All language subtitles for romeo.and.juliet.1954.720p

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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-cross'd
lovers take their life;

Whose misadventured
piteous overthrows Do

with their death bury
their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of
their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of
their parents' rage,

Which, but their
children's end,

nought could remove,
Is now the two hours'

traffic of our stage;
The which if you with

patient ears attend,
What here shall miss,

our toil shall
strive to mend.

I strike quickly,
being moved.

But thou art
not quickly moved

to strike.

A dog of the
house of Montague

moves me.

To move is
to stir;

and to be valiant is
to stand: therefore,

if thou art moved,
thou runn'st away.

A dog of that house
shall move me to

stand: I will take
the wall of any

man or maid
of Montague's.

That shows
thee a weak slave;

for the weakest
goes to the wall.

Tis true; and
therefore women,

being the weaker
vessels, are ever

thrust to the wall:

Here comes two

of the house of
the Montagues.

Quarrel, quarrel,

I will
back thee.

How! turn
thy back and run?

I will bite
my thumb at them;

which is a disgrace to
them, if they bear it.

Do you bite your
thumb at us, sir?

I do bite my
thumb, sir.

Do you bite your
thumb at us, sir?

Come, come,
come, come.

Come! RUN!

Abraham.

Open there.

Open, Open.

Open!

What, art thou
drawn among these

heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio,
look upon thy death.

A servant of the
Capulets has killed

Abraham. Abraham
has benn killed

at the hands
of a Capulet!

What's this?

Abraham!
Abraham! Abraham!

Where's my man?
Where's my man!

What noise
is this?

Abraham is dead.

Give me my sword!

Give me my
long sword, ho!

Rebellious subjects,

enemies to peace,

Profaners of this
neighbour-stained steel,

Will they not hear?

What, ho!

you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of

issuing from your veins,

Three civil brawls,
bred of an airy word,

By thee, old Capulet,
and Montague,

Have thrice disturb'd
the quiet of our streets,

On pain of torture,
from those bloody hands

Throw your mistemper'd
weapons to the ground,

And hear the sentence
of your moved prince.

If ever you disturb
our streets again,

Your lives shall pay the
forfeit of the peace.

Good-morrow,
cousin.

Is the
day so young?

But new
struck nine.

Ay me!

sad hours seem long.

What sadness
lengthens Romeo's hours?

Not having
that, which, having,

makes them short.

In love?

Out--

Of love?

Out
of her favour,

where I am in love.

Alas, that
love, so gentle in his

view, Should be so
tyrannous and rough

in proof!

Alas, that love,
whose view is

muffled still, Should,
without eyes, see

pathways to his will!

Why, then, O
brawling love!

O loving hate!

O any thing, of
nothing first create!

O heavy lightness!

serious vanity!

Dost thou not laugh?

No, coz, I
rather weep.

Good
heart, at what?

At thy good
heart's oppression.

Why, such is
love's transgression.

This love that
thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to

too much of mine own.

Farewell, my coz.

Soft!

I will go along;

An if you leave me
so, you do me wrong.

Tut, I
have lost myself;

I am not here;
This is not Romeo,

he's some other where.

Tell me in sadness,

who is that you love.

Bid a sick man
in sadness make his will:

Ah, word ill urged
to one that is so ill!

Juliet!

How now!
who calls?

Your mother.

Come now, quick, quick!

Madam,
I am here.

What is your will?

This is the matter:

--nurse, give leave awhile,

We must talk in secret:

--nurse, come back again;

I have remember'd
me, thou's hear

our counsel.

Thou know'st my
daughter's of

a pretty age.

Faith, I
can tell her age

unto an hour.

How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

Even or odd, of
all days in 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.

'Tis since the
earthquake now eleven

years; And she
was wean'd,

--I never shall
forget it,

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 then my husband

God be with his soul!

A' was 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?'

and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left

crying and said 'Ay.'

I warrant, an I should
live a thousand years,

I never should forget
it: 'Wilt thou not,

Jule?' quoth he;

And, pretty fool, it
stinted and said 'Ay.'

And stint thou too,
I pray thee, nurse,

say I.

Peace,
I have done.

God mark thee
to his grace!

An 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?

To marry?

It is an honour
that I dream not of.

An honour!

were not I thine
only nurse,

I would say thou
hadst suck'd wisdom

from thy teat.

Well, think of
marriage now;

younger than you,
Here in Verona,

ladies of esteem, Are
made already mothers.

Thus then in brief:

The valiant Paris seeks
you for his love.

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
marr'd are those

so early made.

The earth hath
swallow'd all my

hopes but she, But
woo her, gentle

Paris, get her
heart, This night

I hold an old
accustom'd feast,

Whereto I have
invited many a

guest, Such as I
love; and you, among

the store, One more,
most welcome, makes

my number more.

But my will to her
consent is but a part.

Madam, Juliet.

Come quickly.

What say you?

can you love
the gentleman?

This night you shall
behold him at our

feast; Read o'er
the volume of young

Paris' face, And
find delight writ

there with
beauty's pen;

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.

At this same
ancient feast of

Capulet's Sups the
fair Rosaline whom

thou so lovest,

I aim'd so near,
when I supposed

you loved.

A right fair
mark, fair coz,

is soonest hit.

Good evening
my lord.

Well, in that
hit you miss:

She'll not be hit
with Cupid's arrow;

she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof

of chastity well
arm'd, From love's

weak childish bow
she lives unharm'd.

She will not stay
the siege of loving

terms, Nor bide
the encounter of

assailing eyes,
O, she is rich in

beauty, only poor,
That when she dies

with beauty
dies her store.

She is too fair,
too wise, wisely too

fair, To merit
bliss by making me

despair: She hath
forsworn to love,

and in that vow Do I
live dead that live

to tell it now.

Tut, man, one
fire burns out

another's burning,
One pain is lessen'd

by another's
anguish;

Turn giddy,
and be holp by

backward turning;

One desperate
grief cures with

another's languish:
Take thou some new

infection to thy
eye, And the rank

poison of the
old will die.

Be ruled by me, forget
to think of her.

O, teach me how
I should forget

to think.

Examine
other beauties.

Farewell: thou
canst not teach me

to forget.

One fairer
than my love!

the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match

since first the
world begun.

Juliet, the
county stays.

Go, girl, seek
happy nights to

happy days.

Welcome, gentlemen!

ladies that have
their toes Unplagued

with corns will have
a bout with you.

Ah ha, my mistresses!

which of you all
Will now deny to dance?

Romeo is here.

Romeo?

Yes sir.

Uncle, this is a
Montague, our foe,

A villain that
is hither come in

spite, To scorn at our
solemnity this night

My fair ladies.

my noble lords, now
the musicians of

center Rome, will
pay for you the

beautiful galliard.

Young
Romeo is it?

'Tis he, that
villain Romeo.

I would not for
the wealth of all

the town Here in
my house do him

disparagement:
Therefore be

patient, take
no note of him:

I'll not endure him.

He shall be endured:

I have seen the
day That I have worn

a visor and could
tell A whispering

tale in a fair
lady's ear,

For shame!

I'll make you quiet.

What, cheerly,
my hearts!

Put on the mask.

Leave this
place at once.

Go.

O, she doth teach
the torches to

burn bright!

It seems she hangs
upon the cheek of

night Like a
rich jewel in an

Ethiope's ear;
Beauty too rich for

use, for earth
too dear!

What lady is that,
which doth enrich

the hand Of
yonder knight?

I know not, sir.

The measure done,
I'll watch her place

of stand, And,
touching hers,

make blessed
my rude hand.

Shall we rest?

If I profane with
my unworthiest hand

This holy shrine, the
gentle fine is this:

My lips, two blushing
pilgrims, ready stand

To smooth that
rough touch with

a tender kiss.

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

O, then, dear
saint, let lips do

what hands do; They
pray, grant thou,

lest faith turn
to despair.

Madam, your
mother craves a word

with you.

Who is her mother?

Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the

lady of the house,

Is she a Capulet?

Where's he gone?

Where?

Go ask his name:
if he be married.

My grave is like to
be my wedding bed.

His name
is Romeo, and a

Montague; The
only son of your

great enemy.

My only love
sprung from my

only hate!

My life is
my foe's debt.

Can I go forward
when my heart

is here?

Where the devil
should this Romeo be?

Came he not
home to-night?

Ah, that same pale
hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline.

Torments him so, that
he will sure run mad.

Romeo, my cousin Romeo!

The fool is gone.

He is mad.

He is wise; And,
on my lie, hath

stol'n him home to bed.

Call, call, call!

Call, good Mercutio.

Call?

Nay, I'll conjure too.

Romeo! humours!

madman! passion! lover!

Appear thou in the
likeness of a sigh:

Speak but one rhyme,
and I am satisfied;

Hey! Come!

I conjure thee by
Rosaline's bright

eyes, By her high
forehead and her

scarlet lips, By her
fine foot, straight

leg and quivering
thigh And the

demesnes that
there adjacent lie,

And if he hear thee,

thou wilt anger him.

This cannot anger
him: my invocation

Is fair and honest,
and in his mistres s'

name I conjure only
but to raise up him.

Come, shall we go?

Go, then; for 'tis
in vain To seek him

here that means
not to be found.

Blind is his love and
best befits the dark.

If love be blind,
love cannot hit

the mark.

He jests at scars
that never felt

a wound

But, soft!

what light through
yonder window breaks?

O Romeo, Romeo!

wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and
refuse thy name;

'Tis but thy name
that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself,
though not a

Montague.

What's Montague?

it is nor hand, nor
foot, Nor arm, nor

face, nor any other
part Belonging

to a man.

O, be some other name!

that which we call
a rose By any other

name would
smell as sweet;

Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name

which is no part of
thee Take all myself.

I 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

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
saint, if either

thee dislike.

How camest thou
hither, tell me,

and wherefore?

The orchard walls
are high and hard

to climb,

With love's
light wings did I

o'er-perch these
walls; For stony

limits cannot hold
love out, Therefore

thy kinsmen are
no let to me.

If they do see
thee, they will

murder thee.

I have night's
cloak to hide me from

their sight; 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.

By whose direction
found'st thou out

this place?

By love, who first
did prompt me to

inquire; He lent me
counsel and I lent

him eyes.

Dost thou love me?

I know thou wilt say
'Ay,' And I will take

thy word: yet if thou
swear'st, Thou mayst

prove false; O
gentle Romeo, If thou

dost love, pronounce
it faithfully: In

truth, fair Montague,
I am too fond, And

therefore thou mayst
think my 'havior

light: But trust me,
gentleman, I'll prove

more true Than
those that have more

cunning to
be strange.

Do not impute this
yielding to light

love, Which the
dark night hath

so discovered.

Lady, by yonder
blessed moon I swear

That tips with
silver all these

fruit-tree tops--

O, swear not
by the moon, the

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, And

I'll believe thee.

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 to-night?

The exchange of
thy love's faithful

vow for mine.

I gave thee mine
before thou didst

request it: And yet I
would it were to

Wouldst thou
withdraw it?

for what
purpose, love?

But to be frank, and
give it thee again.

I hear some noise
within; dear love,

adieu!

Juliet.

Anon, good nurse!

Sweet Montague, be true.

Stay but a little,
I will come again.

O blessed,
blessed night!

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 honourable,

Thy purpose marriage,
send me word

to-morrow, 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.

So thrive my soul--

A thousand
times good night!

A thousand times
the worse, to want

thy light

Hist! Romeo, hist!

O, for a falconer's
voice, To lure this

tassel-gentle
back again!

Romeo!

My dear?

Romeo!

My dear?

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,

And I'll still
stay, to have thee

still forget,

'Tis almost
morning; I would have

thee gone: And yet
no further than a

wanton's bird; Who
lets it hop a little

from her hand, Like a
poor prisoner in his

twisted gyves, And
with a silk thread

plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of

his liberty.

I would I
were thy bird.

Sweet, so would
I: Yet I should kill

thee with much
cherishing.

Good night,
good night!

parting is such sweet
sorrow, That I shall

say good night
till it be morrow.

Goodnight.

The grey-eyed
morn smiles on the

frowning night,
Chequering the

eastern clouds with
streaks of light,

Now, ere the sun
advance his burning

eye, The day to cheer
and night's dank dew

to dry, I must
up-fill this osier

cage 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 find,

O, mickle is the
powerful grace that

lies In herbs,
plants, stones, and

their true qualities:

Within the infant
rind of this sweet flower

Within the infant
rind of this...

Within the infant
rind of this sweet

flower Poison
hath residence and

medicine power: For
this, being smelt,

with that part cheers
each part; Being

tasted, slays all
senses with the heart.

Good morrow, father.

Benedicite!

No. no, no.

Young son, it argues
a distemper'd head So

soon to bid good
morrow to thy bed:

Care keeps his watch
in every old man's

eye, And where care
lodges, sleep will

never lie; But where
unbruised youth with

unstuff'd brain Doth
couch his limbs,

there golden sleep
doth reign:

Therefore thy earliness

doth me assure

Thou art up-roused by

some distemperature;

Or if not so, then
here I hit it right,

Our Romeo hath not
been in bed to-night.

That 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:

but where hast
thou been, then?

Where on a sudden
one hath wounded me,

That's by me wounded:
both our remedies

Within thy help and
holy physic lies:

I bear no hatred,
blessed man, for, lo,

My intercession
likewise steads my foe.

Be plain, good son,
and homely in

thy drift;

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:

but this I pray, That
thou consent to marry

us to-day.

Holy Saint
Francis, what a

change is here!

Is Rosaline, whom
thou didst love so

dear, So soon forsaken?

young men's love then
lies Not truly in

their hearts, but
in their eyes.

Jesu Maria, what a
deal of brine Hath

wash'd thy sallow
cheeks for Rosaline!

And art thou changed?

pronounce this
sentence then,

Women may fall,
when there's no

strength in men.

Thou chid'st
me oft for

loving Rosaline.

For doting, not
for loving, pupil mine.

And bad'st
me bury love.

Not in a grave,
To lay one in,

another out to have.

I pray thee, chide
not; she whom I love

now Doth grace for
grace and love for

love allow; The
other did not so.

In one respect
I'll thy assistant

be; For this alliance
may so happy prove,

To turn your
households' rancour

to pure love.

The clock struck
nine when I did send

the nurse; In half an
hour she promised

to return.

Perchance she
cannot meet him:

that's not so.

love's heralds should
be thoughts, Which

ten times faster
glide than the

sun's beams,

O God, she comes!

O, she comes!

O honey nurse,
what news?

Hast thou
met with him?

I am a-weary, give
me leave awhile: Fie,

how my bones ache!

what a jaunt have I had!

Nay, come, I pray
thee, speak; good,

good nurse, speak.

Jesu, what haste?

can you not stay awhile?

Do you not see that
I am out of breath?

How art thou out
of breath, when thou

hast breath To say to
me that thou art out

of breath?

Is thy news
good, or bad?

answer to that; Say
either, and I'll stay

the circumstance:
Let me be satisfied,

is't good or bad?

Your love says,
like an honest

gentleman, and a
courteous, and a

kind, and a handsome,
and, I warrant, 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?'

O God's lady dear!

Are you so hot?

marry, come up, I
trow; Henceforward

do your messages yourself.

Oh. Here's such a coil!

come, what says Romeo?

Have you got
leave to go to

church to-morrow?

I have.

For nought so vile
that on the earth

doth live But to the
earth some special

good doth give, Nor
aught so good but

strain'd from that
fair use Revolts from

true birth, stumbling
on abuse: Virtue

itself turns vice,
being misapplied;

Two such opposed foes
encamp them still In

man as well as herbs,
grace and rude will

And where the worser
is predominant

It is she.

And where the worser

is predominant,

Let's go father.

And where
the worser is

predominant, Full
soon the canker death

eats up that plant.

Too swift arrives
as tardy as too slow.

So smile the heavens
upon this holy act,

That after hours with
sorrow chide us not!

Do thou but close
our hands with

holy words, Then
love-devouring death

do what he dare;

(Speaking in Latin)

Amen!

Amen.

Thank you sir.

oh, gold, come
quick, look.

Romeo, the hate 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;

Boy, this shall
not excuse the

injuries That 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 my own,

--be satisfied.

O calm, dishonourable,

vile submission!

Alla stoccata
carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher,

will you walk?

What wouldst
thou have with me?

Good king of cats,

Mercutio!

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, drybeat
the rest of the eight.

Will you pluck your
sword out of his

pitcher by the ears?

make haste, lest mine
be about your ears

ere it be out.

I am for you.

Gentle Mercutio,
put thy rapier up.

Come, sir, your passado.

Draw, Benvolio;
beat down their weapons.

Gentlemen, for shame

Hold, Tybalt!
good Mercutio!

Good Mercutio!

Why the devil
came you between us?

I was hurt
under your arm.

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,

'twill serve:

ask for me to-morrow,

and you shall find
me a grave man.

I am peppered, I warrant,

for this world.

A plague on both
your houses!

O Romeo, Romeo,

brave Mercutio's dead!

Away to heaven,
respective lenity,

And fire-eyed fury
be my conduct now!

Now Tybalt, take the
villain back again,

That late thou gavest
me; for Mercutio's

soul Is but a little
way above our heads,

Staying for thine to
keep him company:

Either thou,
or I, or both,

must go with him.

Thou, wretched boy,

that didst consort
him here,

Shalt with him hence.

Romeo, away, be gone!

The citizens are up,
and Tybalt slain.

Stand not amazed: the
prince will doom thee

death, If thou art
taken: hence, away,

be gone!

O, I am fortune's fool.

Where are the
vile beginners of

this fray?

I can discover all

Tybalt, my cousin!

O my brother's child!

For blood of ours,

shed blood of Montague.

Oh bloody fill
of my dear kin.

Romeo slew Tybalt,
Romeo must not live.

Can heaven
be so envious?

Romeo can, Though
heaven cannot:

O Romeo, Romeo!

Who ever would
have thought it?

Romeo!

Can heaven
be so envious?

Romeo can

Oh God!

did Romeo's hand
shed Tybalt's blood?

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

O serpent heart,

hid with a flowering face!

Despised substance
of divinest show!

Just opposite to what
thou justly seem'st,

A damned saint, an
honourable villain!

O nature, what hadst
thou to do in hell,

When thou didst bower
the spirit of a fiend

In mortal paradise of
such sweet flesh?

There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty

in men; all perjured,
All forsworn, all

naught, all
dissemblers.

Shame come to Romeo!

Will you speak
well of him that

kill'd your cousin?

Shall I speak ill
of him that is

my husband?

Ah, 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?

Romeo that spoke
him fair, bade him

bethink How nice the
quarrel was, and

urged withal Your
high 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's breast,

Who all as hot, turns
deadly point to

point, Romeo he
cries aloud,

'Hold, friends!

friends, part!'

and, swifter than his
tongue, His agile arm

beats down their
fatal points, And

'twixt them rushes;
underneath whose arm

An envious thrust
from Tybalt hit the

life Of stout
Mercutio,

He is a kinsman
to the Montague;

Affection makes him
false; he speaks not

true: Some twenty of
them fought in this

black strife, And all
those twenty could

but kill one life.

I beg for justice,
which thou, prince,

must give; Romeo slew
Tybalt, Romeo must

not live.

Romeo slew him, he
slew Mercutio; Who

then 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.

Mercy but murders,
pardoning those

that kill.

I bring thee
tidings of the

prince's doom.

A gentler judgment
vanish'd from his

lips, Not body's
death, but body's

banishment.

Banishment!

Ha, banishment!

be merciful, say
'death;' For exile

hath more terror in
his look, Much more

than death: do not
say 'banishment.'

Hence from Verona
art thou banished:

Be patient, for the
world is broad

and wide.

There is no world
without Verona walls,

But purgatory,
torture, hell itself.

Heaven is here, Where
Juliet lives; and

every cat and dog And
little mouse, every

unworthy thing, Live
here in heaven and

may look on her; But
Romeo may not: he is

banished: Hadst thou
no poison mix'd, no

sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of

death, though
ne'er so mean,

But 'banished' to kill me?

--'banished'?

Hear me but
speak a word.

Thou canst not
speak of that thou

dost not feel:

Wert thou as young as
I, Juliet thy love,

An hour but married,
Tybalt murdered,

Doting like me and
like me banished,

Then mightst thou speak,

Juliet's nurse.

Shh, shhh, shh.

Leave us.

I come from
Lady Juliet.

Welcome, then.

O holy friar, O,
tell me, holy friar,

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

There on the
ground, with his own

tears made drunk.

O, he is even in
my mistress' case,

Just in her case

Spakest
thou of Juliet?

how is it with her?

Doth she not think me
an old murderer, Now

I have stain'd the
childhood of our joy

With blood removed
but little from

her own?

Where is she?

and how doth she?

and what says My
conceal'd lady to our

cancell'd love?

O, she says
nothing, sir, but

weeps and weeps; And
now falls on her bed;

and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls; and

then on Romeo cries,
And then down

falls again.

Stand up, 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 O?

Art thou a man?

thy form cries out
thou art: Thy tears

are womanish;

Go, get thee to thy
love, as was decreed,

But look thou stay
not till the watch be

set, 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 the prince, and
call thee back With

twenty hundred
thousand times more

joy Than thou went'st
forth in lamentation.

Make haste.

Balthasar.

Thank you my lord.

Romeo!

She's there.

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?

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
yon pomegranate-tree:

Believe me, love, it
was the nightingale.

It was the lark,
the herald of the morn,

Night's candles are
burnt out, and jocund

day Stands tiptoe
on the misty

mountain tops.

I must be gone
and live, or stay

and die.

Yon light is not
day-light, I know it,

I: Therefore stay
yet; thou need'st not

to be gone.

Let me stay here, let
me be ta'en and die;

I am content, so thou
wilt have it so.

I'll say yon grey is
not the morning's

eye, 'Tis but the
pale reflex of

Cynthia's brow; Nor
that is not the lark,

whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so

high above our heads:
I have more care to

stay than will to
go: Come, death,

and welcome!

Juliet wills it so.

How is't, my soul?

let's talk;
it is not day.

It is, it is: hie
hence, be gone, away!

It is the lark that
sings so out of tune,

Straining harsh
discords and

unpleasing sharps.

O, now be gone;
more light and

light it grows.

More light and
light, more dark

and dark it grows

Madam!

Nurse?

The day is broke;
be wary, look about.

Then, window,
let day in,

and let life out.

Farewell, farewell!

one kiss, and
I'll descend.

I must hear from
thee every day in the

hour, For in a minute
there are many days:

I will omit
no opportunity

O 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.

O God, I have an
ill-divining soul!

thou look'st pale.'

And trust me,
love, in my eye so

do you: Dry sorrow
drinks our blood.

Adieu, adieu!

It is late, my lord.

Things have
fall'n out, sir, so

unluckily, That we
have had no time to

move our daughter:
Look you, she loved

her kinsman Tybalt
dearly, And so did

I:--Well, we were
born to die.

These times of woe
afford no time to woo

But, soft!

what day is this?

Monday, my lord,

Monday!

Well, Wednesday is
too soon, O' Thursday

let it be: o'
Thursday, tell her,

She shall be married
to this noble earl.

Will you be ready?

do you like this haste?

We'll keep no great
ado,--a friend or

two; For, hark you,
Tybalt being slain so

late, It may be
thought we held him

carelessly, Being our
kinsman, if we revel

much: Therefore we'll
have some half a

dozen friends,
And there an end.

But what say
you to Thursday?

My lord, I would
that Thursday

were to-morrow.

Senior Paris.

I think she will be
ruled In all respects

by me; nay, more,
I doubt it not.

Why, how now, Juliet!

Madam, I am not well.

Evermore weeping for

your cousin's death?

some grief shows much
of love; But much of

grief shows still
some want of wit.

Yet let me
weep for such a

feeling loss.

Well, girl, thou
weep'st not so much

for his death, As
that the villain

lives which
slaughter'd him.

What villain madam?

That same villain, Romeo.

God Pardon him!

I do, with all my
heart; And yet no

man like he doth
grieve my heart.

O, how my heart
abhors To hear him

named, and cannot
come to him.

To wreak the love
I bore my cousin,

Tybolt, Upon his body
that slaughter'd him!

We will have
vengeance for it,

fear thou not:
Then weep no more.

But now I'll tell
thee joyful tidings,

girl.

And joy comes well
in such a needy time:

What are they,

I beseech your ladyship?

Well, well, thou
hast a careful

father, child; One
who, to put thee from

thy heaviness, Hath
sorted out a sudden

day of joy, That thou
expect'st not nor

I look'd not for.

Madam, in happy time,

what day is that?

Marry, my child,
early next Thursday

morn, The gallant,
rich and noble

gentleman, The County
Paris, at Saint

Peter's Church, Shall
happily make thee

there a joyful bride.

I wonder at this
haste; that I must

wed Ere he, that
should be husband,

comes to woo.

I pray you, tell my
lord and father,

madam, I will not
marry yet; and, when

I do, I swear, It
shall be Romeo, whom

you know I hate,
Rather than Paris.

Tell him so yourself,

And see how he will

take it at your hands.

Do as you will.

For it have done well.

How now, wife!

Have you not told
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 blest, Unworthy

as she is, that we
have wrought So

worthy a gentleman to
be her bridegroom?

Not proud, you
have; but thankful,

that you have: Proud
can I never be of

what I hate; But
thankful even for

hate, that is
meant love.

How now, how
now, chop-logic!

What is this?

'Proud,' and 'I thank
you,' and 'I thank

you not;' And yet
'not proud,' mistress

minion, you, Thank me
no thankings, nor,

proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine

joints 'gainst
Thursday next, To go

with Paris to Saint
Peter's Church, Or I

will drag thee on
a hurdle thither.

You tallow-face

Fie, fie!

what, are you mad?

Good father, I
beseech you on my

knees, Hear me with
patience but to

speak a word.

Hang thee,
young baggage!

disobedient wretch!

I tell thee what: get
thee to church o'

Thursday, Or never
after look me in the

face: Speak not,
reply not, do not

answer me; My
fingers itch.

Wife, we scarce
thought us blest That

God had lent us but
this only child; But

now I see this one
is one too much, And

that we have a curse
in having her:

Out on her, hilding!

God in heaven
bless her!

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.

O, God ye god-den.

May not one speak?

You are too hot

God's bread!

it makes me mad: Day,
night, late, early,

at home, abroud.

Alone, in company,
waking and sleeping.

still my care hath
been To have her

match'd: and having
now provided A

gentleman of princely
parentage, Of fair

demesnes, rich,
and nobly train'd,

Stuff'd, as they
say, with honourable

parts, Proportion'd
as one's thought

would wish a man;
And then to have a

wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in

her fortune's tender,
To answer 'I'll not

wed; I cannot love, I
am too young; I pray

you, pardon me.'

But, as you will not
wed, I'll pardon you:

Look to't, think
on't, I do not use

to jest.

Thursday is near;
lay hand on heart,

advise:

O, sweet my
mother, cast me

not away!

Delay this marriage
for a month, a week;

Talk not to me,
for I'll not speak

a word:

O God!

--O nurse, how shall
this be prevented?

My husband is on
earth, my faith

in heaven;

Alack, alack, that
heaven should

practise stratagems
Upon so soft a

subject as myself!

What say'st thou?

hast thou not
a word of joy?

Some comfort, nurse.

Faith, here it is.

Romeo is banish'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
so stands as now it

doth, I think it best
you married with

the county.

Speakest thou
from thy heart?

And from my soul too;

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 very
heart, I think you

are happy in this
second match, For it

excels your first:

Well, thou
hast comforted me

marvellous much.

Good father pardon,
I beseech you!

Henceforward I am
ever ruled by you.

But now let me go,
having displeased

you, to Laurence'
cell, To make

confession and
to be absolved.

This is
wisely done.

Where is
Friar Laurence?

There.

(Speaking in Latin)

O shut the door!

and when thou hast
done so, Come weep

with me; past hope,
past cure, past help!

(Speaking in Latin)

God join'd my
heart and Romeo's,

thou our hands; And
ere this hand, by

thee to Romeo seal'd,
Shall be the label to

another deed, Or
my true heart with

treacherous revolt
Turn to another, this

shall slay them both:

I do spy a kind of
hope, Which craves as

desperate an execution.

As that is
desperate which we

would prevent.

If, rather than to
marry County Paris,

Thou hast the
strength of will

to slay thyself,

O, bid me leap,
rather than marry

Paris, From off the
battlements of yonder

tower; Or walk in
thievish ways; or

bid me lurk Where
serpents are; chain

me with roaring
bears; Or shut me

nightly in a
charnel-house,

Hold, then;

To-morrow night look
that thou lie alone;

Let not thy nurse lie
in thy chamber: Take

thou this vial, being
then in bed, And this

distilled liquor
drink thou off; When

presently through all
thy veins shall run A

cold and drowsy
humour, for no pulse

Shall keep his
native progress, but

surcease: No warmth,
no breath, shall

testify thou livest;

Each part, deprived
of supple government,

Shall, stiff and
stark and cold,

appear like death:
And in this borrow'd

likeness of shrunk
death Thou shalt

continue two and
forty hours,

Now, when the
bridegroom in the

morning comes To
rouse thee from thy

bed, there art thou
dead: Then, as the

manner of our country
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.

Things that, to
hear them told, have

made me tremble; And
I will do it without

fear or doubt, To
live an unstain'd

wife to
my sweet love.

In the mean time,
against thou shalt

awake, Shall Romeo
by my letter

know our drift,

Then I will watch
thou waking, and

secretely hither to
bring the to this

cell until the
chapter day.

Which we in Mantua
each year do hold

at Easter time.

Wtih all the friars
confused I'll have

its wearing, I'll
bear the hense,

to Romeo.

But tell me, wilt
thou not fear thy

newly entombed
cousin Tybalt?

Give me, give me!

O, tell
not me of fear!

Love give me
strength!

and strength shall
help afford.

Farewell, dear
father!

See where she
comes from shrift

with merry look.

Come.

How now, my
headstrong!

where have you
been gadding?

Where I have
learn'd me to

repent the sin
of disobedient

opposition To you and
your behests, and am

enjoin'd By holy
Laurence to fall

prostrate here, And
beg your pardon:

Why, I am glad
on't; this is well:

stand up: Stand up.

Now, afore God!

this reverend holy
friar, Our whole city

is much bound to him.

To Mantua?

(Speaking in Latin)

Hello there,

this way to Mantua?

Yes father.

There.

Come.

The wedding dress.

Is it not beautiful?

Hie, indeed.

Poor soul, thy
face is much abused

with tears.

The tears have
got small victory by

that; For it was
bad enough before

their spite.

Thou wrong'st it,
more than tears, with

that report.

That is no
slander, sir,

which is a truth;

Hie, father.

This will help
you father.

Holy father,
come quickly.

The man's dying.

The man's dyimg and
wiches to confess.

Hold my
brother's donkey.

OOH, ml letter.

Come, come

What is it
my good man?

Five days he
lies in bed, with a

strange sickness.

His body is
racked with pain.

I fear he dies!

He wants a ftaher
confessor for

his sins.

But will not have
a doctor for ail.

He fears death,
bnut he fears the

doctor more.

Charge will the
soul he may unburden

to one who also
knows of medicine

and be it so.

For body ailments
often mirrows a

sickness of the soul.

But this is plaque!

Water, water.

Water.

Hold, hold
the door.

My letter, my letter,
open up here.

My letter for Romeo!

Nay, nay!

I pray thee,
leave me to my self

to-night, For I have
need of many orisons

To move the heavens
to smile upon my

state, Which, well
thou know'st, is

cross, and
full of sin.

What, are
you busy, ho?

need you my help?

No, madam; we
have cull'd such

necessaries As are
behoveful for our

state to-morrow: So
please you, let me

now be left alone,
And let the nurse

this night sit up
with you; For, I am

sure, you have your
hands full all,

In this so
sudden business.

Good night: Get
thee to bed, and

rest; for thou
hast need.

Farewell

God knows when we
shall meet again.

I have a faint cold
fear thrills through

my veins, That almost
freezes up the heat

of life: I'll call
them back again to

comfort me:

My dismal scene I
needs must act alone

What if this mixture
do not work at all?

Shall I be
married then

to-morrow morning?

What if it be a
poison, which the

friar Subtly hath
minister'd to have me

dead, Lest in this
marriage he should be

dishonour'd, Because
he married me before

to Romeo?

How if, when I am
laid into the tomb,

I wake before the
time the holy

friar come to
redeem me?

Shall I not, then, be
stifled in the vault,

To whose foul mouth
no healthsome air

breathes in,

Or, if I live, is it
not very like, The

horrible conceit of
death and night,

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, yet but
green in earth, Lies

festering in his
shroud; O, look!

methinks I see my
cousin's ghost

Seeking out Romeo,
stay, Tybalt, stay!

Romeo, I come!

this do I
drink to thee.

Hold, take these
keys, and fetch more

They call for
dates and quinces

in the pastry.

What, ho!

What, nurse, I say!

Go waken Juliet, go
and trim her up;

Mistress!

why, mistress!

Juliet!

fast, I warrant her,
she: Why, lamb!

why, lady! fie,

you slug-a-bed!

What, not a word

She's dead, She's
dead, She's dead!

If I may trust the
flattering truth of

sleep, My dreams
presage some joyful

news at hand: My
bosom's lord sits

lightly on his
throne; And all this

day an unaccustom'd
spirit Lifts me above

the ground with
cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came
and found me dead--

Strange dream, that
gives a dead man

leave to think!

-- And breathed such
life with kisses in

my lips, That I
revived, and was

an emperor.

Ah me!

how sweet is love
itself possess'd,

When but love's
shadows are so

rich in joy!

Welcome Balthasar.

News from Verona!

--How now, Balthasar!

Dost thou not bring
me letters from

the friar?

How doth my lady?

Is my father well?

How fares my Juliet?

that I ask again; For
nothing can be ill,

if she be well.

Then she is well,
and nothing can

be ill:

O, pardon me for
bringing these ill

news, Since you did
leave it for my

office, sir.

Ill news I sense?

Her body sleeps in
Capel's monument, And

her immortal part
with angels lips.

I saw this and
presently took post

to tell it you:

I do beseech you,
sir, have patience:

Your looks are pale
and wild,

and do import Some
misadventure.

Tush, thou
art deceived:

Hast thou no letters
to me from the friar?

No, my good lord.

No matter:
get thee gone,

then I defy
you, stars!

My lord.

No, no my
good lord!

Well, Juliet,
I will lie with

thee to-night.

Friar Laurence?

But he is morning
at a funeral.

where?

At the main church.

Death lies on her
like an untimely

frost Upon the
sweetest flower of

all the field.

O lamentable day!

But one, poor one,
one poor and loving

child, But one thing
to rejoice and solace

in, And cruel death
hath catch'd it from

my sight!

Confusion's
cure lives not In

these confusions.

Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair

maid; now heaven hath
all, And all the

better is it
for the maid:

Sir, go you in; and,
madam, go with him;

The heavens do lour
upon you for some

ill; Move them no
more by crossing

their high will.

Nurse.

Holy
Franciscan friar!

brother, ho!

Welcome from Mantua:

what says Romeo?

I could
not find him.

The searchers of
the town, suspecting

that I was in a house
where the infectious

pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors,

and would not let us
forth; So that my

speed to Mantua
there was stay'd.

Who bare my
letter, then,

to Romeo?

I could not send
it,--here it is

again,-- Nor get a
messenger to bring it

thee, So fearful were
they of infection.

Unhappy fortune.

By my brotherhood,
The letter was not

nice but full of
charge of dear

import, and the
neglecting it may

do much danger.

Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow,

and bring it straight
unto my cell.

Stop thy
unhallow'd toil,

vile Montague!

Can vengeance be
pursued further

than death?

Condemned villain, I
do apprehend thee:

Obey, and go with me;
for thou must die.

I must indeed;
and therefore

came I hither.

Good gentle youth,
tempt not a

desperate man;

I beseech thee,
youth, Put not

another sin upon my
head, By urging me

to fury: O, be gone!

Stay not, be gone;
live, and hereafter

say, A madman's mercy
bade thee run away.

I do defy thy
conjurations,

And apprehend thee
for a felon here.

If thou be
merciful,

Open the tomb,

lay me with Juliet.

In faith, I will.

What said my man,
when my betossed soul

Did not attend him

I think he told me
Paris should have

married Juliet:
Said he not so?

or did I dream it so?

Or am I mad, hearing
him talk of Juliet,

To think it was so?

O, give me thy hand,
One writ with me

I'll bury thee in a
triumphant grave;

How oft when men are
at the point of death

Have 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 breath, Hath had
no power yet upon

thy beauty:

Thou art not
conquer'd; beauty's

ensign yet Is crimson
in thy lips and in

thy cheeks, And
death's pale flag is

not advanced there.

Tybalt, liest thou
there in thy

bloody sheet?

O, what more favour
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; And never from
this palace of dim

night depart again:

here, here
will I remain

And shake the yoke of
inauspicious stars

From this
world-wearied flesh.

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!

Come, bitter
conduct, come,

unsavoury guide!

Thou desperate pilot,
now at once run on

the dashing rocks thy
sea-sick weary bark!

Oh.

Romeo,

Romeo!

ROMEO!

Romeo

O, pale

O comfortable
friar!

where is my lord?

I do remember well
where I should be,

And there I am.

Where is my Romeo?

Lady, come from
that nest Of death,

contagion, and
unnatural sleep:

Come, come.

A greater power than
we can contradict

hath thwarted
our intents.

Come, come away.

Come, go,
good Juliet,

I dare no
longer stay.

Thy lips are warm.

This is thy sheath;

there rust,
and let me die.

O me!

this sight of death
is as a bell, that

warns my old age
to a sepulchre.

O thou untaught!

what manners
is in this?

To press before thy
father to a grave?

Capulet!

Montague!

See, what a scourge
is laid upon your

hate, That heaven
finds means to kill

your joys with love.

O brother Montague,

give me thy hand.

A glooming peace
this morning with it

brings; The sun, for
sorrow, will not

show his head:

Go hence, to have
more talk of these

sad things; Some
shall be pardon'd,

and some punished:

For never was a story
of more woe than this

of Juliet and
her Romeo.

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