All language subtitles for Romeo.and.Juliet.1968.1080p.BluRay.H264.AAC-RARBG.en

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...

a pair of star-crossed lovers
take their life,

whose misadventured
piteous overthrows

do with their death...
bury their parents'strife.

But the quarrel is between
our masters and us their men.

Ah, 'tis all one.

Here come the house
of the Montagues.

Ah, good morrow.

Good morrow
to you, sir.

Quarrel,
I will back thee.

Right.

Fail me not.

Do you bite
your thumb at us, sir?

I do bite
my thumb, sir.

Do you bite
your thumb at us, sir?

No, sir.

I do not bite my
thumb at you, sir,

but I do bite
my thumb, sir.

Do you quarrel, sir?

Quarrel, sir?
No, no, no, sir.

If you do, sir,
I am for you.

I serve as good
a man as you.

No better?

Yes, better, sir.

You lie.

Draw!

Draw if you be men!

Gregory, remember
thy swashing blow!

Kill the Capulets!

Part, fools!
Put up your swords!

You know not what you do!

The Prince hath
expressly forbid

this bandying
in Verona streets!

Here come the Capulets!

Tybalt, Capulet's kinsman!

What, art thou drawn among
these heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio.
Look upon thy death.

I do but keep the peace.

Put up thy sword

or manage it
to part these men with me.

What, drawn
and talk of peace?

I hate the word,

as I hate hell,
all Montagues and thee.

Have at thee, cowards!

Capulet!

Montague!

Capulet!

Now hie thee home,
fragment.

You villain!

Capulet!

Give me my long sword! Ho!

Capulet!

Down to the market square!

Capulet!

Follow me! Follow me!

Kill that villain Montague!

My noble uncle!
My noble uncle!

What?

My sword! My sword!

Thou shalt not stir
a foot to seek a foe!

Hold me not!
Let me go!

Montague!

Montague!

Kill the villain!

I'll strike thee, coward.

The Prince!

The Prince is coming!
Put down your weapons!

The Prince!

The Prince!

Here comes the Prince!

Put your weapons down!
The Prince!

Rebellious subjects,
enemies to peace,

throw your mistempered
weapons to the ground...

Down with your weapons.

And hear the sentence
of your moved Prince.

Three civil brawls
bred of an airy word,

by thee, old Capulet...

No, no.

And Montague...

Have thrice disturbed
the quiet of our streets.

If ever you disturb
our streets again,

your lives shall pay
the forfeit of the peace.

For this time
all the rest depart away!

You, Capulet,
shall go along with me.

And, Montague,
come you this afternoon.

Once more, on pain of death,
all men depart.

Where is Romeo?
Saw you him today?

Right glad I am
he was not at this fray.

Madam, an hour before
the worshipped sun

peered forth
the golden window of the east,

a troubled mind drove me
to walk abroad:

where, underneath
the grove of sycamore

so early walking
did I see your son.

Towards him I made;
but he was ware of me,

and stole into
the cover of the wood.

Many a morning hath
he there been seen.

See, where he comes.

So please you, step aside.

I'll know his grievance,
or be much denied.

I would thou wert
so happy by thy stay,

to hear true shrift.

Come, madam. Let's away.

Good morrow, cousin.

Is the day so young?

But new struck nine.

Ay me!

Sad hours seem long.

Was that my father
that went hence so fast?

Hmm?

It was.

What sadness lengthens
Romeo's hours?

Not having that, which having
makes them short.

Hmm. Hmm!

But, Romeo...

Farewell, Coz.

God's 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.

Soft, I will go along.

But Montague is bound
as well as l,

in penalty alike,

and 'tis not hard, I think,

for men as old as we
to keep the peace.

Oh...

Of honorable reckoning
are you both,

and pity 'tis you
lived at odds so long:

but, but now, my lord,

what say you to my suit?

But saying o'er what
I have said before,

my child is yet
a stranger in the world.

She hath not seen the change
of fourteen years.

Let two more summers
wither in their pride,

'ere we may think her
ripe to be a bride.

Younger than she
are happy mothers made.

And too soon marred
are those so early made.

The earth hath swallowed
all my hopes but she,

she is the hopeful lady
of my earth.

But woo her, gentle
Paris, get her heart,

my will to her consent
is but a part.

Oh, Peter!

This night I hold
an old accustomed feast

whereto I have invited
many a guest.

Such as I love,
you among the store,

one more, most welcome,
makes my number more.

Nurse,
where's my daughter?

Call her forth to me.

Now, by my maidenhead
at 12 years old,

I bade her come.

Where is the girl?
Juliet! Juliet!

Where is the girl?
Juliet!

Where is the girl? Juliet!

How now, who calls?

Your mother!
Your lady mother!

Juliet, it's your mother,
your lady mother.

Make haste, girl.
Make haste.

Where were you?

Madam, I am here.
What is your will?

This is the matter.

Make haste, girls.
Come on, come on.

Nurse, um...

give leave awhile,
we must talk in secret.

Nurse, come back again.
I have remembered me.

Thou's hear our counsel.

Thou knowest my daughter's
of a pretty age.

I can tell her age
unto an hour.

She's not fourteen.

I'll lay fourteen
of my teeth.

And yet to
my teen be it spoke,

I have but four,
she's not fourteen.

How long is it
to Lammastide?

A fortnight and odd days.

Even or odd, of all
the days of the year,

come Lammas Eve at night
shall she be fourteen.

Susan and she--

God rest all Christian
souls were of an age.

Well, Susan is with God.
She was too good for me.

But, as I said,
on Lammas Eve

at night
shall she be fourteen.

That shall she, marry!
I remember it well.

My lord and you
were then at Mantua!

Nay, I do bear a brain.

For then she could,
she could stand high lone.

Nay, by the road she could have
run and waddled all about,

for even the day before
she broke her brow;

and then my husband-- God rest his soul,
'a were a merry man--

took up the child.

"Yea," quoth he,
"dost thou fall upon thy face?

"Thou wilt fall backward
when thou hast more wit;

wilt thou not, Jule?"

Nurse!

And by my holiday,

the pretty wretch left
crying and said, "Ay."

Enough of this,
I pray thee hold thy peace.

Yes, madam.

Now, Juliet.

God mark thee to His grace

Thou was the prettiest babe
that 'er I nurs'd.

And I might live to see
thee married once,

I have my wish.

Marry, that "marry" is the very theme
I came to talk of.

Tell me,
daughter Juliet,

how stands your disposition
to be married?

It is an honor
that I dream not of.

An honor, were I not
thy only nurse,

I would say thou hadst sucked
wisdom from my teat.

Well, think
of marriage now.

Younger than you, here in Verona,
ladies of esteem,

are made
already mothers.

By my count
I was your mother

much upon these years
that you are now a maid.

Oh, yes, I remember.

Thus then, in brief...

the valiant Paris
seeks you for his love.

A man, young lady!
Lady, such as all the world--

Why he's a man of wax.

Verona's summer hath
not such a flower.

Nay, he's
a flower in faith.

Shh.

What say you?
Can you love the gentleman?

Madam! Madam!

The guests have come,
supper serv'd up,

you call'd,
my young lady ask'd for!

We follow.

Speak briefly,
can you like of Paris' love?

I'll look to like,
if looking liking move.

But no more deep
will I endart mine eye,

than your consent gives
strength to make it fly.

Juliet, the county stays.

Madam, I come.

Go, girl, seek happy nights
for happy days.

Give me a case
to put my visage in;

a visor for a visor.

What care I what curious eye
doth quote deformities.

Here are the beetle-brows
shall blush for me.

Ahh!

What, shall this speech
be spoke for our excuse?

Or shall we on
without apology?

The date is out
of such prolixity.

Let them measure us
by what they will.

We'll measure them
a measure and be gone.

Come, knock and enter,
and no sooner in,

but every man
betake him to his legs.

And we mean well in
going to this masque,

but 'tis no wit to go.

Why, may one ask?

I dreamt a dream tonight.

Ho, and so did I.

Well, what was yours?

That dreamers often lie.

In bed asleep while they
do dream things true.

Oh, then I see Queen Mab
hath been with you.

Queen Mab?

She is...She is
the fairies' midwife.

And she comes in state

no bigger than
an agate stone

on the forefinger
of an alderman,

drawn with a team
of little atomies

athwart men's noses
as they lie asleep.

Her wagon spokes are made
of long spinner's legs;

and the cover,
of the wings of grasshoppers;

the traces
of the smallest spider's web;

and the collars, mmm,
of the moonshine's watery beams;

her whip, crack!

Is a cricket's bone;
the lash of film;

and in this state

she gallops night by night
through lovers' brains,

and then they dream of love,

o'er ladies' lips,
who straight on kisses dream,

which oft the angry Mab
with blisters plagues,

because their breaths
with, er,

sweetmeats tainted are.

Snd sometime comes she
with a tithe-pig's tail,

tickling the parson's nose
as he lies asleep,

and dreams he
of another benefice.

Amen.

Sometimes she driveth
o'er a soldier's neck,

and then dreams he

of cutting foreign throats,
of breaches,

ambuscadoes, spanish blades,
drums in his ear,

at which he starts and wakes;

and being thus frighted
tries a prayer or two...

and sleeps again.

This is that very Mab

that plaits the manes
of horses in the night,

and bakes the elf-locks
in foul sluttish hairs,

which once untangled
much misfortune bodes.

This is the hag,
when maids lie on their backs,

that presses them
and learns them first to bear

making them women
of good carriage.

This is she...

This is she that...

This...is she.

Peace, Mercutio, peace.

Thou talk'st of nothing.

Thou talk'st of nothing.

True.

True, I talk of dreams;

which are the children
of an idle brain...

Begot of nothing
but vain fantasy;

which is as thin
of substance as the air,

and more inconstant
than the wind

who woos even now
the frozen bosom of the north,

and being angered
puffs away from thence,

turning his side
to the dew-dropping south.

This wind you talk of
blows us from ourselves.

Strike drum.
Come, lusty gentlemen.

Romeo, we shall
arrive too late.

I fear too early...

For my mind misgives...

Some consequence,
yet hanging in the stars,

shall bitterly begin
his fearful date

with this night's revels,

and expire the term
of a despised life

closed in my breast,

by some vile forfeit
of untimely death.

But he that hath
the steerage of my course...

Direct my sail.

Enter my poor house.
Vido, vido, welcome.

Oh, my lovely Helena,
my lovely niece.

Welcome all!
Be merry, gentlemen.

Be lively, ladies.
Ahoy! Ahoy!

Welcome, gentlemen.

I have seen the day
that I have worn a visor

and could tell a whispering tale
in a fair lady's ear,

such as would please.

'Tis gone, 'tis gone.
You are welcome, gentlemen.

Ladies, ho, ho!

She doth teach the torches
to burn bright.

It seems she hangs
upon the cheek of night

as a rich jewel
in an Ethiop's ear;,

beauty too rich for use,
for earth too dear.

So shows a snowy dove
trooping with crows,

as yonder lady
o'er her fellow shows.

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear it sight,

for I ne'er saw true beauty
till this night.

This by his voice
should be a Montague.

Uncle, this is
a Montague, our foe;

a villain that is
hither come in spite,

to scorn at
our solemnity this night.

Young Romeo is it?

Dares the slave come hither
covered in an antic face,

to fear and scorn
at our solemnity?

'A bears him like
a courtly gentleman;

and to say truth,
Verona brags of him

to be a virtuous
and well managed youth.

I would not for the wealth
of all this town

here in my house
do him disparagement.

Therefore have patience,
take no note of him.

The Moureska!

The Moureska!

Why, Uncle,
'tis a shame!

Go to.

You are a saucy boy.

You'll make a mutiny
among my guests!

Am I the master here,
or you?

I will not endure him.

You will not endure!
He shall be endured!

Or I know what!

Well said, my hearts.

You're a princox.

Be quiet or...

Ah.

For shame!
I'll make you quiet.

Leonardo will sing!

Leonardo, I pray thee, sing.

What is a youth?

Impetuous fire

What is a maid?

Ice and desire

The world wags on

A rose will bloom

It then will fade

So does a youth

So does the fairest maid

Comes the time

When one sweet smile

Has its season for a while

Then love's in love with me

Some may think only to marry

Others will tease and tarry

Mine is the very best parry

Cupid he rules us all

Caper the caper,
sing me the song

Death will come soon
to hush us along

Sweeter than honey
and bitter as gall

Love is a pastime
that never will pall

Sweeter than honey
and bitter as gall

Cupid he rules us all

A rose will bloom

And then will fade

So does a youth

So does the fairest maid

If I profane
with my unworthiest hand

this holy shrine,

the gentle sin is this;

my lips, two blushing pilgrims,
ready stand

to smooth the rough touch
with a gentle kiss.

Oh.

Good pilgrim, you do wrong
your hand too much

which mannerly devotion
shows in this;

for saints have hands
that pilgrims' hands do touch

and palm to palm is
holy palmers' kiss.

Have not saints lips,
and holy palmers too?

Ay, pilgrim, lips that
they must use in prayer.

Oh...

O then, dear saint,

let lips do
what hands do...

They pray,
grant thou,

lest faith
turn to despair.

Saints do not move,

though grants
for prayers' sake.

Then move not...

While my prayer's
effect I take.

Thus from my lips,
by thine,

my sin is purged.

Then have my lips the sin
that they have took.

Sin from my lips!

O trespass sweetly urged!

Give me my sin again.

A rose will bloom

It then will fade

So does a youth

So does the fairest maid

Juliet!

Lady Juliet!

Nurse?

Your mother craves
a word with you.

Make haste, make haste!

What is her mother?

Hmm.
Merry, bachelor,

her mother is
the lady of the house,

and a good lady,
and wise, and virtuous;

I nursed her daughter
that you talked withal.

Hmm.

I tell you he that
shall lay hold of her

shall have the chinks.

Is she a Capulet?

Ah, dear account!

My life is my foe's debt.

What, ho, my mistresses?

What, will you be gone?

It seems so, poor God,
it is so very late.

We'll call it early,
by and by.

Good night,
sweet, my Lady Juliet.

Come hither, nurse.

Hmm?

What is yon gentleman?

Count Paris.

No. What's he
that follows there?

Oh! I know not.

Go, ask his name.

Hmm. Romeo, of
the house of Montague.

What?

His name is Romeo,
and a Montague;

the only son of
your great enemy.

My only love sprung
from my only hate,

too early seen unknown,
and known too late!

Oh!

Prodigious birth of love
it is to me

that I must love
a loathed enemy.

Juliet!

My Lady Juliet!

Madam!

Romeo!

Juliet!

Romeo!

Lady Juliet!

Juliet!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Romeo!

1, 2, 3.

- Romeo!
- Romeo!

He is wise,

and on my life hath
stolen him home to bed.

He leaped
this orchard wall.

Call, good Mercutio.

Romeo!

Romeo! Passion! Lover!

O-hooo! Madman!

O-hooo! Romeo!

He heareth not,
he stirreth not, he moveth not.

The ape is dead.

He jests at scars
that never felt a wound.

Romeo, it's all right.

But soft,

what light through
yonder window breaks?

It is my lady,

oh, it is my love.

Oh...

O that she knew she were.

She speaks,
yet she says nothing.

What of that?

Her eye discourses,
I will answer it.

I am too bold,

'tis not to me she speaks.

Two of the fairest stars
in all the heavens,

having some business,
do entreat her eyes

to twinkle in their spheres
till they return.

See how she leans her cheek
upon her hand.

Oh, that I were
a glove upon that hand,

that I might touch
that cheek.

Ay me!

She speaks.

Oh, speak again,
bright angel.

O Romeo, Romeo,

wherefore art thou, Romeo?

Deny thy father,
and refuse thy name.

Or if thou wilt not,
be but sworn my love,

and I'll no longer
be a Capulet.

Shall I hear more,

or shall I speak at this?

'Tis but thy name
that is my enemy.

Thou art thyself,
though not a Montague.

What is Montague?

It is nor hand nor foot,
nor arm nor face

nor any other part
belonging to a man.

O be some other name.

What's in a name?

That which we call a rose

by any other name
would smell as sweet;

so Romeo would,
were he not Romeo called,

retain that dear perfection

which he owes
without that title.

Romeo, doff thy name,

and for that name
which is no part of thee,

take all myself.

I'll take thee
at thy word.

Call me but love,
and I'll be new baptized;

henceforth I never
will be Romeo.

What man art thou,
that thus bescreened in night

so stumblest
on my counsel?

By a name I know not how to
tell thee who I am.

My name, dear saint,
is hateful to myself,

because it is
an enemy to thee.

Had I it written,
I would tear the word.

My ears have not yet drunk

a hundred words
of that tongue's utterance,

yet I know the sound.

Art thou not Romeo,
and a Montague?

Neither, fair maid,
if either thee dislike.

How cam'st thou hither,
tell me and wherefore?

The orchard walls are
high and hard to climb,

and the place death,
considering who thou art,

if any of my kinsmen
find thee here.

With love's light wings

did I o'er perch
these walls,

for stony limits
cannot hold love out,

and what love can do,
that dares love attempt.

Therefore thy kinsmen
are no stop to me.

Sshhh!

If they do see thee,
they will murder thee.

I have night's cloak to
hide me from their eyes.

And but thou love me...

Let them find me here

my life were better
ended by their hate,

than death prorogued,
wanting of thy love.

Dost thou love me?

I know thou wilt say ay,
and I will take thy word;

yet if thou swearest,

thou mayst prove false;

at lovers' perjuries
they say jove laughs.

O gentle Romeo,

if thou dost love,
pronounce it faithfully.

Or if thou thinkest
I am too quickly won,

I'll frown and be perverse,
and say thee nay,

so thou wilt woo
but else not for the world.

In truth, fair Montague,
I am too fond...

And therefore thou mayst think
my haviour light.

No.

But trust me, gentleman,
I'll prove more true

than those that have
more cunning to be strange.

I should have been
more strange,

I must confess,

but that thou overheard'st,
ere I was ware,

my true love's passion;

therefore pardon me,

and not impute this yielding
to light love,

which the dark night
hath so discovered.

Lady, by yonder
blessed moon, I swear.

Oh, swear not by the moon,

th'inconstant moon,

that monthly changes
in her circled orb,

lest that thy love prove
likewise variable.

What shall I swear by?

Do not swear at all.

Or if thou wilt...

Swear by thy gracious self,

which is the god
of my idolatry,

and I'll believe thee.

If my heart's dear love,
I swear...

Oh, Juliet!

Sweet, good night.

This bud of love
by summer's ripening breath

may prove a beauteous flower
when next we meet.

Good night, good night.

As sweet repose and rest
come to thy heart

as that
within my breast.

O, wilt thou leave me
so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction
canst thou have tonight?

Th' exchange of thy love's
faithful vow for mine.

Ahh.

I gave thee mine before
thou didst request it.

And yet I would it were
to give again.

Wouldst thou
withdraw it?

For what purpose, love?

But to be frank
and give it thee again.

And yet I wish
but for the thing I have,

my bounty is
as boundless as the sea,

my love as deep.

The more I give to thee,
the more I have,

for both are infinite.

Juliet!

Anon, good nurse!

Sweet Montague, be true.

Madam!

Stay but a little,
I will come again.

Madam! Lady Juliet!

O blessed, blessed night!

Oh! I am afeard,
being in night,

all this is but a dream,

too flattering-sweet
to be substantial.

Three words, dear Romeo,
and good night indeed.

If that thy bent of love
be honorable,

thy purpose marriage,
send me word tomorrow,

by one that I'll procure
to come to thee.

Where and what time
thou wilt perform the rite,

and all my fortunes
at thy foot I'll lay

and follow thee, my lord,
throughout the world.

Madam!

I come, anon.

But if thou meanest not well,
I do beseech thee--

Lady Juliet!

By and by I come!

To cease thy suit
and leave me to my grief.

Tomorrow will I send.

So thrive my soul.

A thousand times
good night!

Romeo!

At what o'clock tomorrow
shall I send to thee?

At the hour of nine.

I will not fail.

'Tis twenty years
till then.

Romeo!

I have forgot
why I did call thee back.

Let me stand here
till thou remember it.

I shall forget, to have
thee still stand there,

remembering how
I love thy company.

And I'll still stay,

to have thee
still forget,

forgetting
any other home but this.

Ahh.

Good night, good night!

Parting is
such sweet sorrow

that I shall say good night
till it be morrow.

Woo!

Woo!

Friar Laurence!

What early tongue
so sweet saluteth me?

Good morrow, father!

Ha ha ha!

Hey!

Young son, it argues
a distempered head

so soon to bid
good morrow to thy bed.

Therefore thy earliness
doth me assure

thou art uproused with
some distemperature.

Or if not so,
then here I put it right

our Romeo hath not
been in bed tonight.

The last is true.
The sweeter rest was mine.

God pardon sin!
Wast thou with Rosaline?

With Rosaline,
my ghostly father, no.

I have forgot that name
and that name's woe.

That's my good son.

Well, where hast
thou been then?

I'll tell thee ere
thou ask it me again.

I have been feasting
with mine enemy,

where on a sudden
one hath wounded me.

Be plain, good son,
and homely in thy drift.

Riddling confession finds
but riddling shrift.

Then plainly know
my heart's dear love is set,

on the fair daughter
of rich Capulet.

As mine on hers,
so hers is set on mine,

and all combined,
save what thou must combine

by holy marriage.

When and where,
and how we met,

we woo'd, and made
exchange of vow,

I'll tell thee as we pass.

But this I pray,

that thou consent
to marry us today.

Hmmm?

Holy Saint Francis!

Is Rosaline,
that thou didst love so dear,

so soon forsaken?

Thou doest not mock me, Father!

Young men's love then lies
not truly in their hearts,

but in their eyes.

Hear me, Father.

Jesu Maria!
What a deal of brine

hath washed thy sallow cheeks
for Rosaline!

And art thou changed?

Pronounce this
sentence then.

Women may fall when
there's no strength in men.

Thou chidst me oft
for loving Rosaline.

Doting, not for loving,
pupil mine.

Yes, for loving and,
and badest me bury love.

Not in a grave
to lay one in,

another out to have.

Come, young waverer,

come, go with me.

In one respect
I'll thy assistant be.

O Father!

For this alliance
may so happy prove

to turn your households'
rancor to pure love.

O, let us hence!

I stand on sudden haste.

Shh! Wisely and slow,

they stumble
that run fast.

Ha ha ha!

Shh!

Where the devil
should this Romeo be?

Hmm?

Came he not home tonight?

Hmm?

Huh?

Came he not home tonight?

Who?

Romeo.

O no, not to his father's.
I spoke with his man.

Hey, Tybalt, the kinsman
to old Capulet,

hath sent a letter
to his father's house.

A challenge, on my life.

Romeo will answer it.

Any man that can write
may answer a letter.

Nay, he will answer
the letter's master,

how he dares,
being dared.

Alas, poor Romeo,
he is already dead;

stabbed with
a white wench's black eye;

run through the ear
with a love song;

the very pin
of his heart cleft

with the blind
bow-boy's buttshaft.

And is he a man
to encounter Tybalt?

Why, what is Tybalt!

More than Prince of Cats,
I can tell you.

Ah, good morrow
to you both.

That we should be
thus afflicted

with these
strange flies,

these fashionmongers,

these pardonnez moi's.

Ah, Signor Romeo,

Bonjour.

Bonjour.

There's a French salutation
to your French slop.

Huh?

You gave us the counterfeit
fairly last night.

What counterfeit
did I give you?

The slip, sir, the slip,

can you not conceive?

Pardon, good Mercutio.

My business was great--

Oh! Ha ha ha!

In such a case as mine

a man may strain courtesy.

Come between us,
good Benvolio;

my wit faints.

Thy wit is
very bitter sweeting

it is most sharp sauce.

Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!

Ha ha ha!

Why, is not this
better now

than groaning for love?

Now art thou sociable,

now art thou Romeo;

now art thou
what thou art,

by art as well as
by nature.

For this driveling love
is like a great natural

that runs malling
up and down

to hide his bauble
in a hole.

Stop there,
stop there.

Thou desirest me to stop
in my tale against the hair?

Thou wouldst else
have made thy tale large.

No, no, no,
thou art deceived;

For I was come to
the whole depth of my tale,

and meant to occupy
the argument no longer.

Here's goodly gear.

Here's a fine barge.

A sail.

A sail, a sail.

Two, two; a shirt
and a smock.

Shh!

Peter.

Anon.

My fan, Peter.

Good, Peter,
to hide her face,

for her fan's
the fairer of the two.

Ha ha ha!

Oh!

God ye good morrow,
gentlemen.

God ye good den,
fair gentlewoman.

Is it good den,
I pray?

Well, 'tis no less
I tell you,

for the bawdy hand
of the dial

is now upon the prick
of noon.

Ha ha ha! Oh!

Out upon you,
what a man are you?

One, gentlewoman, that God
hath made himself to mar.

By my troth
it is well said,

for himself to mar
quoth 'a?

Hmm.

Gentleman, can any
of you tell me

where I may find
young Romeo?

Romeo, Romeo.

Hey!

Shh!

I am the youngest
of that name

for fault of a worse.

If you be he, sir,

I desire some
conference with you.

She will indite him
to some supper.

A bawd, a bawd.

A bawd!

Aah!

You filthy varmint you!

Here she comes!

Mercutio, no!

Aah!

An old hare hoar

And an old hare hoar

Is very good meat,
in lent

But a hare
that is a hoar

Is too much
for a score

When it hoars
ere it be spent

Aah!

Ooh!

Farewell, ancient lady.

Ooh!

Scurvy knave,
scurvy knave.

I'm none of
his flirt-gills.

I'm none of
his skein mates.

Er, cur, lousy knave,

lousy, lousy knave.

I pray you, sir.

What saucy merchant
was this

that was so full
of his property?

A gentleman, nurse, that loves
to hear himself talk,

and will speak
more in a minute

than he will stand to
in a month.

I'll take him down,

an 'a were lustier
than he is,

and twenty such jacks;

and if I cannot,
I'll find those that shall.

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha!

And thou must
stand by too

and suffer every knave

to use me
at his pleasure.

Ooh...

Punk rampant!

Pray you, sir,
a word.

Ooh!

Beef wit.

My young lady bid me
inquire you out.

What she did
bid me say,

I will keep to myself;,

but first
let me tell ye,

if ye should lead her
in a fool's paradise--

Nurse.

Shh! As they say,

it were a very gross
kind of behavior;,

for the gentlewoman
is young;

and therefore if you
should deal double with her,

it were an ill thing to be
offered to any gentlewoman,

and very
weak dealing.

Nurse, commend me
to thy lady and mistress,

I protest unto thee.

Bid her devise,

some means to come to
shrift this afternoon,

and there she shall
at Friar Laurence's cell

be shrived and married.

Oh!

Oh!

Here's for thy pains.

No, no truly, sir,
not a penny.

Go to,
I say you shall.

No.

Well...

Sir, my mistress
is the sweetest lady.

Lord, Lord, when she were
a little prating thing.

Good-bye. Oh!

O there is
a noble man in town,

One Paris, that would fain
lay knife aboard.

I anger her sometimes and say
that Paris is the properer man.

Nurse, commend me
to thy lady.

A thousand times.

Ooh! Ooh!

The clock struck nine
when I did send the nurse,

in half an hour
she promised to return...

perchance
she cannot meet him;

ahh, that's not so,

oh, she's lame,

love's heralds
should be thoughts!

Had she affections
and warm youthful blood,

she would be
as swift in motion

as a ball.

But old folks,
many feign as they were dead,

unwieldy, slow, heavy...

And pale as lead.

O God, she comes.

O honey nurse,
what news?

O Lord, why look'st
thou sad?

Oh!

Though news be sad,

yet tell
them merrily.

Send the man away.

Peter, stay at the gate.

Go on.

Hast thou met
with him?

Oh, I am aweary.

Give me leave awhile.

Fie, how my bones ache!

Ooh!

Sweet, sweet...

Sweet nurse.

Tell me, what says my love?

Ha ha ha!

Your love says like
an honest gentleman,

and courteous,
and kind,

and handsome,
and, I warrant him,

a virtuous--

Where is your mother?

Where is my mother?

Why, she is within.

Where should she be?

How oddly thou repliest!

"Your love says like
an honest gentleman,

where is your mother?"

Oh, God's lady,
are you so hot?

Marry, come up I trow.

Is this the poultice
for my aching bones?

Henceforward do
your messages yourself.

Here's such a coil!

Come! What says Romeo?

Have you got leave
to go to shrift today?

I have.

Then, hie you hence
to Friar Laurence's cell,

there stays a husband
to make you a wife.

Ha ha ha!

Now comes the wanton blood
up in your cheeks.

They'll be in scarlet
straight at any news.

Hie you to church!

I'll to dinner.

Honest nurse, farewell!

Ha ha ha!

So smile the heavens
upon this holy act,

that after-hours with sorrow
chide us not.

Amen, amen.

Come what sorrow can,

it cannot countervail
the exchange of joy

that one short minute
gives me in her sight.

These violent delights
have violent ends,

and in
their triumph die,

like fire and powder,

which as
they kiss consume.

The sweetest honey
is loathsome

in its own...

Deliciousness.

Deliciousness.

And in the taste
confounds the...

Appetite.

Appetite.

Therefore
love moderately...

Long love doth so.

Ah, here comes
the lady.

O, so light a foot will ne'er
wear out the everlasting flint.

Juliet!

Good even to
my ghostly confessor.

Romeo shall thank thee,
daughter, for us both.

Ah, Juliet,

if the measure of thy joy
be heaped like mine,

that thy skill be
more to blazon it,

then sweeten
with thy breath

this neighbor air.

They are but beggars
that can count their worth.

But my true love is
grown to such excess,

I cannot sum up
sum of half my wealth.

Tsk tsk tsk!

Come, come with me...

We will make short work.

For, by your leaves,

you shall not
stay alone

till holy church
incorporate two in one.

Blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah, blah.

Blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah, blah.

I pray thee,
good Mercutio, let's retire.

Blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah.

The day is hot.

Blah, blah, blah.

The Capulets abroad!

Ha ha ha!

If we meet we shall not
'scape a brawl.

For now
these hot days,

is the mad
blood stirring.

Mercutio,
let's retire.

Blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah, blah!

Thou art like one
of these fellows

that when he enters
the confines of a tavern

claps me his sword
on the table,

and says, "God send me
no need of thee:"

blah, blah,
blah, blah;

and by the operation
of the second cup,

draws him on
the drawer,

when indeed
there is no need.

Am I like
such a fellow?

Nay and there were
two such

we should have
none shortly,

for the one would kill
the other.

Why thou hast
quarreled with a man

for coughing
in the street,

because he hath wakened thy dog
that hath lain asleep

in the sun.

Blah, blah, blah!

And thou wilt tutor me
from quarreling! Hah!

Mercutio...

By my head,
here come the Capulets.

By my heel,
I care not.

Gentlemen, good den.

Good den.

A word
with one of you.

And but one word
with one of us.

Couple it
with something,

make it a word
and a blow.

You shall find me
apt enough to that, sir,

and you will
give me occasion.

Can you not take some occasion
without the giving?

Mercutio, thou
consortest with Romeo.

Consort? Ha ha ha!

What dost thou
make us minstrels?

Ha ha ha!

An you make
minstrels of us,

you look to hear
nothing but discords.

Here's my fiddlestick.

Here's that shall
make you dance.

Zounds! Consort!

We talk here in
the public haunt of men.

Either withdraw unto
some private place,

or reason coldly
of your grievances,

or else depart;

here all eyes gaze on us.

Men's eyes
were made to look,

and let them gaze.

Mercutio!

I will not budge for
no man's pleasure, I.

Well, peace be
with you, sir,

here comes my man.

Mercutio!

Tybalt.

Romeo, the love
I bear thee

can afford no better
term than this--

thou art a villain.

Tybalt, the reason that
I have to love thee

doth much excuse
the appertaining rage

to such a greeting--

villain am I none.

Therefore farewell,

I see thou knowest
not me.

Ha ha ha!

Boy...

This shall not excuse the injuries
thou hast done me,

therefore turn
and draw.

I do protest
I never injured thee,

but love thee better
than thou canst devise.

Till thou shalt know
the reason of my love.

And so, good Capulet,

which name I tender
as dearly as mine own,

be satisfied.

Ha ha ha!

No, no.

Ugh!

Ugh!

Ha ha ha!

No, Mercutio.

O calm, dishonorable,
vile submission!

No, Mercutio, no!

Leave me...

Tybalt, you ratcatcher!

What wouldest thou
have with me?

Good King of Cats,

nothing but one of
your nine lives,

that I mean to
make bold withal...

And as you shall
use me hereafter...

Dry-beat the rest
of the eight.

Please, good Mercutio.

Will you pluck your sword
out of his pilcher

by the ears?

Make haste,

lest mine be about your ears
ere it be out.

I am for you, sir.

Ha ha ha!

Gentle Mercutio,
put thy rapier up.

Come, come.

Benvolio, beat down
their weapons!

Gentlemen, for shame!
Forbear this outrage!

The Prince expressly hath
forbid this bandying

in Verona streets.

Tybalt!

Mercutio!

Leave us!

Leave us away,
you coward!

Go hang thyself.

Uh!

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha! Hey!

Ha ha ha!

Ha ha ha!

Hey!

Aah!

Cut his hair, Tybalt!

Ha ha ha!

Hey!

Keep your distance, Tybalt.

Hyah! Hyah! Hyah!

Keep away, coward!

Make haste, Tybalt,
we cannot wait all day.

Ah, mother's baby
has dropped his sword.

Hey!

Tybalt, no!

Abstain from
this crusade!

Tybalt, go!

Mercutio, come down!

Begone, begone...

Fly, Tybalt.
Fly away.

I am hurt.

Uh!

I am hurt.

What! Art thou hurt?

A scratch, a scratch,

marry 'tis enough.

Courage, man, the hurt
cannot be much.

No, 'tis not so deep
as a well,

nor so wide as
a church door,

but 'tis enough;

you ask for me
tomorrow,

and you shall find me
a grave man.

Where is my page?

Go, villain,
and fetch me a surgeon.

Fetch me a surgeon!

Ha ha ha!

Did he hurt you?

Why the devil
came you between us?

I was hurt
under your arm.

I thought all
for the best, I...

Help me into some house,
Benvolio,

or I shall faint.

Whoa!

Whoa!

Whoa!

Whoa!

Yay!

A plague o'
both your houses!

They have made
worms' meat of me.

I have it,

and soundly too...

Your houses!

He jests!

Mercutio!

Romeo, Romeo...

brave Mercutio's dead.

This day's black fate,

on more days doth depend.

This but begins the woe
others must end.

He gone in triumph!

And Mercutio slain!

Away to heaven,
respective lenity,

and fire-eyed fury
be my conduct now!

Tybalt!

Tybalt!

Romeo!

Tybalt!

Romeo!

This way!

Tybalt!

Romeo!

Tybalt!

Now, Tybalt...

Take the villain
back again,

that late thou gav'st me;

for Mercutio's soul

is but a little way
above our heads,

staying for thine
to keep him company:

either thou, or l, or both,

must go with him!

Aah!

Let him go!
Let him go!

Sword, Romeo.

O thou wretched boy,

that didst
consort him here,

shalt with him hence.

This shall
determine that.

Hit the feet, Romeo!

Protect the eyes, Romeo!

Give me your sword.

Watch his feet!

Hyah!

Give me the sword!

The sword!

The sword!

Romeo! Romeo!

The sword!

The sword!

Give it to me!

Your sword, Romeo!

The sword, Romeo!

Aah!

Tybalt!

Romeo, away, be gone.

The citizens are up.

Stand not amazed,

the Prince will
doom thee death,

if thou art taken.

Hence, go away!

Romeo!

Oh, I am fortune's fool!

Oh, Romeo!
Away, away!

A curse on the Montagues!

Oh, Tybalt!

Tybalt! Tybalt!

The best friend I had,

oh, courteous Tybalt,
honest gentleman,

that ever I should live
to see thee dead!

Oh, God!

Did Romeo's hand
shed Tybalt's blood?

It did, it did,
alas the day, it did!

Oh, nurse,

oh, serpent heart,
hid with a flow'ring face!

Was ever book containing
such vile matter

so fairly bound?

There's no faith,
no trust,

no honesty in men;

all perjured,
all forsworn,

all naught,
all dissemblers.

Shame come to Romeo.

Blistered be thy tongue
for such a wish.

He was not born
to shame.

Upon his brow shame
is ashamed to sit.

Will you speak well of him
that killed your cousin?

Shall I speak ill of him
that is my husband?

Poor my lord,

what tongue shall
smooth thy name

when I
thy three-hours wife

have mangled it?

But wherefore villain,
didst thou kill my cousin?

Capulet! To the prince!

Speak, Benvolio, speak!

Go on, speak.

Prince!
As thou art true,

for blood of ours
shed blood of Montague.

Benvolio, who began
this bloody fray?

Tybalt, here slain.

No!

Romeo did
speak him fair,

bid him bethink how nice
the quarrel was,

and urged withal
your high displeasure.

It's true, Prince.

The picture
makes him false.

He speaks not true.

I beg for justice,

which thou,
Prince must give.

Romeo slew Tybalt,
Romeo must not live.

Romeo slew him.

He slew Mercutio.

Who now the price
of his dear blood doth owe?

Not Romeo, Prince...

He was Mercutio's friend.

His fault concludes
but what the law should end.

The life of Tybalt!

And for that offense,

immediately we do
exile him hence.

Let Romeo
hence in haste,

else, when he's found...

That hour is his last.

Ah, banishment...

Be merciful, say death!

Do not say banishment.

Arise.

One knocks;
good Romeo, hide thyself.

Who's there?

Who knocks so hard?

Whence come you?

What's your will?

Let me come in,

and you shall know
my errand.

I come from
Lady Juliet.

Welcome then.

Holy friar,
o tell me, holy friar,

where's my lady's lord,
where's Romeo?

There, on the ground.

With his own tears
made drunk.

There is no world
without Verona walls.

Even so lies she,

blubbering and weeping,

weeping and blubbering.

Stand up!

Stand and you
be a man.

For Juliet's sake,
for her sake,

rise and stand.

Why should you fall
into so deep an 'ole?

Nurse.

Ah, sir, death's
the end of all.

Speakst thou of Juliet?

How is it with her?

Does she not think
me an old murderer?

Where is she?
How doth she?

What says
my concealed lady

to our canceled love?

She says nothing, sir,
but weeps and weeps,

and Tybalt calls,
and then on Romeo cries.

As if that name
did murder her.

O tell me, friar,
tell me,

in what vile part
of this anatomy

doth my name lodge?

Tell me that I may sack
the hateful mansion!

Hold thy
desperate hand.

By heavens!
Leave it!

Thou hast amazed me.

Thou a man?

Thy form
cries out thou art.

Thy tears
are womanish,

thy wild acts denote the
unreasonable fury of a beast.

Hast thou slain Tybalt?

Wilt thou slay thyself,
and slay thy lady,

that in thy life lives,

by doing damned hate
upon thyself?

Rouse thee, man...

Thy Juliet is alive.

There art thou happy.

Tybalt would kill thee,

but thou slewest Tybalt;

there art thou happy.

The law that threatened death
becomes thy friend,

and turns it to exile;

there art thou happy.

A pack of blessings
light upon thy back...

Ascend her chamber,
hence and comfort her.

But look thou stay
not till the watch be set,

for then thou canst not
pass to Mantua,

where thou shalt live
till we find a time

to blaze your marriage,
reconcile your friends,

beg pardon of the Prince,
and call thee home,

with twenty hundred
thousand times more joy

than thou wentest forth
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's coming.

Wilt thou be gone?

It is not yet
near day.

It was the nightingale,
and not the lark,

that pierced the fearful hollow
of thine ear.

Nightly she sings
on yond pomegranate tree.

Oh, believe me, love,

it was the nightingale.

It was the lark...

The herald of the morn,

no nightingale.

Night's candles
are burnt out...

And jocund day stands tiptoe
on the misty mountaintops.

I must be gone and live,

or stay and die.

Yond light is not
daylight...

I know it, I.

Therefore stay yet,

thou needst not
to be gone.

Oh, let me be taken,

let me be put to death.

I am content so thou
wilt have it so.

I'll say yon gray
is not the morning's eye,

nor that is not
the lark

whose notes do beat
the vaulty heavens

so high above
our heads.

I have more care
to stay than will to go.

Come death, and welcome,
Juliet wills it so.

It is...

It is, hie hence,
be gone away.

Romeo, it is.

It is the lark that
sings so out of tune,

straining harsh discords,
and unpleasing sharps.

Some say the lark
makes sweet division;

oh, this doth not so,
for she divideth us.

So now be gone,

more light and light
it grows.

More light and light,

more dark and dark
our woes.

Madam!

Your lady mother
comes to your chamber.

Nurse.

Your lady mother is
coming to your chamber.

The day is broke,
look about.

Oh, art thou gone so,

my husband, friend?

I must hear from thee
every day in the hour,

for in a minute
there are many days,

o by this count
I shall be much in years,

ere I again behold my Romeo.

I will omit
no opportunity

that may convey
my greetings, love, to thee.

Oh, think'st thou
we shall ever meet again?

I doubt it not,

and all these woes
shall serve

for sweet discourses
in our time to come.

Farewell, farewell,

one kiss
and I'll descend.

Adieu.

Adieu!

Oh, God!

We will have vengeance
for it,

fear thou not...

No!

Then weep no more.

I'll send to one
in Mantua,

where that same
banished runagate doth live

shall give him such
an unaccustomed dram,

that he shall soon
keep Tybalt company.

No!

But now I'll tell thee
joyful tidings, girl.

Well, then thou hast
a careful father,

one who to put thee
from thy heaviness

hath sorted out
a sudden day of joy.

And joy comes well
in such a needy time.

Marry, my child,
early next Thursday morn,

the gallant, young
and noble prince,

the county Paris,
at St. Peter's church,

shall happily make thee
there a joyful bride.

Now by St. Peter's church,
and Peter too,

he shall not make me there
a joyful bride!

No! No!

So, it is concluded.

Son, Paris.

How now, wife, have you
delivered to her our decree?

Ay, sir,
but she will none,

she gives you thanks.

I would the fool were
married to her grave.

Soft...
take me with you.

Take me with you, wife.

How? Will she none?

Doth she not
give us thanks?

Is she not proud?

Doth she not count her blessed,
unworthy as she is,

that we have wrought so worthy
a gentleman to be her bridegroom?

Wretched fool!
Let me see her!

Ungrateful baggage!

Say what thou wilt,
thou shalt not house with me!

Fie! What, are you mad?

Hang thee,
young baggage!

Disobedient wretch!

I tell thee what,
get thee to church on Thursday,

or never after
look me in the face.

Oh, father, good father,
I beseech you.

Speak not, reply not,
do not answer me.

My fingers itch.

You are to blame, my lord,
to rate her so.

And why,
my lady wisdom?

Hold your tongue!

Good prudence, smatter
with your gossips, go!

I speak no treason.

May not one speak?

Speak!
You mumbling fool!

Utter your gravity
o'er a gossip's bowl,

for here we need it not.

You are too hot.

God's bread,
it makes me mad.

Thursday's near.

Lay hand on heart, advise.

An you be mine,
I give you to my friend;

an you be not,

hang, beg, starve,
die in the streets.

No!

For by my soul,
I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,

for what is mine
shall never do thee good.

Father!

Trust to't, bethink you,
I'll not be forsworn.

Oh, no! No!

Oh sweet, my mother,
cast me not away.

Delay this marriage
for a month, a week, oh!

Talk not to me,
for I'll not speak a word.

Do as thou wilt,
for I have done with thee.

Oh, God!

Oh, nurse?

How shall this
be prevented?

What sayest thou?

Hast thou not
a word of joy?

Some comfort, nurse.

Faith, here it is.

Romeo is banished...

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 so stands
as now it doth,

I think it best
you marry with the county.

True.

O he's a lovely
gentleman.

Romeo's
a dishclout to him.

An eagle, madam,
hath not so green,

so quick, so fair an eye
as Paris hath.

Beshrew my heart,

I think you happy
in this second match.

It excels your first.

For if it did not,
your first is dead,

or 'twere as good he were
as living here,

and you no use of him.

Speakest thou
from thy heart?

And from my soul, too...

Or else
beshrew them both.

Amen.

What?

Well, thou hast comforted me
marvelous much.

Go in, and tell my lady
I am gone,

having displeased my father,

to Laurence's cell,

to make confession
and to be absolved.

Marry, I shall,
and this is wisely done.

Go!

You say you do not know
the lady's mind.

Uneven is the course,
I like it not.

Immoderately she weeps
for Tybalt's death,

and therefore have I
little talked of love,

for Venus smiles not
in a house of tears.

Oh!

Happily met,
my lady and my wife.

That may be, sir,
when I may be a wife.

Come you to make
confession to this father?

Are you at leisure,
holy father, now,

or shall I come to you
at evening mass?

My leisure serves me,
pensive daughter, now.

My lord, we must entreat
the time alone.

God shield I should
disturb devotion.

Juliet, on Thursday early
will I rouse thee.

Till then, adieu...

and keep this holy kiss.

Oh, shut the door,
and when thou hast done so,

come weep with me,
past hope,

past care, past help.

Oh, Juliet, I already
know thy grief.

Tell me not, Friar,
that thou heard'st of this,

unless thou tell me
how I can prevent it.

If in thy wisdom
thou cans't give no help...

Hold, daughter.

I do spy a kind of hope,

as that is desperate
which we would prevent.

If rather than to marry
county Paris,

thou hast
the strength of will to--

O bid me leap,
rather than marry Paris,

from off the battlements
of any tower,

or bid me go
into a new-made grave

and hide me with a dead man
in his shroud.

Hold then.

Go home.

Be merry.

Give consent
to marry Paris.

Oh, no.

Wednesday is tomorrow.

Tomorrow night
look that thou lie alone,

let not the nurse
lie with thee in thy chamber.

Take thou this phial,
being then in bed...

And this distilling liquor
drink thou off...

When presently through
all thy veins shall run

a cold and drowsy humor;,

for no pulse shall keep
his native progress,

but surcease;

no warmth, no breath
shall testify thou livest...

And in this borrowed likeness
of shrunk death

thou shalt continue
two and forty hours...

And then awake
as from a pleasant sleep.

In the meantime,
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.

Give me, give me!

Tell me not of fear.

Hold, then.

Get thee gone.

Be strong and prosperous
in this resolve.

How now, my headstrong.

Where have you
been gadding?

Where I have learnt me

to repent the sin
of disobedient opposition.

Pardon me,
henceforward l,

I am ever ruled by you.

Why, I am glad on't!

This is well.
Stand up.

This is
as it should be.

Love give me strength.

Give this letter
into the hand of Romeo,

in Mantua.

Aah!

My lord! My lord!

She's dead,
Juliet is dead!

My Lady Juliet, my lord.
She's dead, she's dead!

Juliet!

Juliet!

Juliet!

My baby,
where is she?

O lamentable day.

Death lies on her
like an untimely frost

upon the sweetest flower
of all the field.

Master.

Balthasar!

How fares my Juliet?

For nothing can be ill,
if she be well.

How fares my lady?

She's dead, my lord.

She's dead.

Her body sleeps
in capel's monument.

I saw her laid low
in her kindred's vault.

Then, I defy you, stars!

Live...

and be prosperous.

Farewell, good fellow.

Juliet.

O my love...

My wife.

Death that hath sucked
the honey of thy breath,

hath had no power yet
upon thy beauty.

Thou art not conquered...

Beauty's ensign yet
is crimson in thy lips

and in thy cheeks.

Death's pale flag
is not advanced there.

Tybalt.

Liest thou there
in thy bloody sheet?

What more favor
can I do to thee,

than with that hand
that cut thy youth in twain

to sunder his
that was thine enemy?

Forgive me, cousin.

Ah, dear Juliet.

Why art thou yet so fair?

Shall I believe that
unsubstantial death is amorous,

and that the lean
abhorred monster

keeps thee here in dark
to be his paramour?

For fear of that,
I still will stay with thee.

Never from this palace
of dim night depart again.

Here, here will I remain,

with worms that are
thy chambermaids.

Eyes, look your last.

Arms, take your last embrace.

And lips,
o you the doors of breath,

seal with a righteous kiss

a dateless bargain
to engrossing death.

Here's to my love.

Thus with a kiss...

I die.

Who's there?

A friend, and one
that knows thee well.

Balthasar. How long
hast thou been here?

Full half an hour.

Go with me to the vault.

I dare not, sir.

My master knows not
that I am gone hence.

Stay then,
I'll go alone.

Fear comes upon me.

O much I fear
some ill unlucky thing.

Romeo!

Oh, what an unkind hour

is guilty of this
lamentable chance?

Ohh!

O comfortable Friar,
where is my lord?

I do remember well
where I should be,

and there I am.

Where is my Romeo?

I hear some noise.

Oh, where is my Romeo?

Oh, lady, come from this nest
of death, contagion,

and unnatural sleep.

A greater power
than we can contradict

hath thwarted
our intents.

Come along.
The watch is coming.

Where is my Romeo?

Come. Go, good Juliet.

No.

I dare no longer stay.

No!

I dare no longer stay.

Juliet!

I dare no longer stay.

I dare
no longer stay!

What's here?

Poison, I see,
hath been his timeless end.

O churl!

Drunk all,
and left no friendly drop

to help me after!

I will kiss thy lips;

haply some poison
yet doth hang on them

to make me die
with a restorative.

Thy lips are warm!

Oh, no, no!

Lead, boy, which way?

Search about
the churchyard.

Go, some of you...

Yea, noise?

No!

Then I'll be brief,
o happy dagger!

This is thy sheath;

there rest and let me die.

Where be these enemies?

Capulet!

Montague!

See what a scourge
is laid upon your hate...

that heaven finds means
to kill your joys with love;

and l, for winking
at your discords too,

have lost
a brace of kinsmen.

All are punished.

All are punished!

A glooming peace
this morning with it brings.

The sun for sorrow
will not show his head,

for never was a story
of more woe

than this of Juliet
and her Romeo.