| | 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. | 5 |
| | From forth the fatal loins of these two foes | |
| | A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; | |
| | Whole misadventured piteous overthrows | |
| | Do with their death bury their parents' strife. | |
| | The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, | 10 |
| | 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. | 15 |
| ACT I SCENE I | Verona. A public place. | |
| | Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklers | |
| SAMPSON | Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. | |
| GREGORY | No, for then we should be colliers. | |
| SAMPSON | I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. | |
| GREGORY | Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. | 20 |
| SAMPSON | I strike quickly, being moved. | |
| GREGORY | But thou art not quickly moved to strike. | |
| SAMPSON | A dog of the house of Montague moves me. | |
| GREGORY | To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: | |
| | therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. | 25 |
| SAMPSON | A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will | |
| | take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. | |
| GREGORY | That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes | |
| | to the wall. | |
| SAMPSON | True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, | 30 |
| | are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push | |
| | Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids | |
| | to the wall. | |
| GREGORY | The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. | |
| SAMPSON | 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I | 35 |
| | have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the | |
| | maids, and cut off their heads. | |
| GREGORY | The heads of the maids? | |
| SAMPSON | Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; | |
| | take it in what sense thou wilt. | 40 |
| GREGORY | They must take it in sense that feel it. | |
| SAMPSON | Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and | |
| | 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. | |
| GREGORY | 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou | |
| | hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes | 45 |
| | two of the house of the Montagues. | |
| SAMPSON | My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. | |
| GREGORY | How! turn thy back and run? | |
| SAMPSON | Fear me not. | |
| GREGORY | No, marry; I fear thee! | 50 |
| SAMPSON | Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. | |
| GREGORY | I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as | |
| | they list. | |
| SAMPSON | Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; | |
| | which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. | 55 |
| | Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR | |
| ABRAHAM | Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? | |
| SAMPSON | I do bite my thumb, sir. | |
| ABRAHAM | Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? | |
| SAMPSON | Aside to GREGORY | |
| | ay? | |
| GREGORY | No. | 60 |
| SAMPSON | No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I | |
| | bite my thumb, sir. | |
| GREGORY | Do you quarrel, sir? | |
| ABRAHAM | Quarrel sir! no, sir. | |
| SAMPSON | If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. | 65 |
| ABRAHAM | No better. | |
| SAMPSON | Well, sir. | |
| GREGORY | Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. | |
| SAMPSON | Yes, better, sir. | |
| ABRAHAM | You lie. | 70 |
| SAMPSON | Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. | |
| | They fight | |
| | Enter BENVOLIO | |
| BENVOLIO | Part, fools! | |
| | Put up your swords; you know not what you do. | |
| | Beats down their swords | |
| | Enter TYBALT | |
| TYBALT | What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? | |
| | Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. | 75 |
| BENVOLIO | I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, | |
| | Or manage it to part these men with me. | |
| TYBALT | What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, | |
| | As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: | |
| | Have at thee, coward! | 80 |
| | They fight | |
| | Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray;then enter Citizens, with clubs | |
| First Citizen | Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! | |
| | Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! | |
| | Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET | |
| CAPULET | What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! | |
| LADY CAPULET | A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? | |
| CAPULET | My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, | 85 |
| | And flourishes his blade in spite of me. | |
| | Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE | |
| MONTAGUE | Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. | |
| LADY MONTAGUE | Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. | |
| | Enter PRINCE, with Attendants | |
| PRINCE | Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, | |
| | Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- | 90 |
| | 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, | 95 |
| | And hear the sentence of your moved prince. | |
| | Three civil brawls, 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 | 100 |
| | 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. | 105 |
| | For this time, all the rest depart away: | |
| | You Capulet; shall go along with me: | |
| | And, Montague, come you this afternoon, | |
| | To know our further pleasure in this case, | |
| | To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. | 110 |
| | Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. | |
| | Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO | |
| MONTAGUE | Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? | |
| | Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? | |
| BENVOLIO | Here were the servants of your adversary, | |
| | And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: | 115 |
| | I drew to part them: in the instant came | |
| | The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, | |
| | Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, | |
| | He swung about his head and cut the winds, | |
| | Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: | 120 |
| | 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. | |
| LADY MONTAGUE | O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? | |
| | Right glad I am he was not at this fray. | 125 |
| BENVOLIO | Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun | |
| | Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, | |
| | A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; | |
| | Where, underneath the grove of sycamore | |
| | That westward rooteth from the city's side, | 130 |
| | So early walking did I see your son: | |
| | 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're most alone, | 135 |
| | Pursued my humour not pursuing his, | |
| | And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. | |
| MONTAGUE | Many a morning hath he there been seen, | |
| | With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. | |
| | Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; | 140 |
| | But all so soon as the all-cheering sun | |
| | Should in the furthest east begin to draw | |
| | The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, | |
| | Away from the light steals home my heavy son, | |
| | And private in his chamber pens himself, | 145 |
| | Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out | |
| | And makes himself an artificial night: | |
| | Black and portentous must this humour prove, | |
| | Unless good counsel may the cause remove. | |
| BENVOLIO | My noble uncle, do you know the cause? | 150 |
| MONTAGUE | I neither know it nor can learn of him. | |
| BENVOLIO | Have you importuned him by any means? | |
| MONTAGUE | Both by myself and many other friends: | |
| | But he, his own affections' counsellor, | |
| | Is to himself--I will not say how true-- | 155 |
| | 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. | 160 |
| | Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. | |
| | We would as willingly give cure as know. | |
| | Enter ROMEO | |
| BENVOLIO | See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; | |
| | I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. | |
| MONTAGUE | I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, | 165 |
| | To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. | |
| | Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE | |
| BENVOLIO | Good-morrow, cousin. | |
| ROMEO | Is the day so young? | |
| BENVOLIO | But new struck nine. | |
| ROMEO | Ay me! sad hours seem long. | 170 |
| | Was that my father that went hence so fast? | |
| BENVOLIO | It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? | |
| ROMEO | Not having that, which, having, makes them short. | |
| BENVOLIO | In love? | |
| ROMEO | Out-- | 175 |
| BENVOLIO | Of love? | |
| ROMEO | Out of her favour, where I am in love. | |
| BENVOLIO | Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, | |
| | Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! | |
| ROMEO | Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, | 180 |
| | 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! | 185 |
| | O any thing, of nothing first create! | |
| | O heavy lightness! serious vanity! | |
| | Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! | |
| | Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, | |
| | sick health! | 190 |
| | Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! | |
| | This love feel I, that feel no love in this. | |
| | Dost thou not laugh? | |
| BENVOLIO | No, coz, I rather weep. | |
| ROMEO | Good heart, at what? | 195 |
| BENVOLIO | At thy good heart's oppression. | |
| ROMEO | Why, such is love's transgression. | |
| | Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, | |
| | Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest | |
| | With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown | 200 |
| | Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. | |
| | Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; | |
| | Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; | |
| | Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: | |
| | What is it else? a madness most discreet, | 205 |
| | A choking gall and a preserving sweet. | |
| | Farewell, my coz. | |
| BENVOLIO | Soft! I will go along; | |
| | An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. | |
| ROMEO | Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; | 210 |
| | This is not Romeo, he's some other where. | |
| BENVOLIO | Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. | |
| ROMEO | What, shall I groan and tell thee? | |
| BENVOLIO | Groan! why, no. | |
| | But sadly tell me who. | 215 |
| ROMEO | 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. | |
| BENVOLIO | I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. | |
| ROMEO | A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. | 220 |
| BENVOLIO | A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. | |
| ROMEO | 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. | 225 |
| | She will not stay 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. | 230 |
| BENVOLIO | Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? | |
| ROMEO | She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, | |
| | For beauty starved with her severity | |
| | Cuts beauty off from all posterity. | |
| | She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, | 235 |
| | 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. | |
| BENVOLIO | Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. | |
| ROMEO | O, teach me how I should forget to think. | 240 |
| BENVOLIO | By giving liberty unto thine eyes; | |
| | Examine other beauties. | |
| ROMEO | 'Tis the way | |
| | To call hers exquisite, in question more: | |
| | These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows | 245 |
| | 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 | 250 |
| | Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? | |
| | Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. | |
| BENVOLIO | I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. | |
| | Exeunt | |