The Complete Works of Shakespeare

Edg. By nursing them, my lord.-List a brief tale:

And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would

burst!

The bloody proclamation to escape

That follow'd me so near (O our lives' sweetness!

That we the pain of death would hourly die,
Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious stones new lost; became his
guide,

Led him, beggd for him, sav'd him from despair;
Never (O fault) reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd;
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him our pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!)
Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.

Edm This speech of yours hath mov'd me, And shall, perchance, do good: but speak you

on;

You look as you had something more to say.

Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in; For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this.

Edy.
This would have seem'd a period
To such as love not sorrow; but another,
To amplify too much, would make much more,
And top extremity.

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there in a man,
Who, having seen me in my worse estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet sounded,
And there I left him tranc'd.
Alb.
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in
disguise

But who was this?

Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service Improper for a slave.

Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. Gent. Help! help! O help!

Edg.

Alb.

What kind of help? Speak, man. Edg. What means this bloody knife? Gent. "Tis hot, it smokes; It came even from the heart of-O she's dead. Alb. Who dead? speak, man.

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister By her is poison'd; she confesses it.

Edm. I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant.

Edg.

Here comes Kent.

Kent.

I am come

Enter LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms: EDGAR, Officer, and others.

Lear. Howl, howl, howl!-O, you are men of stones;

Had I your tongues and eyes I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack:-She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth :-Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why then she lives.
Kent.
Is this the promis'd end?
Edg. Or image of that horror?
Alb.
Fall and cease!
Lear. This feather stirs; she lives; if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent.

O my good master! [Kneeling. Lear. Prithee, away.

Edg.

"Tis noble Kent, your friend. Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors

all!

I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion I would have made them skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me.-Who are you? Mine eyes are not o' the best; - I'll tell you

straight.

Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated, One of them we behold.

Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? Kent. The same; Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius ?

KING Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too: He's dead and

rotten.

Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man ;-
Lear. I'll see that straight.

Kent. That, from your first of difference and
decay,

Have follow'd your sad steps.

Lear.
You are welcome hither.
Kent. Nor no man else; all's cheerless, dark,
and deadly.-

Your eldest daughters have fore-done themselves,
And desperately are dead.

Lear.

Ay, so I think.

Edg.
He faints! My lord, my lord -
Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break!
Edg.
Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost! O, let him pass! he
hates him

Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is That would upon the rack of this tough world That we present us to him.

Edg.

Very bootless.

Enter an Officer.

Off. Edmund is dead, my lord.

AU.
That's but a trifle here.-
You lords, and noble friends, know our intent.
What comfort to this great decay may come
Shall be applied: For us, we will resign,
During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power:-You, to your rights;
[To EDGAR and KENT.
With boot, and such addition as your honours
Have more than merited.-All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings.-O, see, see!

Stretch him out longer.

Edg.

He is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life.

Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present busi

ness

Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain,
[To KENT and EDGAR
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain.
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls me,-I must not say, no.

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey;
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

[Exeunt with a dead march,

ROMEO & JULIET

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

SCENE.-During the greater part of the play. in Verona; once (in the Fifth Act) at Mantua.

PROLOGUE.

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 misadventur'd 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.

SCENE L-A public place.

ACT I.

when I have fought with the men, I will be civil Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with swords with the maids, and cut off their heads.

and bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. Sre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, if we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.

Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves ine. Gre. To move is to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand; therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. "Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant:

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sum. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden-heads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.

Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law of our side, if I say-ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Enter BENVOLIO, at a distance.

Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better.
Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords. Enter TYBALT.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart

less hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

You, Capulet, shall go along with me,
And Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt PRINCE and Attendants; CAPULET,
Lady CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and
Servants.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.

La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him
to-day?

Right glad am I he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,

sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.

Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from this city's side,

Tyb. What, draw, and talk of peace? I hate the So early walking did I see your son:

word,

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.

[They fight. Enter several partisans of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs.

1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

Enter CAPULET, in his gown; and Lady CAPULET. Cap. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you for a sword?

Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE and Lady MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let

me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Enter PRINCE, with Attendants.

Prin. 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!
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away:

Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,-
That most are busied when they are most alone,-
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
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:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself, and many others, friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself - I will not say, how true-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter ROMEO at a distance.

Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step
aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.
Ah me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?

Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romeo's | hours?

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

Ben. In love? Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,

Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first created!

O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick
health!

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

Ben.

No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.
At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.-
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast
shown,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with loving tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[Going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong, Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? Ben. Groan? why, no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill!— In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you

lov'd.

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

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. Rom. 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 say the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope
her lap to saint-seducing gold:

O, she is rich in beauty! only poor
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still
live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge

waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity.

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.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O teach me how I should forget to think Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. "Tis the way

Rom. To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind, cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant. Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?

Cap. 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.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers

made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early
made.

Earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but sue,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice
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.
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; hear all, all see,

And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none
Come, go with me;-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.]
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. [Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS. Serv. Find them out, whose names are written here? It is written-that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-In good time.

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The Complete Works of Shakespeare: With a Critical Biography