He fights as
you sing prick-song, keeps fourth dimension, distance, and
proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and
the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the
very showtime house, of the beginning and 2nd cause:
ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai!
Benvolio. The what?
Mercutio. The pox of such caper, lisping, affecting
fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'Past Jesu,
a very adept blade! a very alpine man! a very skillful
whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsire, that nosotros should exist thus afflicted with
these strange flies, these manner-mongers, these
perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new course,
that they cannot at ease on the one-time bench? O, their
bones, their bones!
[Enter ROMEO]
Benvolio. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.
Mercutio. Without his roe, similar a dried herring: mankind, flesh,
how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers
that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a
kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to
be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a gray
center or so, but not to the purpose. Signior
Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
fairly terminal night.
Romeo and Juliet Quotes if Ever You Disturb Our Streets Again
Source: https://www.shakespeare-monologues.org/plays/35
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