All language subtitles for Romeo + Juliet

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

doth 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.

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.

A dog of the house of Capulet moves me!

Pedlar's excrement!

King Urinal! Go rot!

The boys! The boys!

- The quarrel is between our masters.
- And us their men!

Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble!

And I am a pretty piece of flesh!

I am...

a pretty piece of flesh!

- Here comes of the house of Capulet!
- Quarrel, I will back thee.

I will bite my thumb at them, which is
a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

Go forth! I will back thee!

- Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
- I... I do bite my thumb, sir.

Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

- Is the law of our side if I say ay?
- No!

No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir,
but I bite my thumb, sir!

- Do you quarrel, sir?
- Quarrel, sir? No, sir!

But if you do, sir, I am for you.
I serve as good a man as you.

No better?

Here comes our kinsman. Say better!

- Yes, sir, better!
- You lie!

Draw, if you be men!

Part, fools! You know not what you do.

Put up your Swords!

What, art thou drawn among these... heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio,

and look upon thy death.

I do but keep the peace.

Put up thy Sword,

or manage it to part these men with me.

Peace?

Peace?

I hate the word...

as I hate hell,

all Montagues,

and thee.

Bang bang!

Bang.

- Come forth! Come!
- Wait!

Come forth!

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny...

Do not proceed!

Give me my Longsword, ho!

Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.

Rebellious subjects,

enemies to peace!

Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground!

On pain of torture,

from those bloody hands throw your
mistemper'd weapons to the ground!

Three civil brawls,

bred of an airy word by thee, old Capulet, 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.

O where is Romeo? Saw you him today?

Right glad I am he was not at this fray.

Madam, underneath the Grove of Sycamore,

so early walking did I see your son.

Many a morning hath he there been seen,

with tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew.

Away from light steals home my heavy son,

and private in his chamber pens himself,

shuts up his windows,

locks fair daylight out,
and makes himself an artificial night.

Why, then...

O brawling love, O loving hate!

O anything of nothing first create!

Heavy lightness,

serious vanity.

Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms.

Black and portentous must this humor prove...

unless good counsel may the cause remove.

So please you, step aside.

I'll know his grievance or be much denied.

Come, madam, let's away.

Good morrow, cousin.

Is the day so young?

But new struck, coz.

Ay me, sad hours seem long.

Was that my father that went hence so fast?

It was.

What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Not having that which having makes them short.

- In love?
- Out.

- Of love?
- Out of her favor 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.

Where shall we dine?

This costly blood.

Never anger made good guard for itself.

The law hath not been dead...

O me! What fray was here?

- Coz, I...
- Yet tell me not, for I've heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.

Why, then, O brawling love, O loving hate!

O anything of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness, serious vanity!

Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!

Feather of lead, br...

Dost thou not laugh?

No, coz, I rather weep.

Good heart, at what?

- At thy good heart's oppression.
- Farewell, my coz.

Soft, I will go along. And if you
leave me so, you do me wrong.

But Montague is bound as well as I, in penalty alike.

And 'tis not hard, I think, for men
as old as we to keep the peace.

Of honorable reckoning are you both,
and pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.

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.

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.

This night I hold an old accustom'd feast.

At my poor house look to behold this night

fresh female buds that make dark heaven light.

Hear all, all see,

and like her most whose merit most shall be.

Come, go with me.

Tell me in sadness, who is it that you love?

In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

I aim'd so near when I supposed you loved.

A right good marksman! And she's fair I love.

A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Well, in that hit you miss.
She'll not be hit with Cupid's arrow;

nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,

nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.

Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?

She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste.

- Be ruled by me. Forget to think of her.
- Teach me how I should forget to think.

By giving liberty unto thine eyes. Examine other beauties.

Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Not mad, but bound more than a madman is.

Shut up in prison, kept without
my food, whipp'd and tormented.

Good day, good fellow.

Now, I'll tell you without asking.

The great rich Capulet holds an old accustom'd feast.

A fair assembly. Signor Placentio
and his wife and daughters,

the lady widow of Utruvio,
and her lovely nieces Rosaline...

At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
sups the fair Rosaline,

whom thou so loves,
with all the admired beauties of Verona.

If you be not of the House of Montague,
come and crush a cup of wine!

Go thither, and with unattainted eye

compare her face with some that I shall show,

and I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,

but to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

Juliet!

Juliet!

Juliet!

Juliet!

Nurse!

Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.

I bade her come. God forbid!

Julieta!

Juliet!

Juliet!

Juliet!

Madam, I am here. What is your will?

O nurse, give us leave awhile. We must talk in secret.

Nurse, come back again! I have remembered me.

Thou's hear our counsel.

Nurse, thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed.

By my count, I was your mother much upon these years.

You are now a maid.

Thus then in brief!

The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

A man, young lady!

Lady, such a man 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, a very flower...

Nurse!

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.

This... precious book of love, this unbound lover,

to beautify him, only lacks a cover.

So shall you share all that he doth possess,

by having him making yourself no less.

Nay, bigger. Women grow by men.

Speak briefly, can you like of Paris's love?

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

But no more deep will I end art mine eye

than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Madam, the guests are come.

Go!

We follow thee.

Juliet!

Go, girl. Seek happy nights to happy days.

You taffeta punk!

Die a beggar!

Sharing this one and only life.

Ending up just another lost and lonely wife.

You count up the years.

And they will be filled with tears.

Young hearts.

Run free.

Never be hung up.

Like Rosaline and thee.

Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.

Not I. Not I, believe me.

You have dancing shoes with
nimble soles. I have a soul of lead.

You are a lover.

Borrow Cupid's wings and soar
with them above a common bound.

Under love's heavy burden do I sink.

Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,

too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

Every man, betake him to his legs!

Come, we burn daylight, ho!

- But 'tis no wit to go!
- Why, may one ask?

- I dreamt a dream tonight.
- And so did I.

- And what was yours?
- That dreamers often lie.

In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.

O! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.

She is the fairies' midwife,

and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate-stone

on the forefinger of an alderman,

drawn with a team of little atomies

over men's noses as they lie asleep.

Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,

her waggoner a small grey-coated gnat.

And in this state she gallops
night by night through lovers' brains,

and then they dream of...

love;

o'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees.

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

and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats;

and, being thus frighted, swears
a prayer or two, and sleeps again.

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!

Peace, good Mercutio, peace!

Thou talk'st of nothing.

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 aside to the dew-dropping south.

This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves!

Supper is done, and we shall come 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 within my breast...

by some vile forfeit of untimely death.

But he that hath the steerage of my course

direct my sail!

On, lusty gentlemen!

Thy drugs are quick.

I have seen the day that I could tell

a whispering tale in a fair lady's ear
such as would please.

Amore! Amore!

Amore...

Pride can stand a thousand trials.

The strong will never fall.

But watching stars without you.

My soul cried.

Heaving heart.

Is full of pain.

Oh, oh.

The aching.

Cos I'm kissing you.

Oh

I'm kissing you.

Madam, your mother calls!

Touch me deep.

Pure and true.

Will you now deny to dance?

A man, young lady. Such a man!

What!

Dares that slave come hither
to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?

Now, by the stock and honor of my kin,
to strike him dead I hold it not a sin!

Why, how now, kinsman! Wherefore storm you so?

Uncle, this is that villain Romeo. A Montague, our foe.

- Romeo is it?
- 'Tis he.

Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone.

I would not for the wealth of all this town

here in my house do him disparagement.

Therefore be patient, take no note of him.

Uncle, I'll not endure him.

He shall be endured.

Go to!

What, Goodman boy? I say he shall!

Go to!

Uncle, 'tis a shame.

Make a mutiny among my guests?

Did my heart love till now?

Forswear it, sight.

For I never saw true beauty till this night.

Where are you now?

Where are you now?

Cos I'm kissing you.

I'm kissing you now.

If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine,

the gentle sin 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.

Well, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.

Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.

Dave!

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.

You kiss by the book.

Juliet! Juliet! Oh!

Juliet?

Juliet!

Madam, your mother craves a word with you.

Come, let's away!

Is she a Capulet?

His name is Romeo, and he's a Montague,

the only son of your great enemy.

Away, be gone. The sport is at its best.

Ay, so I fear. The more is my unrest.

I am a pretty piece of flesh!

I am a pretty piece of flesh!

I am a pretty piece of flesh! I am!

My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
that I must love a loathed enemy.

I will withdraw.

But this intrusion shall, now seeming sweet,

convert to bitterest gall.

A pretty piece of flesh! I am!

A pretty piece of...

Romeo!

- Romeo!
- Romeo!

Romeo!

Humors! Madman!

Passion! Lover!

I will conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes,

by her high forehead and her scarlet lip,

by her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh!

O Romeo, that she were an open-ass and thou a poperin pear!

He jests at scars that never felt the wound.

Romeo!

Good night!

I'll to my truckle-bed.
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.

But soft!

What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east,

and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

who is already sick and pale with grief

that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid, since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
and none but fools do wear it.

O cast it off!

It is my lady, it is my love.

O that she knew she were.

Ay me!

She speaks.

Speak again, bright angel.

Romeo.

O 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's Montague?

It is not 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 word 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 thy name, which is
no part of thee, take all myself.

I take thee at thy word.

Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?

Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.

How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?

The garden walls are high and hard to climb,

and the place death, considering who thou art.

With love's light wings did I o'erperch 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!

If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

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

But thou love me,

let them find me here.

My life were better ended by their hate
than death prorogued,

wanting of thy love.

Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face;

else would a maiden blush be paint my cheek

for that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.

Fain would I dwell on form,

fain, fain deny what I have spoke.

But... farewell compliment.

Dost thou love me?

I know thou wilt say "Ay", and I will take thy word.

Yet, if thou swear'st, thou may'st prove false.

O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.

Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,

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 which is the god of my idolatry,

and I'll believe thee.

If my heart's...

dear love...

Do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
I have no joy in this contract tonight.

It is too rash, too unadvised,
too sudden, too like the lightning,

which doth cease to be ere one can say "It lightens".

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!

O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?

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

I gave thee mine before thou didst request it!

Juliet!

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.

Julieta!

Ay! By and by, I come!

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

- Juliet!
- By and by, I come!

To cease thy strife, and leave me to my grief.

Tomorrow will I send.

So thrive my soul.

A thousand times good night.

A thousand times the worse, to want thy light!

Juliet!

Julieta!

Good night.

Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books;

but love from love,

toward school with heavy looks.

Romeo!

What o'clock tomorrow shall I send to thee?

By the hour of nine.

I will not fail. 'Tis twenty year till then.

Good night.

Good night. Good night.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Juliet!

You and me always.

And for ever.

You and me always.

And for ever.

It was always you and me...

Almighty is the powerful grace
that lies in plants, herbs, stones,

and their true qualities.

For nought so vile that on the earth doth live

but to the earth some special good doth give.

And nought so good but strained from that fair use

revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.

Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,

and vice sometime's by action dignified.

Within the infant rind of this... weak flower...

poison is resident...

and medicine power.

For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part.

Being tasted,

slays all senses with the heart.

Two such opposed kings encamp them still
in man as well as herbs,

grace and rude will.

And where the worser is predominant,
full soon the canker death

eats up that plant.

Good morrow, Father!

Benedicite!

What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?

Good morrow, Romeo.

Good morrow.

Young son, it argues a distemper'd head

so soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.

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

Our Romeo hath not seen his bed tonight!

The last is true - the sweeter rest was mine.

God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?

Rosaline? My ghostly father, no!

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

That's my good son. But where then hast thou been?

I have been feasting with mine enemy,
where on a sudden one hath wounded me

that's by me wounded.

Both our remedies within thy help and holy physic lies.

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.

We met, we wooed,

we made exchange of vow.

I'll tell thee as we pass, but this I pray,

that thou consent to marry us today.

Holy Saint Francis!

What a change is here!

Is Rosaline, that thou didst love
so dear, so soon forsaken?

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

Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

I pray thee...

chide me not!

Her I love now doth grace for grace
and love for love allow.

The other did not so.

Yes, she well knew...

thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.

Maybe I'm just like my mother.

She's never satisfied.

For this alliance may so happy prove

to turn your households' rancor

to pure love.

This is what it sounds like.

When doves cry.

Come, young waverer, come, go with me.

In one respect I'll thy assistant be.

For this alliance may so happy prove

to turn your households' rancor to pure love.

O let us hence! I stand on sudden haste!

Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.

Maybe I'm just too demanding.

Maybe I'm just like my father, too bold.

Maybe I'm just like my mother.

She's never satisfied.

Why do we scream at each other?

This is what it sounds like.

This is what it sounds like.

This is what it sounds like.

Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home tonight?

Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,

torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

Tybalt 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.

Well, 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 butt-shaft!

And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?

- Why, what is Tybalt?
- More than Prince of Cats.

He is the courageous captain of compliments!

He fights as you sing prick song.

Keeps time, distance, and proportion.

He rests his minim rests.

One, two, and a third...

in your bosom.

The very butcher of a silk button.

A duelist.

A duelist! A gentleman of the very first house,

of the first and second cause.

The immortal pass a do!

The punto reverso!

The, um... hai!

The what?

Here comes Romeo.

Romeo!

Ho-ho, taffeta punk!

Signor Romeo, bonjour!

There's a French salutation to your French slop.

You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.

Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive?

Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great

and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

That's as much as to say,

such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams!

- Meaning to curtsy?
- Thou hast most kindly hit it.

- A most courteous exposition.
- Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

- Pink for flower?
- Right.

Why, then is my pump well flowered!

O sure wit!

Now art thou sociable. Now art thou Romeo!

Now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature!

Here's goodly gear!

God ye good e'en, fair gentlewoman.

I desire some confidence with you.

A bawd!

A bawd, a bawd, a bawd!

So ho! So ho!

Romeo!

Romeo!

Will you come to your father's?

We'll to dinner thither.

I will follow you.

Farewell, ancient lady! Farewell!

If ye should lead her in a fool's paradise, as they say,

it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say.

For the lady is young

and, therefore, if you should deal double with her,

truly it were an ill thing, and very weak dealing.

Bid her to come to confession this afternoon

and there she shall,
at Friar Laurence's cell, be shrived...

and married.

Love me, love me.

Say that you love me.

Fool me, fool me.

Go on and fool me.

Love me, love me.

Pretend that you love me

O honey nurse! What news?

- Nurse!
- I am a weary! Give me leave awhile!

Fie, how my bones ache!

What ajaunce have I!

Would thou hadst my bones and I thy news.

Come, I pray thee, speak!

Jesu, what haste! Can you not stay awhile?

Can 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 the news good or bad? Answer to that.

Well, you have made a simple choice.

You know not how to choose a man.

Romeo? No, not he.

Though his face be better than any man's,

yet his leg excels all men's,

and for a hand and a foot and a body...

But all this I did know before.
What says he of our marriage?

What of that?

Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I!

And my back!

T'other side!

Oh, my back!

In faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.

Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse!

Tell me, what says my love?

Thy 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 your mother?"

How oddly thou repliest!

Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
"Where is your mother?"

God's Lady dear! Are you so hot?
Henceforth, do your messages yourself!

O here's such a coil! Come, what says Romeo?

Have you got leave to go to confession today?

I have.

Then hie you hence to Father Laurence' cell.

There stays a husband to make you a wife!

Everybody's free to feel good.

To feel good.

Brother and sister.

Together we'll make it through.

Oh-oh, yeah.

Someday a spirit will take you and guide you there.

I know you've been hurting.

But I've been waiting to be there for you.

And I'll be there just helping you out.

Whenever I can.

Everybody's free.

Everybody's free.

Oh, yeah.

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 his own deliciousness.

Therefore love moderately.

Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

Oh, to feel good.

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

The day is hot, the Capels are abroad,

and if we meet we shall not 'scape a brawl,

for now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

We're the Caps!

See? Thou art like one of these fellows...

that, when he enters the confines of a tavern,

claps me his Sword upon the table

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

And, by the operation of the second cup,

draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

Yeah!

Am I like such a fellow?

Thou art as hot ajack in thy mood as any in Verona.

By my head, here come the Capulets.

By my heel... I care not.

Follow me close.

Gentlemen, good day. A word with one of you?

And but one word with one of us?

Couple it with something.

Make it a word and a...

a blow!

You shall find me apt enough to that, sir,

and you will give me occasion.

Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Mercutio!

Thou, uh... consortest with Romeo?

Consort!

What, dost thou make us minstrels?

And thou make minstrels of us,
look to hear nothing but discords!

Here's my fiddle stick!

Here's that shall make you dance! Zounds! Consort!

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.

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

Peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man.

Mercutio!

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 me not.

Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
that thou hast done me!

Turn and draw!

Turn and draw!

Turn and draw.

- 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,

whose name I tender as dearly as mine own...

be satisfied.

Be satisfied.

O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!

Thou art my soul's hate!

Tybalt!

You rat-catcher!

Will you walk?

What wouldst thou have with me?

Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives!

I am for you!

Forbear this outrage, good Mercutio!

- Art thou hurt?
- Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch.

A scratch!

Ay, a scratch...

A scratch!

Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much.

'Twill serve.

Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man.

A plague... o' both your houses!

They have made worms' meat of me.

A plague on both your houses!

Your houses! Your houses!

No!

Why the devil came you between us?

I was hurt under your arm.

I thought all for the best!

A plague o' both your houses.

No! No!

Come forth!

Come forth!

Mercutio!

Requiem aeternam.

Requiem aeternam.

Dona eis.

No!

Come, gentle night.

Come, loving, black-browed night. Give me my Romeo.

And when I shall die, take him
and cut him out in little stars

and he will make the face of heaven so fine

that all the world will be in love with night

and pay no worship to the garish sun.

O, I have bought the mansion of a love

but not possessed it;

and though I am sold, not yet enjoyed.

So... tedious is this day...

as is the night before some festival to an impatient child

that hath new robes and may not wear them.

Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads,

staying for thine to keep him company!

Thou wretched boy shalt with him hence!

Either thou, or I,

or both, must go with him!

Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him!

Either thou,

or I, or both, must go with him!

I am fortune's fool!

Romeo!

Away, be gone! Stand not amazed!

Away!

Romeo!

Tybalt!

Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

Romeo he cries aloud, "Hold, friends!"

Tybalt hit the life of stout Mercutio.

Tybalt here slain...

Romeo's hand did slay.

Prince!

As thou art true,

for blood of ours, shed blood of Montague!

Romeo... spoke him fair,

could not take truce with the unruly spleen of Tybalt...

deaf to peace.

He is a kinsman to the Montague. Affection makes him false!

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 offence immediately we do exile him.

Noble Prince...

I will be deaf to pleading and excuses!

Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses!

Therefore use none!

Let Romeo hence in haste!

Else, when he is found, that hour is his last!

Romeo is banished!

Banishment...

Be merciful, say death.

For exile hath more terror in his look,
much more than death.

Do not say banishment.

Affliction is enamored of thy parts,
and thou art wedded to calamity.

Hence from Verona art thou banished.

Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

There is no world without Verona walls.

Hence banished is banish'd from
the world, and world's exile is death.

Then banished is death mister med.

Calling death banished, thou cutt'st
my head off with a golden axe

and smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!

This is dear mercy and thou seest it not.

Hence!

- I come from my lady Juliet!
- Welcome, then.

Where is my lady's lord?

Romeo, come forth.

- Ah, sir.
- Nurse.

Ah, sir.

Death's the end of all.

Speakest thou of Juliet?

Where is she and how doth she?

And what says my concealed lady to our cancelled love?

O she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps.

And then on Romeo cries, and then falls down again.

As if that name, shot from the deadly level of a gun,

did murder her, as that name's
cursed hand murdered her kinsman!

I thought thy disposition better tempered.

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.

Wherefore railest thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth,

since birth, and heaven, and earth,
all three do meet in thee at once?

Sir, a ring my lady bid me give you.

How well my comfort is revived by this.

Go.

Get thee to thy love, as was decreed.

Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her.

Hie you! Make haste!

But look thou... stay not till the watch be set,

for then thou canst not pass to Mantua,

where thou wilt 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.

Quick, hence! Be gone by break of day!

Sojourn in Mantua!

Farewell.

O God!

Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!

Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound?

O that deceit should dwell in such a gorgeous palace!

She'll not come down tonight.

These times of woe afford no time to woo.

Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly.

And so did I.

Well,

we were born to die.

I'll know her mind early tomorrow.
Tonight she's mewed up to her heaviness.

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 whyfore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?

I'm kissing you.

Cos I'm kissing you, o-oh.

I'm kissing you.

I will make a desperate tender of my child's love.

I think she will be ruled in all respects by me.

Nay, more! I doubt it not!

But what say you to Thursday?

My lord, I...

I would that Thursday were tomorrow!

Thursday let it be, then! Wife!

Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed.

Tell her o' Thursday she shall
be married to this noble sir!

Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.

I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Yon light is not daylight; I know it, I.

It is some meteor that the sun exhales
to light thee on thy way to Mantua.

Therefore stay yet; Thou need'st not be gone.

Well, let me be taken.

Let me be put to death!

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!

O now be gone! More light and light it grows.

More light and light,

more dark and dark our woes.

Madam!

Your lady mother is coming to your chamber!

Ho, daughter, are you up?

Then, window,

let day in and let life...

out!

Juliet?

- Think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
- I doubt it not.

Trust me, love. All these woes
shall serve for sweet discourses

- in our times to come.
- Ho, daughter!

Juliet!

O God!

I have an ill-divining soul!

Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,

as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

Adieu!

O fortune, fortune!

Be fickle, fortune.

For then I hope thou wilt not
keep him long, but send him back.

Thou hast a careful father, child.

One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,

hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,

which thou expect'st not, nor I looked not for.

Madam, in happy time. What day is that?

Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,

the gallant, young, and noble gentleman, Sir 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!

Here comes your father. Tell him so yourself.

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.

How?

Will she none?

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 bride?

Not proud you have, but thankful that you have.

Proud can I never be of what I hate!

Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds!

But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next!

Hear me with patience but to speak a word!

No!

Fie, fie! Stop it!

Speak not! Reply not! Do not answer me!

Husband, are you mad?

Hang thee, young baggage! Disobedient wretch!

God in heaven bless her! You are
to blame, my lord, to rate her so!

Peace, you mumbling fool!

I tell thee what.

Get thee to church o' Thursday,

or never after look me in the face!

An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend.

An you be not, hang, beg, starve,

die in the streets!

Trust to't. Bethink you.

I'll not be forsworn!

O sweet my mother, cast me not away!

Delay this marriage for a month, a week.

Or, if you do not,

make the bridal bed in that dim monument where Tybalt lies.

Talk not to me...

for I'll not speak a word.

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

O God!

O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?

What say'st thou? Hast thou not
a word of joy? Some comfort, Nurse!

Faith, here it is.

I think it best you marry with this Paris.

O he's a lovely gentleman.

I think you are happy in this second match,

for it excels your first.

Or, if it did not,

your first is dead.

Or 'twere as good he were

as living here and you no use to him.

Speakest thou from thy heart?

And from my soul too; 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 Friar Laurence to make confession and be absolved.

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death.

Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous

that she doth give her sorrow so much sway

and in his wisdom hastes our marriage
to stop the inundation of her tears.

Happily met, my lady and my wife.

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

That "may be" must be, love, on Thursday next.

- What must be shall be.
- Well, that's a certain text.

Come you to make confession?

Are you at leisure, holy Father, now,
or shall I come to you at evening mass?

My leisure serves thee, pensive daughter, now.

Good sir, we must entreat the time alone.

God shield I should disturb devotion!

Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye.

Till then adieu,

and keep this holy kiss.

Tell me not, Father, that thou he a rest of this,

- unless thou tell me how I may prevent it!
- It strains me past the compass of my wits!

If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,

do thou but call my resolution wise.

- And with this, I'll help it presently!
- Hold, daughter!

Be not so long to speak! I long to die!

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 with this Paris,

thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself,

then it is likely thou wilt undertake a thing like death

to chide away this shame.

And, if thou darest,

I'll give thee remedy.

No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest.

Each part, deprived of supple government,

shall stiff and stark and cold appear, like death.

Now, when the bridegroom in the morning
comes to rouse thee from thy bed,

there art thou dead.

Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault

where all the kindred of the Capulets lie.

And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death

thou shalt continue four and twenty 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 that very night
to bear thee both hence to Mantua.

Take thou this vial, being then in bed,

and this distilling liquor drink thou off.

I'll send my letters to thy lord post haste to Mantua.

Hello?

What if this mixture do not work at all?

Shall I be married then tomorrow morning?

- What, are you busy? Need you my help?
- No, madam.

We have culled such necessaries
as are behoveful for our estate tomorrow.

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.

Good night.

Romeo,

I drink to thee.

Requiem...

As the custom is, in all her best array,
bear her to church.

And all this day an unaccustomed spirit

lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead

and breathed such life with kisses
in my lips that I revived

and was an emperor.

Ah, me!

How sweet is love itself possessed,

when but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

News from Verona!

How now, Balthasar?

Dost thou not bring me letters from the priest?

How doth my lady? Is my father well?

How doth my lady Juliet?
For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.

Her body rests in chapel monument,

and her immortal part with the angels lives.

I saw her laid low.

Pardon me for bringing these ill news.

Is it e'en so?

Then I defy you, stars!

Juliet!

Juliet!

- I will hence tonight.
- Have patience!

Leave me!

Your looks are pale and wild
and do import some misadventure.

Tush! Thou art deceived!

Hast thou no letters to me from the priest?

No matter.

Well, Juliet,

I will lie with thee tonight.

I will hence tonight.

Romeo is within Verona walls.

Fear comes upon me!

O, much I fear

some ill, unthrifty thing!

The letter was of dear import!

I couldn't send it, nor get a messenger to bring it thee.

The neglecting it may do much damage.

Bring forth these enemies, Capulet and Montague!

Let me have a dram of poison,

such soon-speeding gear as will
disperse itself through all the veins

that the life-weary taker may fall dead.

Such mortal drugs I have, but Verona law
is death to any he that utters them.

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law!

Then be not poor, but break it

and take this!

My poverty but not my will consents.

I pay thy poverty and not thy will.

Drink it off,

and if you had the strength of 20 men,
it would dispatch you straight.

There's my gold.

Worse poison to men's souls

than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell.

Romeo hath no notice of these accidents.

I will write again to Mantua.

Within the hour will the fair Juliet wake.

She stirs. The lady stirs.

- I do beseech you.
- Live and be prosperous.

And farewell, good fellow.

Then I will leave thee.

Tempt not a desperate man!

Hold! Hold!

Hold!

Once more I say to you, hold!

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

and death's pale flag is not advanced there.

Dear Juliet, why art thou yet so fair?

Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous

and keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?

Here.

O, here will I set up my everlasting rest

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 to breath...

seal with a righteous kiss...

a dateless bargain

to engrossing death.

Romeo...

What's here?

Poison...

Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?

I'll kiss thy lips.

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them.

Thy lips are warm.

Thus...

with a kiss...

I die.

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,

that heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

And I, 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.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.

Some shall be pardoned, and some punished.

For never was a story of more woe
than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Wake.

From your sleep.

The drying of.

Your tears.

Today.

We escape.

We escape.

Pack.

And get dressed.

Before your father.

Hears us.

Before.

All hell.

Breaks loose.

Breathe.

Keep breathing.

Don't lose.

Your nerve.

Breathe.

Keep breathing.

I can't do this.

Alone.

Sing us a song.

A song to keep us warm.

There's.

Such a chill.

Such a chill.

You can laugh.

A spineless laugh.

We hope.

Your rules.

And wisdom.

Choke you.

Now.

We are one.

In everlasting peace.

We hope.

That you choke.

That you choke.

We hope.

That you choke.

That you choke.

We hope.

That you choke.

That you choke