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When I thy three hours wife have mangled it!
But wherefore villain didit thou kill
That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband.
Back foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you mistaking offer up to joy.
My husband lives that Tybalt would have slain,
And Tybalt dead that would have killed my husband;
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then ?
Some word there was worser than Tybalts death
That murtherd me; I would forget it fain,
But oh it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to finners minds;
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!
That banished, that one word banished,
Hath sain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or if sow'r woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both?
But with a rear-ward following Tybalts death,
Romeo is banished -----to speak that word,
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead! Romeo is banished!
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse :
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s coarse.
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him, he is hid at Lawrence cell.
Jul. O find him, give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come, to take his last farewel.
Fri. OMEO come forth, come forth thou fearful man,
Affiliation is enamour'd of thy parts;
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news ? what is the prince's doom?
What sorrow craves d acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Fri. Too familiar
dear son with such sow'r company.
I bring thee tydings of the prince's doom?
Rom. What less than dooms-day, is the prince's doom?
Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay death;
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Than death it self. Do not say baoishment.
Fri. Here from Verona art chou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell it felf.
Hence banished, is banilh'd from the world,
* And world-exild, is death. Calling death banishment,
Thou cuest my head off with an golden ax,
And smil'st upon the stroak th at murthers me.
Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind prince
Taking thy part hath rusht aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is meer mercy, and thou feeft it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing
Lives here in heaven, and may look on her,
But Romeo may not.
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion Aies, than Romeo: they may feize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips ;
& But Romeo may not, he is banished!
O father, hadst thou no strong poifon mixt,
No sharp ground knife, no present means of death,
But banishment to torture me withal ?
O Friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profest,
And world's exile is death. Then banished
Is death mis-term’d, calling death banished.
If that is dear mercy.
8 Which even in pure and veft al modefty
Still blush, and thinking their own kisses fin.
This may flies do, when I from this must fly,
And say A thou get, that exile is not death?
But Romeo may not, be is banished.
Hadst thou no poison mixt, no harp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, tho' ne'er so mean,
But banished to kill me? banish ed?
To mangle me with that word, banishment?
Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak.
Rom. O thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished.
Rom. Yet banished? hang up philosophy:
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more -----
Fri. O then I see that mad men have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes ?
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou caost not speak of what thou dost not feel:
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murthered,
Doting like me, and like me banished;
Then might'st thou speak, then mighest thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
[Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arise, one knocks; good Romeo hide thy self.
[Knock within. Thou wilt be taken stay a while ----- stand up; [Knocks. Run to my study By and by ----- God's will; What wilfulness is this ----- I come, I come. Who knocks so hard: whence come you? what's your will? Nurse. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my
I come from lady Juliet.
Fri. Welcome then.
Nurse. O holy Friar, oh tell me holy Friar,
Where h as young as Juliet my love.
Where is my lady's ford: where's Romeo ?
Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
Nurse. O he is even in my mistress's case,
Just in her case, O wofal sympathy!
Piteous predicament! even so lies she,
Blabbring and weeping, weeping and blubbering:
you fall into so deep an oh!
Nurse. Ah Sir! ah Sir! -- Death is the end of all.
Rom. Speak’st thou of Juliet? how is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murtherer,
Now have I stain’d the child-hood of our joy
With blood, remov'd but little from her owo ?
Where is she? and how does she? and what says
My conceald lady to our i cancelled love?
Nurse. O she says nothing, Sir, but weeps and weeps,
And now falls on her bed, and then starts ap,
And Tybalt cries, and then on 'Romeo calls,
And then down falls again.
Rom. As if that name
Shot from the deadly level of a gun
Did murther her, as that name's cursed hand
Murther'd her kiosman. Tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge ? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art:
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts do note.
Th’ unreasonable fury of a beast.
Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper’d.
Hast thou flain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thy felf?
And i conceald