All language subtitles for Ldromeo.and.juliet.1954.720p.Eng

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

your pernicious rage
With purple fountains

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

in prayer.

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

give again.

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!