Paris.
I do defy thy conjurations,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.
Romeo.
Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy!
[They fight.]
Page.
O lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.
[Exit.]
Paris.
O, I am slain! [Falls.] If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.
[Dies.]
Romeo.
In faith, I will.—Let me peruse this face:—
Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!—
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? 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 in sour misfortune’s book!
I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave;—
A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught’red youth,
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.
[Laying Paris in the monument.]
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
With worms that are thy chambermaids: 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 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!
Here’s to my love! [Drinks.]—O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.
[Dies.]
[Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a lantern, crow, and spade.]
Friar.
Saint Francis be my speed! how oft tonight
Have my old feet stumbled at graves!—Who’s there?
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?
Balthasar.
Here’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Friar.
Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,
It burneth in the Capels’ monument.
Balthasar.
It doth so, holy sir; and there’s my master,
One that you love.
Friar.
Who is it?
Balthasar.
Romeo.
Friar.
How long hath he been there?
Balthasar.
Full half an hour.
Friar.
Go with me to the vault.
Balthasar.
I dare not, sir;
My master knows not but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on his intents.
Friar.
Stay then; I’ll go alone:—fear comes upon me;
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
Balthasar.
As I did sleep under this yew tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.
Friar.
Romeo! [Advances.]
Alack, alack! what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?—
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour’d by this place of peace?
[Enters the monument.]
Romeo! O, pale!—Who else? what, Paris too?
And steep’d in blood?—Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance!—The lady stirs.
[Juliet wakes and stirs.]
Juliet.
O comfortable friar! where is my lord?—
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am:—where is my Romeo?
[Noise within.]
Friar.
I hear some noise.—Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents:—come, come away!
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too:—come, I’ll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet [noise within],—I dare no longer stay.