How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there’s a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,—
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for this many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack’d;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;—
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking,—what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;—
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers’ joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman’s bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?—
O, look! methinks I see my cousin’s ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier’s point:—stay, Tybalt, stay!—
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
[Throws herself on the bed.]
SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.
[Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.]
Lady Capulet.
Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.
Nurse.
They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
[Enter Capulet.]
Capulet.
Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d,
The curfew bell hath rung, ‘tis three o’clock:—
Look to the bak’d meats, good Angelica;
Spare not for cost.
Nurse.
Go, you cot-quean, go,
Get you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow
For this night’s watching.
Capulet.
No, not a whit: what! I have watch’d ere now
All night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick.
Lady Capulet.
Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;
But I will watch you from such watching now.
[Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.]
Capulet.
A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!—Now, fellow,
[Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets.]
What’s there?
1 Servant. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.
Capulet.
Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Servant.]
—Sirrah, fetch drier logs:
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.
2 Servant.
I have a head, sir, that will find out logs
And never trouble Peter for the matter.
[Exit.]
Capulet.
Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
Thou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ‘tis day.
The county will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would:—I hear him near.
[Music within.]
Nurse!—wife!—what, ho!—what, nurse, I say!
[Re-enter Nurse.]
Go, waken Juliet; go and trim her up;
I’ll go and chat with Paris:—hie, make haste,
Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse.
Mistress!—what, mistress!—Juliet!—fast, I warrant her, she:—
Why, lamb!—why, lady!—fie, you slug-abed!—
Why, love, I say!—madam! sweetheart!—why, bride!—
What, not a word?—you take your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The County Paris hath set up his rest
That you shall rest but little.—God forgive me!
Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her.—Madam, madam, madam!—
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He’ll fright you up, i’ faith.—Will it not be?
What, dress’d! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you.—lady! lady! lady!—
Alas, alas!—Help, help! My lady’s dead!—
O, well-a-day that ever I was born!—
Some aqua-vitae, ho!—my lord! my lady!
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet
What noise is here?
Nurse.
O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet.
What is the matter?
Nurse.
Look, look! O heavy day!
Lady Capulet.
O me, O me!—my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!—
Help, help!—call help.
[Enter Capulet.]
Capulet.
For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse.
She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!
Lady Capulet
Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
Capulet.
Ha! let me see her:—out alas! she’s cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Accursed