THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET

Escalus, Prince of Verona.
Mercutio, relative of the Prince and friend to Romeo.
Paris, a young nobleman and relative of the Prince.
Paris's page.

Montague, the leader of a family in Verona that’s feuding with the Capulets.
Lady Montague, Montague’s wife.
Romeo, Montague’s son.
Benvolio, Montague’s nephew and Romeo’s friend.
Abram, Montague’s servant.
Balthasar, Romeo’s servant.

Capulet, head of a family in Verona that’s in a feud with the Montagues.
Lady Capulet, Capulet’s wife.
Juliet, Capulet’s daughter.
Tybalt, Lady Capulet’s nephew.
Capulet’s cousin, an old man.
Juliet’s nurse.
Peter, the Nurse’s servant.
Sampson, a servant of the Capulet family.
Gregory, another servant of the Capulet family.
Other servants.

FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan monk.
FRIAR JOHN, another from the same Order.
A Pharmacist.
CHORUS.
Three Musicians.
An Officer.
Citizens of Verona; various Men and Women, relatives of both families; Partygoers, Guards, Watchmen, and Assistants.

Enter Chorus.

CHORUS.
Two families, both equal in status,
In beautiful Verona, where our story takes place,
From an old grudge break out into new rebellion,
Where bloodshed stains the hands of ordinary citizens.
From the doomed love of these two enemies
A pair of star-crossed lovers end their own lives;
Their tragic misfortunes and untimely deaths
Bring an end to their parents' feud.
The harrowing journey of their doomed love,
And the ongoing anger of their families,
Which nothing but their children's deaths could resolve,
Is the subject of our two-hour play;
And if you listen patiently and closely,
We'll fill in anything you might miss in the performance.

[Leave.]

Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and shields.

SAMPSON.
Gregory, I swear, we won’t take any insults.

GREGORY.
No, because then we’d be coal miners.

SAMPSON.
I mean, if we’re angry, we’ll draw our weapons.

GREGORY.
Yeah, keep dodging responsibility while you're alive.

SAMPSON.
I strike fast, feeling compelled.

GREGORY.
But you’re not quick to start a fight.

SAMPSON.
A Montague dog gets me fired up.

GREGORY.
To move is to act; and being brave means standing your ground: so if you’re moved, you’re running away.

SAMPSON.
A dog from that family will get me to take a stand.
I’ll shove any Montague man or woman into the gutter.

GREGORY.
That just proves you're a weakling because the weakest always get pushed aside.

SAMPSON.
That's right, and since women are the weaker ones, they're always shoved against the wall. So, I'll push Montague's men out of the way and shove his maids against the wall.

GREGORY.
The argument is between our bosses and us, their workers.

SAMPSON.
It's all the same, I'll act like a tyrant: after I fight the men, I'll be polite with the women—I’ll cut off their heads.

GREGORY.
The maids' heads?

SAMPSON.
Yeah, the heads of the maids, or their virginity; take it however you want.

GREGORY.
They’ll understand it depending on how they feel it.

SAMPSON.
They’ll feel me as long as I can stand: and everyone knows I’m quite the fine specimen.

GREGORY.
It’s good you’re not a fish; if you were, you’d be poor John. Grab your weapon; someone from the Montague house is coming.

Enter Abram and Balthasar.

SAMPSON.
My weapon's out and ready; if there's a fight, I've got your back.

GREGORY.
What? Escape?

SAMPSON.
Don't be afraid of me.

GREGORY.
No, marry; I'm afraid of you!

SAMPSON.
Let's stick to the rules on our side; let them make the first move.

GREGORY.
I'll frown as I walk by, and they can take it however they want.

SAMPSON.
No, only if they dare. I'll bite my thumb at them—it's an insult to them if they take it.

ABRAM.
Are you flipping us off, sir?

SAMPSON.
Yeah, I'm flipping you off, sir.

ABRAM.
Are you flipping us off, sir?

SAMPSON.
Is the law on our side if I say yes?

GREGORY.
No way.

SAMPSON.
No, sir, I’m not flipping you off, sir; but I am flipping my finger, sir.

GREGORY.
Are you arguing, sir?

ABRAM.
Argument, sir? No, sir.

SAMPSON.
Well, if you do, sir, I’m ready for you. I work for just as good a man as you do.

ABRAM.
Not better.

SAMPSON.
Alright, sir.

Enter Benvolio.

GREGORY.
Better say this—one of my master's relatives is coming.

SAMPSON.
Yes, that's better, sir.

ABRAM.
You're lying.

SAMPSON.
Draw your weapons, if you're real men. Gregory, remember your crushing strike.

They are fighting.

BENVOLIO.
Stop it, you fools! Put away your swords; you don’t know what you’re doing.

Beats down their swords.

Enter Tybalt.

TYBALT.
What, have you pulled your sword out to fight these weak servants?
Turn around, Benvolio, and face your death.

BENVOLIO.
I'm just trying to keep the peace. Put away your sword,
or use it to help me break up this fight.

TYBALT.
What? You’ve got your weapon out and you’re talking about peace? I hate that word as much as I hate hell, all Montagues, and you. Let’s fight, coward!

They are fighting.

Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Grab your clubs, staffs, and weapons! Strike! Knock them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!

Enter Capulet in his robe, and Lady Capulet.

CAPULET.
What's all this noise? Hand me my long sword, now!

LADY CAPULET.
A crutch, a crutch! Why are you asking for a sword?

CAPULET.
Get me my sword! Old Montague is here,
Waving his blade to provoke me.

Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.

MONTAGUE.
You villain Capulet! Don’t hold me back, let me go.

LADY MONTAGUE.
You’re not taking a single step to go after an enemy.

Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.

PRINCE.
Rebellious citizens, enemies of peace,
Defilers of these blood-stained weapons—
Won't you listen? Hey! You men, you animals,
Who sate the fire of your deadly rage
With fountains of blood flowing from your veins,
On pain of torture, drop those bloody weapons
And listen to the judgment of your angry prince.
Three street fights, sparked by a trivial word,
Caused by you, old Capulet and Montague,
Have disturbed the peace of our streets three times,
Forcing Verona’s elderly citizens
To set aside their dignified decorum
And take up old weapons in their aged hands,
Rusted with disuse, to separate your hateful brawls.
If you ever disrupt our streets again,
You’ll pay for it with your lives.
For now, everyone else, leave at once:
Capulet, you’ll come with me,
And Montague, meet me this afternoon
At Old Free-town, our usual place for matters like this,
To hear our further decisions on this situation.
Once again, under threat of death, disperse!

[Exit Prince and Attendants: Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and Servants.]

MONTAGUE.
Who stirred up this old feud again?
Tell me, nephew, were you there when it started?

BENVOLIO.
The servants of your enemy and yours were already fighting fiercely when I got there. I pulled out my sword to break them up, and just then Tybalt showed up, fiery as ever, with his sword ready. As he shouted insults in my direction, he swung his sword around, slashing through the air, but the wind, unharmed, just mocked him with a hiss. While we were trading blows back and forth, more people got involved and took sides, fighting on either side until the Prince showed up and stopped everyone.

LADY MONTAGUE.
Oh, where's Romeo? Have you seen him today?
I'm really glad he wasn't involved in this fight.

BENVOLIO.
Ma'am, an hour before the revered sun
Peered through the golden window of the east,
A restless mind drove me to take a walk outside.
Underneath the sycamore grove
That grows west of the city,
I saw your son while I was out walking early.
I started toward him, but he noticed me
And slipped away into the cover of the woods.
Judging his feelings by my own,
Which at the time sought solitude where no one could find me,
Feeling like one too many in my own company,
I followed my mood instead of following him
And was happy to avoid someone who was just as happy to avoid me.

MONTAGUE.
Many mornings he’s been seen there,
Crying and adding to the morning dew,
Sighing deeply and making the clouds even heavier;
But as soon as the bright, cheering sun
Starts to rise in the far east
And pulls back the dark curtains of Aurora’s bed,
My troubled son sneaks home away from the light,
Locks himself away in his room,
Shutting his windows, blocking out the daylight,
And creating his own artificial night.
This dark and ominous mood will only get worse
Unless good advice can help fix the cause.

BENVOLIO.
My respected uncle, do you know the reason?

MONTAGUE.
I don’t know it, and I can’t find out from him.

BENVOLIO.
Have you tried talking to him in any way?

MONTAGUE.
Both from me and many other friends; But he, being his own advisor in matters of the heart, Keeps to himself—I won't say how loyal— Yet he's so secretive and withdrawn, So hard to figure out and uncover, Like a bud nibbled by a jealous worm Before it can open its sweet petals to the air, Or offer its beauty to the sun. If only we could figure out where his sadness comes from, We would be just as eager to help him as to understand.

Enter Romeo.

BENVOLIO.
Look, here he comes. Please step aside;
I’ll find out what’s bothering him, or I’ll be very surprised.

MONTAGUE.
I wish you could be so fortunate to stay
And hear an honest confession. Come, madam, let’s go.

[Exit Montague and Lady Montague.]

BENVOLIO.
Good morning, cousin.

ROMEO.
Is it still early?

BENVOLIO.
But it's just hit nine.

ROMEO.
Oh, man, sad times feel so slow.
Was that my dad who just left so quickly?

BENVOLIO.
It was. What’s making Romeo’s hours feel so long and miserable?

ROMEO.
Not having what would make them feel shorter if I had it.

BENVOLIO.
In love?

ROMEO.
Go.

BENVOLIO.
About love?

ROMEO.
I'm in love, but she's not into me.

BENVOLIO.
It's a shame that love, which looks so gentle, Turns out to be so cruel and harsh in reality.

ROMEO.
Ah, love, blindfolded as it is,
Still finds its way to what it wants!
Where should we eat? Oh no, what fight happened here?
But don’t tell me—I’ve already heard everything.
There’s so much hate involved, but even more love:
Why, oh fighting love! Oh loving hate!
Oh something born out of nothing!
Oh heavy lightness! Serious foolishness!
A chaotic mess of things that seem perfect!
Lead as light as a feather, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
A waking sleep, that’s not what it seems!
This is the love I feel, though I feel no love in return.
Aren’t you laughing?

BENVOLIO.
No, cousin, I’d rather cry.

ROMEO.
Good heart, for what?

BENVOLIO.
From your kind heart's burden.

ROMEO.
That's the trouble with love. I've already got my own sorrows weighing heavy on my chest, and you’re only adding to it, pressing down with your own. The love you’ve shown just piles more grief onto the heaps of my own. Love is like smoke made from sighs. When it's cleared, it’s a fire glowing in lovers’ eyes. When it's stirred up, it’s an ocean fed by lovers' tears. What else is it? A clever kind of madness, a poison that chokes but somehow tastes sweet. Goodbye, my cousin.

[Leaving.]

BENVOLIO.
Wait! I’ll come with you:
And if you leave me like this, you’re treating me unfairly.

ROMEO.
Ugh! I’ve lost myself; I’m not really here.
This isn’t Romeo, he’s somewhere else.

BENVOLIO.
Tell me seriously, who is it that you’re in love with?

ROMEO.
What, should I groan and tell you?

BENVOLIO.
Groan? No, just tell me seriously—who?

ROMEO.
Tell a sick man to write his will in sorrow—
That’s a harsh thing to say to someone who’s already feeling so bad.
Honestly, cousin, I’m in love with a woman.

BENVOLIO.
I guessed pretty close when I guessed you were in love.

ROMEO.
A skilled marksman, and the one I love is beautiful.

BENVOLIO.
A good target, my friend, is the easiest to hit.

ROMEO.
Well, you’re off-target with that: she won’t be struck
By Cupid’s arrow; she’s got Diana’s wisdom.
And fully armed with unshakeable chastity,
She’s untouched by the weak and childish games of love.
She won’t surrender to sweet talk about love
Or give in to the pleading of admiring eyes,
Nor will she fall for riches meant to seduce her.
Oh, she’s rich in beauty, but sadly poor
Because when she dies, her beauty dies with her.

BENVOLIO.
So she's sworn to stay chaste forever?

ROMEO.
She has, and by holding back she wastes so much;
For beauty, starved by her harshness,
Robs beauty from future generations.
She’s too beautiful, too smart, and wisely too beautiful
To deserve happiness by making me miserable.
She’s sworn off love, and because of that vow,
I’m like a dead man, living just to tell this now.

BENVOLIO.
Take my advice and stop thinking about her.

ROMEO.
Oh, teach me how to stop overthinking.

BENVOLIO.
Give your eyes the freedom to look around;
Check out other beauties.

ROMEO.
It’s just the way
To make her seem even more exquisite by comparison.
Those lovely masks that rest on beautiful ladies’ brows,
Being dark, remind us that they hide the beauty beneath;
A man who’s been struck blind can’t forget
The priceless treasure of the sight he’s lost.
Show me a woman who’s truly beautiful,
What does her beauty do except remind me
Of someone who was even more beautiful before her?
Goodbye, you can’t teach me to forget.

BENVOLIO.
I’ll stick with that idea, or die trying.

[Exit.]

Enter Capulet, Paris and Servant.

CAPULET.
But Montague is just as responsible as I am,
Facing the same penalty; and I don’t think it’s hard
For men as old as us to keep the peace.

PARIS.
You both have an honorable reputation,
And it’s a shame you’ve been at odds for so long.
But now, my lord, what do you say to my request?

CAPULET.
But repeating what I’ve said before.
My child is still inexperienced in the world,
She hasn’t seen fourteen years pass yet;
Let two more summers fade away in their prime
Before we think she’s ready to be a bride.

PARIS.
There are girls younger than her who are already happily married and mothers.

CAPULET.
And those made too soon are often ruined.
The earth has taken all my hopes but her,
She’s the bright hope of my world.
So woo her, gentle Paris, win her heart.
My approval is only part of the deal;
If she agrees, my consent and support will follow.
Tonight I’m hosting an old, familiar feast,
And I’ve invited many guests
Who are dear to me, and you’re among them.
One more, most welcome, makes the gathering complete.
At my modest home, you’ll see tonight
Stars walking the earth that brighten the dark heavens.
You’ll feel the same joy young men do
When April, dressed in beauty, steps in
To replace the limping, old winter—
A joy like the fresh blooms of young women you’ll see
Tonight at my house. Look at everyone, meet them all,
And choose the one whose worth impresses you most.
After getting a closer look at many, my daughter,
Though one of them, might not count in your final choice.
Come with me. You there, go quickly
Through lovely Verona; track down the people
Whose names are written here [hands over a paper] and tell them
They’re welcome at my house tonight, whenever they wish to come.

[Capulet and Paris exit.]

SERVANT.
Find the people whose names are written here! It says that the shoemaker should stick to his measuring stick, the tailor to his cutting tools, the fisherman to his fishing rod, and the painter to his brushes. But here I am, sent to find the people whose names are written down, and I can't figure out what names the writer has written here. I need to go to someone educated. Well then, perfect timing!

Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

BENVOLIO.
Come on, man, one fire puts out another's flames,
One pain gets lighter with another's suffering;
Get dizzy, and let it help by spinning back;
One desperate sadness is cured by another's sorrow:
Find some new obsession for your eyes,
And the toxic pain of the old one will fade away.

ROMEO.
A plantain leaf works great for that.

BENVOLIO.
For what, I ask?

ROMEO.
For your broken leg.

BENVOLIO.
Why, Romeo, are you crazy?

ROMEO.
Not crazy, but trapped worse than a madman:
Locked up in prison, starving without food,
Whipped and tortured and—hello there, good friend.

SERVANT.
Good evening, sir. Excuse me, can you read?

ROMEO.
Yes, my own fate in my misery.

SERVANT.
Maybe you've learned it without a book.
But tell me, can you read everything you see?

ROMEO.
Yeah, if I understand the words and the language.

SERVANT.
You speak honestly, have a good day!

ROMEO.
Wait, buddy; I can read.

He reads the message.

Mr. Martino, his wife, and daughters;
Count Anselmo and his beautiful sisters;
The lady widow of Utruvio;
Mr. Placentio and his lovely nieces;
Mercutio and his brother Valentine;
My uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;
My charming niece Rosaline and Livia;
Mr. Valentio and his cousin Tybalt;
Lucio and the lively Helena.

A fine gathering. [Hands back the paper] Where are they supposed to go?

WAITER.
Stand up.

ROMEO.
Where to dinner?

To our place.

Whose place?

SERVER.
My boss’s.

ROMEO.
I really should have asked you that earlier.

SERVANT.
Let me tell you without you even asking. My master is the wealthy Capulet, and if you’re not from the Montague family, please come and have a glass of wine. Take care.

[Log out.]

BENVOLIO.
At this old Capulet feast,
The beautiful Rosaline, the one you’re so in love with, will be dining,
Along with all the other admired beauties of Verona.
Go there with an open mind,
Compare her face to some of the others I’ll point out,
And I’ll make you realize your swan is just a crow.

ROMEO.
When the true faith of my eyes
Turns to lies, let my tears turn to fire;
And those tears, which have drowned me but never killed me,
Clear betrayers, be burned for their deceit.
Someone more beautiful than my love? The all-seeing sun
Has never seen her equal since the world began.

BENVOLIO.
Come on, you only thought she was beautiful because no one else was around to compare her to.
She was judged only by her own standard:
But if you weigh her beauty against another girl’s,
One I’ll show you at this party,
You’ll see she won’t look as great as you think she does now.

ROMEO.
I’ll come along, but not to see what you’re showing—
just to enjoy the beauty of my own.

[Leave. ]

Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

LADY CAPULET.
Nurse, where’s my daughter? Bring her here to me.

NURSE.
I swear on my virginity from when I was twelve,
I told her to come. Hey, sweetheart! Hey, little ladybug!
God forbid! Where is this girl? Juliet, where are you?

Enter Juliet.

JULIET.
Who’s calling?

NURSE.
Your mom.

JULIET.
Mom, I’m here. What do you need?

LADY CAPULET.
Here’s the issue. Nurse, leave us for a moment,
We need to talk privately. Nurse, come back,
I just remembered, you should hear what we’re discussing.
You know my daughter is at a good age.

NURSE.
Honestly, I can tell her exact age, down to the hour.

She's not 14.

NURSE.
I’d bet fourteen of my teeth—
Though sadly, I’ve only got four left—
She’s not fourteen yet. How long is it now
Until Lammas-tide?

LADY CAPULET.
Two weeks and a few days.

NURSE.
Whether even or odd, of all the days in the year,
Come Lammas Eve at night, she’ll turn fourteen.
Susan and she—God rest all Christian souls!—
Were the same age. Well, Susan's with God now;
She was too good for me. But as I was saying,
On Lammas Eve at night, she’ll be fourteen;
Yes, she will, I swear. I remember it well.
It’s been eleven years since that earthquake;
And she was weaned—I’ll never forget it—
Of all the days in the year, on that very day.
I had put bitter wormwood on my breast,
Sitting in the sun by the dovehouse wall.
You and my lord were off in Mantua.
Oh, I remember things. But as I said,
When she tasted the wormwood on my nipple,
She found it bitter, the sweet little thing,
And started fussing, pulling away from me!
Shake, said the dovehouse—it startled me,
But no need to tell me to get moving.
And it’s been eleven years since then;
Back then, she could stand on her own. No, by God,
She could toddle and waddle all around;
Why, just the day before, she cut her forehead,
And my husband—God rest his soul—
He was such a cheerful man—picked her up.
“Hey,” he said, “did you fall on your face?
You’ll fall backwards when you’re smarter—
Won’t you, Jule?” And, by my holy relics,
The little thing stopped crying and said, “Yes.”
It’s funny how a joke works out like that.
I swear, even if I lived a thousand years,
I’d never forget it. “Won’t you, Jule?” he said,
And the little darling stopped crying and said, “Yes.”

LADY CAPULET.
That's enough; please be quiet.

NURSE.
Yes, ma'am, but I can’t help laughing,
Thinking how it stopped crying and said ‘Yes.’
And still, I bet it had on its forehead
A bump as big as a young rooster’s stone.
A nasty knock, and it cried so hard.
‘Yes,’ my husband said, ‘Fell on your face?
You’ll fall backward when you’re older;
Won’t you, Juliet?’ It stopped crying and said ‘Yes.’

JULIET.
Stop it too, please, Nurse, that's what I’m saying.

NURSE.
Alright, I’m done. May God bless you with His grace.
You were the cutest baby I ever nursed:
And if I get to see you married someday, I’ll have my wish.

LADY CAPULET.
Well, marriage is exactly the topic
I came to talk about. Tell me, Juliet,
How do you feel about getting married?

JULIET.
It's an honor I haven't dreamed of.

NURSE.
An honor! If I weren’t your only nurse,
I’d say you must have sucked wisdom from your own breast.

LADY CAPULET.
Well, start thinking about marriage now: girls younger than you,
Here in Verona, respected ladies,
Are already mothers. By my count,
I was already your mother at about the same age
That you are now. So, to put it simply:
The brave Paris wants you to be his love.

NURSE.
A man, young lady! Oh, young lady, what a man!
He's as perfect as if he were sculpted from wax.

LADY CAPULET.
Verona’s summer doesn’t have a flower as beautiful as this one.

NURSE.
No, he’s a gem, truly a real gem.

LADY CAPULET.
What do you think? Could you love the gentleman?
Tonight you'll see him at our feast.
Take a look at young Paris’s face,
And find the joy written there by beauty's hand.
Study every perfect feature,
And see how they complement each other.
And if anything seems unclear in this lovely book,
You’ll find it written in the margins of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unfinished lover,
Only needs a cover to make him complete.
The fish lives in the sea, and it’s such a joy
When outer beauty hides inner beauty within.
That book admired by many, bound in gold clasps,
Holds the golden story locked inside.
You’ll share everything he has,
By marrying him, you’ll lose nothing of yourself.

NURSE.
No less, actually bigger. Women grow because of men.

LADY CAPULET.
Just tell me quickly, can you see yourself loving Paris?

JULIET.
I’ll try to like him, if liking can be inspired by looking:
But I won’t let my feelings go any deeper
Than what your permission allows.

Enter a Servant.

SERVANT.
Ma'am, the guests are here, dinner's served, you've been called, the young lady's asking for you, the Nurse is losing it in the kitchen, and everything's in chaos. I need to go now; please come quickly.

We will follow you.

[Exit Servant.]

Juliet, the County remains.

NURSE.
Go, girl, and find joyful nights to match your joyful days.

[Leave.]

Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio with five or six masked guests, torch carriers, and others.

ROMEO.
So, should we say this to explain ourselves, or just go ahead without an apology?

BENVOLIO.
That kind of long-winded stuff is outdated:
We won’t have a blindfolded Cupid with a scarf,
Holding a flimsy painted bow like a Tartar,
Frightening the ladies like a scarecrow;
Nor will we have a memorized prologue, awkwardly delivered
With help from the prompter, as we make our entrance:
Let them judge us however they want,
We’ll dance with them for a bit and then leave.

ROMEO.
Hand me a torch; I'm not in the mood for this wandering around. Since I'm feeling heavy, I'll carry the light.

MERCUTIO.
Come on, Romeo, you’ve got to dance.

ROMEO.
Not me, believe me, you’ve got dancing shoes
With quick, light soles. I’ve got a heavy soul
That weighs me down so much I can’t move.

MERCUTIO.
You're in love, so borrow Cupid's wings
And rise above the ordinary limits.

ROMEO.
I’m too deeply wounded by his arrow
To rise with his light feathers, and so tied down,
I can’t jump higher than this heavy sadness.
Under love’s crushing weight, I sink.

MERCUTIO.
And if you sink into it, you're making love a burden;
Too much weight for something so delicate.

ROMEO.
Is love a gentle thing? It's too harsh,
Too rough, too wild, and it stings like a thorn.

MERCUTIO.
If love is rough with you, be rough with love;
Punch love back for its punches, and you'll knock it down.
Give me something to cover my face: [Putting on a mask.]
A mask for a mask. Why should I care
What nosy eyes point out flaws?
These thick eyebrows will do the blushing for me.

BENVOLIO.
Come on, knock and go in; and as soon as we're inside, Everyone get ready to move quickly.

ROMEO.
Give me a torch: let the carefree ones with light hearts
dance and play with the rushes underfoot;
I’ve got an old saying to guide me:
I’ll just hold the candle and watch from the sidelines.
The game’s never been so exciting, but I’m out.

MERCUTIO.
Come on, quiet like a mouse, just like the constable says:
If you're stuck, we'll pull you out of the mud
Or, pardon me, out of this love you're drowning in
Up to your ears. Come on, we're wasting daylight, let's go.

ROMEO.
No, that’s not it.

MERCUTIO.
I mean, sir, if we delay,
We waste our time pointlessly, lighting lamps during the day.
Take what we mean—we judge things
Five times over before using one of our senses.

ROMEO.
We have good intentions by going to this party,
But it’s not smart to go.

MERCUTIO.
Why, might someone ask?

I had a dream tonight.

And so did I.

What was yours?

Dreamers often lie.

ROMEO.
Asleep in bed, dreaming about things that feel real.

MERCUTIO.
Oh, so Queen Mab has been with you, I see.
She’s the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
So tiny she’s no bigger than a gemstone
On the ring finger of a city councilman,
Pulled by a team of tiny creatures
Across people’s noses as they sleep.
Her wagon wheels are made from spiders’ long legs;
The cover is made from grasshopper wings;
Her harnesses are spun from the finest spiderwebs;
The collars are crafted from moonlight beams;
Her whip is a cricket’s bone, and its lash is made of film;
Her driver is a tiny gnat in a gray coat,
Not even half as big as a little worm
Plucked from the lazy finger of a maid.
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by squirrels or old worms,
Who have always been the fairies’ carpenters.
And in this style, she rides every night
Through lovers’ brains, and they dream of love;
Over courtiers’ knees, and they dream of bowing;
Over lawyers’ fingers, who then dream of fees;
Over ladies’ lips, who dream of kisses—
But sometimes Queen Mab angrily gives them blisters,
Because their breath reeks of candies.
Sometimes she rides over a courtier’s nose,
And then he dreams of sniffing out a bribe;
And sometimes she uses a pig’s tail
To tickle a pastor’s nose while he’s asleep,
So he dreams of getting a new church position.
Sometimes she gallops across a soldier’s neck,
And he dreams of slicing throats in battle,
Of breaking walls, ambushes, Spanish swords,
And drinking deep toasts—then suddenly
Drums beat in his ear, and he wakes up in shock;
He’s scared, swears a quick prayer or two,
And falls back asleep. This is the same Mab
Who tangles the manes of horses in the night
And ties up filthy elf-locks in people’s hair,
Which, if undone, bring bad luck.
She’s the hag that visits young women lying on their backs,
Pressing down on them to teach them submission,
Making them ready for marriage.
That’s who she is—

ROMEO.
Calm down, calm down, Mercutio, calm down,
You're talking about nothing.

MERCUTIO.
Yeah, I’m talking about dreams,
Which are born from a lazy mind,
Created out of nothing but empty imagination,
As insubstantial as air,
And more unreliable than the wind, which flirts
Right now with the icy chill of the north,
And, when angered, blows away from there,
Shifting its focus to the warm, rain-soaked south.

BENVOLIO.
This chatter is taking us off track:
Dinner's over, and we're going to be late.

ROMEO.
I’m worried we’re too early: something tells me
That something bad, written in the stars,
Will begin tonight at this party,
Leading to something terrible that ends
This hated life trapped in my chest
Because of some cruel twist of fate and an early death.
But whoever’s guiding my life’s path,
Let them lead me now. Let’s go, energetic gentlemen!

BENVOLIO.
Hit it, drum.

[Exit.]

Musicians on standby. Enter Servants.

FIRST SERVANT.
Where’s Potpan? Why isn’t he helping clear the table?
He can’t even move a plate! He can’t scrape a plate!

SECOND SERVANT.
When good manners are left in the hands of just one or two people, and they're unwashed at that, it's a disgusting thing.

FIRST SERVANT.
Move the stools, clear the sideboard, and keep an eye on the silverware. Please, save me a piece of marzipan; and if you care about me, make sure the porter lets in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony and Potpan!

SECOND SERVANT.
Yeah, I'm ready.

FIRST SERVANT.
They’re looking for you, calling for you, asking about you, and trying to find you in the main hall.

SECOND SERVANT.
We can't be in two places at once. Come on, boys, keep it lively. Let the one who lives the longest take everything.

[Exit.]

Enter Capulet and others, along with the guests and ladies, joining the masked party.

CAPULET.
Welcome, everyone! Ladies without corns on their toes,
Feel free to join in a dance with us.
Ah, my dear ladies, which one of you
Will refuse to dance now? If you're being shy,
I’ll bet you have corns on your feet. Did I get it right?
Welcome, everyone! I remember the times
When I wore a mask and could whisper
Sweet nothings into a lovely lady’s ear
That would make her smile; but those days are gone, gone, gone.
You’re all welcome, everyone! Musicians, start playing.
Clear some space, clear the hall! And dance, ladies!

[Music's playing, and they're dancing.]

Bring more light, you guys, and flip the tables up,
And put out the fire; the room's gotten too warm.
Ah, this unexpected entertainment is just right.
No, sit down, sit down, dear cousin Capulet,
We're both past our dancing days now;
How long has it been since you and I
Last went to a masked ball?

CAPULET’S COUSIN.
My word, thirty years.

CAPULET.
What, man, it’s not that long, it’s not that long:
It’s been since Lucentio’s wedding,
Pentecost will come soon enough,
About twenty-five years; and back then we wore masks.

CAPULET’S COUSIN.
It’s more than that, it’s more—his son is older, sir;
His son is thirty.

CAPULET.
Are you telling me that?
His son was just a minor two years ago.

ROMEO.
Who is that lady who makes the hand of that knight over there look so graceful?

SERVANT.
I don't know, sir.

ROMEO.
Oh, she teaches the torches how to shine bright!
She stands out against the night like a rich jewel in an African’s ear;
Her beauty’s too perfect to be used and too priceless for this world!
Like a pure white dove among a flock of crows,
That’s how she stands out among the other women.
When the dance is over, I’ll find out where she’s standing,
And by touching her hand, bless my rough touch.
Did I even know what love was before now? No way, my eyes betray me!
I’ve never seen true beauty until this very night.

TYBALT.
By his voice, this must be a Montague.
Grab my sword, boy. What, does this lowlife
Dare come here, hiding behind a mask,
To mock and insult our celebration?
I swear by the heritage and honor of my family,
Killing him wouldn’t be a sin.

CAPULET.
Hey, what's wrong, cousin?
Why are you so upset?

TYBALT.
Uncle, this is a Montague, our enemy;
A villain who has come here out of spite,
To mock our celebration tonight.

CAPULET.
Is it young Romeo?

TYBALT.
It’s him, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET.
Calm down, my friend, leave him alone.
He’s behaving like a respectable gentleman,
And honestly, Verona prides itself on him
As a virtuous and well-mannered young man.
I wouldn’t insult him in my house
For all the money in the town.
So be patient, don’t pay him any attention.
This is my decision, and if you respect it,
Put on a pleasant face and lose those frowns—
They’re not suitable for a celebration.

TYBALT.
It’s only right when a villain like that shows up as a guest:
I won’t put up with him.

CAPULET.
He’ll be tolerated.
What, young man! I’m telling you, he will. Come on;
Am I in charge here, or are you? Seriously, come on.
You won’t tolerate him? God help my soul,
You’re going to cause a riot among my guests!
You’re going to stir up trouble and act like you’re in charge!

TYBALT.
Why, uncle, it’s a shame.

CAPULET.
Come on, come on!
You’re a cheeky boy. Is that so, really?
This prank might get you in trouble, mark my words.
You have to defy me! Well, it’s about time.
Well done, my friends!—You’re an arrogant brat; leave now:
Calm down, or—More light, more light!—For shame!
I’ll make you settle down. Come on, cheer up, my friends.

TYBALT.
Forced patience, clashing with my fiery temper,
Makes my body shake from their confrontation.
I’ll leave for now, but this intrusion will,
Though it seems sweet now, turn into bitter hatred.

[Leave.]

ROMEO.
[To Juliet.] If I disrespect this sacred place with my clumsy hand,
The only gentle offense is this:
My lips, like two shy pilgrims, are ready
To make up for that rough touch with a soft kiss.

JULIET.
Good pilgrim, you’re being too hard on your hand,
Which only shows polite devotion;
Saints have hands that pilgrims touch,
And palm to palm is how holy palmers kiss.

ROMEO.
Don't saints and pilgrims have lips too?

JULIET.
Yes, pilgrim, lips are meant to be used for prayer.

ROMEO.
Oh, then, my dear saint, let our lips do what our hands do: They pray—so grant this, or else my faith might turn into despair.

JULIET.
Saints don’t move, even though they grant requests for prayers.

ROMEO.
Then don’t move while I take the blessing of my prayer.
With this kiss, my sin is cleansed by yours.
[He kisses her.]

JULIET.
So now my lips carry the sin they’ve taken.

ROMEO.
Sin from my lips? Oh, such a sweet mistake!
Let me take my sin back again.

JULIET.
You kiss like it’s scripted.

NURSE.
Ma'am, your mother wants to talk to you.

ROMEO.
What's her mom, like?

NURSE.
Well, young man,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
A good woman, wise and virtuous.
I raised her daughter, the one you were talking to.
Let me tell you, whoever wins her
Will be rolling in money.

ROMEO.
Is she a Capulet?
Oh no! My life now belongs to my enemy.

BENVOLIO.
Go on, get out of here; the fun is at its peak.

ROMEO.
Yeah, that's what I’m afraid of; it just makes me more uneasy.

CAPULET.
No, gentlemen, don’t be in such a hurry to leave.
We’ve got a simple little feast coming up.
Is it really that late? Well then, I thank you all;
Thank you, kind gentlemen. Good night.
Bring some more torches here! Alright, let’s head to bed.
Ah, my friend, I swear, it’s getting late.
I’m off to sleep.

[All exit except Juliet and Nurse.]

JULIET.
Come here, Nurse. Who is that gentleman over there?

NURSE.
He's the son and heir of old Tiberio.

JULIET.
Who's that leaving through the door now?

NURSE.
Well, I think it's young Petruchio.

JULIET.
Who’s that over there, not wanting to dance?

NURSE.
I don't know.

JULIET.
Go find out his name. If he’s married, I might as well prepare my grave instead of a wedding bed.

NURSE.
His name is Romeo, and he's a Montague,
The only son of your biggest enemy.

JULIET.
The only person I love is the one I was supposed to hate!
I saw him too soon, not knowing who he was—and found out too late!
What a shocking twist of fate, to fall in love with someone I was meant to despise.

NURSE.
What's this? What's this?

JULIET.
A rhyme I just learned
From someone I danced with.

One calls out, "Juliet."

NURSE.
Coming, coming!
Let’s go now, all the strangers are gone.

[Exit.]

Enter Chorus.

CHORUS.
Now old desires lie on their deathbed,
And young love rushes in to take their place;
The beauty for which love sighed and would have died,
Compared to Juliet's, now seems out of grace.
Now Romeo is loved, and loves in return,
Both enchanted by each other's looks;
But he must woo someone he's supposed to hate,
And she risks love's sweet lure on dangerous hooks:
Since he's seen as an enemy, he can't openly speak
The vows that lovers usually swear to keep;
And as much as she loves him, she has even fewer ways
To meet with her newly cherished love these days.
But passion gives them power, and time offers a chance
To meet, softening their troubles with sweet romance.

[Leave.]

Enter Romeo.

ROMEO.
How can I move on when my heart is here?
Turn back, lifeless body, and find where you truly belong.

[He climbs over the wall and jumps down inside it.]

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Romeo! My cousin Romeo!

MERCUTIO.
He's smart,
And I bet he's snuck off home to bed.

BENVOLIO.
He ran this way and jumped over this orchard wall. Call him, good Mercutio.

MERCUTIO.
Alright, I’ll call him too.
Romeo! Emotions! Crazy guy! Passionate! Lover!
Show up as a sigh if nothing else,
Say just one rhyme, and I’ll be happy;
Just cry ‘Ah me!’ Say something like Love and dove;
Whisper one nice word to my friend Venus,
Or a silly nickname for her half-blind son,
Young Cupid, who shot so perfectly
When King Cophetua fell for the beggar girl.
He’s not listening, not moving, not responding;
The fool’s gone, so I’ll have to summon him.
I summon you by Rosaline’s bright eyes,
Her high forehead and ruby-red lips,
Her perfect foot, straight legs, and trembling thigh,
And the lands nearby that tempt the eye,
That you show up in front of us, as yourself.

BENVOLIO.
If he hears you, you'll make him angry.

MERCUTIO.
This won’t make him angry. What would really upset him
Is summoning a spirit in his girlfriend’s circle,
One of a strange kind, letting it stay there
Until she dealt with it and sent it away;
Now that would be spiteful. My summoning
Is fair and honest, and in his girlfriend’s name,
I’m only calling to bring him here.

BENVOLIO.
Come on, he's hidden himself among these trees
To keep company with the moody night.
His love is blind, and it suits the dark best.

MERCUTIO.
If love is blind, it can’t hit the target.
Now he’ll sit under a medlar tree,
Wishing his girl was that kind of fruit
That women call medlars when they joke alone.
Oh Romeo, if only she were, if only she were
An open-arse, and you a poperin pear!
Good night, Romeo. I’m heading to my little bed.
This outdoor bed is too cold for me to sleep in.
Come on, should we go?

BENVOLIO.
Go then; it’s pointless
To look for someone here who doesn’t want to be found.

[They exit.]

Enter Romeo.

ROMEO.
He jokes about scars without ever having been hurt.

Juliet is at a window.

But wait, what light is shining through that window?
It’s the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Rise up, beautiful sun, and outshine the jealous moon,
Who is already sick and pale with sadness
Because you, her servant, are far more beautiful than she is.
Don’t serve the moon since she’s envious;
Her chaste, pale uniform is sickly and outdated,
And only fools still wear it; throw it away.
It’s my lady, oh, it’s my love!
Oh, if only she knew it!
She’s speaking, but she doesn’t say anything. So what?
Her eyes are talking, and I’ll answer them.
No, I’m being too bold; she’s not speaking to me.
Two of the brightest stars in the sky
Have some business elsewhere, so they’re asking her eyes
To shine in their place until they return.
What if her eyes were up there and the stars in her head?
Her cheeks are so bright they’d put those stars to shame,
Just like daylight makes a lamp useless; her eyes in the sky
Would shine so brightly across the heavens
That birds would start singing, thinking it was daytime.
Look at how she rests her cheek on her hand.
Oh, if only I were a glove on that hand,
So I could touch her cheek.

JULIET.
Oh no.

ROMEO.
She’s speaking.
Oh, speak again, bright angel, because you’re
As glorious to this night, up above me,
As a winged messenger of heaven
To the white, upturned, wondering eyes
Of people who lean back to look at him
When he rides the slow-moving clouds
And glides through the sky.

JULIET.
Oh Romeo, Romeo, why do you have to be Romeo?
Reject your father and give up your name.
Or if you won’t, just swear you love me,
And I’ll stop being a Capulet.

ROMEO.
[Aside.] Should I keep listening, or should I say something?

JULIET.
It’s just your name that’s my enemy; You’re still you, even if you weren’t a Montague. What’s a Montague? It’s not a hand or a foot, Or an arm, or a face, or any other part That makes up a person. Oh, be some other name! What’s in a name? A rose would smell just as sweet Even if it had a different name; And Romeo, even if he weren’t called Romeo, Would still have that same perfect essence. Romeo, drop your name, And for your name, which isn’t really part of you, Take all of me.

ROMEO.
I’ll take you at your word.
Just call me love, and I’ll be reborn;
From now on, I’ll never be Romeo again.

JULIET.
Who are you, hiding in the night, that you overhear my private thoughts?

ROMEO.
By a name
I don't know how to tell you who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to me,
Because it's an enemy to you.
If it were written down, I would tear it apart.

JULIET.
I haven’t even heard a hundred words from you yet,
but I already recognize your voice.
Aren’t you Romeo, and a Montague?

ROMEO.
Neither, beautiful girl, if you don't like either.

JULIET.
How did you get here, tell me, and why?
The orchard walls are high and tough to climb,
And this place means death, given who you are,
If any of my family finds you here.

ROMEO.
With love’s light wings, I flew over these walls.
Stone walls can’t keep love out,
And love dares to do anything it can.
So your relatives are no obstacle for me.

JULIET.
If they catch you, they’ll kill you.

ROMEO.
Oh no, there's more danger in your eyes
Than in twenty of their swords. Just look at me kindly,
And I’m protected against their hatred.

JULIET.
I wouldn’t want them to see you here for anything in the world.

ROMEO.
I have the cover of night to hide me from their eyes,
And if you don’t love me, let them find me here.
I’d rather have my life ended by their hate
Than live on, delayed, without your love.

JULIET.
Who told you how to find this place?

ROMEO.
It was love that first inspired me to seek you out;
Love gave me advice, and I followed it with my eyes.
I’m no sailor, but even if you were as far away
As the distant shore washed by the farthest ocean,
I’d take the risk to reach such treasure.

JULIET.
You know the cover of night is hiding my face, Or else a maiden’s blush would paint my cheeks For what you’ve heard me say tonight. I’d like to stick to proper manners, I’d like—really like—to deny What I’ve said; but goodbye to pretenses. Do you love me? I know you’ll say yes, And I’ll believe you. But if you swear it, You might still prove false. They say Jupiter laughs At lovers’ lies. Oh, gentle Romeo, If you love me, say it honestly. Or if you think I’m giving in too easily, I’ll frown and play hard to get, and say no to you, So you’ll have to win me over. But otherwise, I wouldn’t do that for the world. In truth, dear Montague, I’m too much in love, And because of that, you might think my behavior is reckless. But believe me, gentleman, I’ll be more faithful Than those who are clever at playing hard to get. I should have kept my distance, I admit, But you overheard me before I realized I was declaring my love for you. So, forgive me, And don’t think my willingness is shallow love, Which the night has revealed.

ROMEO.
My lady, I swear by the blessed moon over there,
That casts its silver light on the tops of these fruit trees—

JULIET.
Oh, don’t swear by the moon, the fickle moon,
That changes every month in its orbit,
Or your love might turn out to be just as changeable.

ROMEO.
What should I swear by?

JULIET.
Don’t swear at all.
Or if you must, swear by your wonderful self,
Which is the god I worship,
And I’ll believe you.

ROMEO.
If my heart's true love,—

JULIET.
Well, don’t swear. Even though I’m happy because of you,
I can’t feel joy about this promise tonight.
It’s too impulsive, too unplanned, too sudden—
Too much like lightning, gone before anyone can say, “Look, it’s lightning.” Sweetheart, good night.
This budding love, with summer’s warm breath,
Might bloom into a beautiful flower the next time we meet.
Good night, good night. I hope you rest as peacefully
As I will with you in my heart.

ROMEO.
Oh, will you leave me feeling so unsatisfied?

JULIET.
What kind of satisfaction are you looking for tonight?

ROMEO.
The exchange of your true love’s promise for mine.

JULIET.
I gave you my love before you even asked for it;
And yet I wish I could give it to you all over again.

ROMEO.
Would you take it back? Why, my love?

JULIET.
To be honest, I'll give it back to you again.
And still, I only wish for what I already have.
My generosity is as endless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to you,
The more I have, because both are infinite.
I hear a noise inside. My love, goodbye for now.
[Nurse calls inside.]
Coming, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague, stay loyal.
Wait just a moment, I'll be back.

[Leave.]

ROMEO.
Oh, blessed, blessed night. I'm afraid
That since it's nighttime, all of this is just a dream—
Too wonderfully sweet to be real.

Enter Juliet above.

JULIET.
Just three words, dear Romeo, and good night.
If your love is true and honorable,
And your intention is marriage, send me a message tomorrow
Through someone I’ll send to you,
Telling me where and when you want to marry me,
And I’ll give you everything I have,
And follow you, my love, all around the world.

NURSE.
[Inside.] Ma'am.

JULIET.
I'm coming, soon.— But if you don't have good intentions,
I beg you,—

NURSE.
[Inside.] Ma'am.

JULIET.
I'm coming soon—
Now stop this arguing and leave me to my sorrow.
I'll send word tomorrow.

ROMEO.
So help my soul,—

JULIET.
Good night a thousand times.

Exit.

ROMEO.
It’s a thousand times worse to be without your light.
Love moves toward love as eagerly as kids running away from their schoolbooks,
But when love has to part, it drags along as sadly as kids going back to school.

Retiring gradually.

Re-enter Juliet, above.

JULIET.
Psst! Romeo, psst! Oh, if only I had a falconer’s voice To call this gentle falcon back to me. The chains of silence make my voice rough, and I can’t call out loud, Otherwise, I’d break into Echo's cave And make her faint voice even rougher than mine By calling out your name over and over, Romeo.

ROMEO.
It's my soul calling out my name.
How sweetly lovers' voices sound at night,
Like the softest music to listening ears.

Juliet.
Romeo.

Hey, my love?

JULIET.
What time tomorrow
Should I send someone to you?

ROMEO.
At nine o'clock.

JULIET.
I won’t fail. It feels like twenty years until then.
I’ve forgotten why I called you back.

ROMEO.
I'll stay right here until you remember.

JULIET.
I might forget if you keep standing there,
Because I’ll only think about how much I love your company.

ROMEO.
And I’ll stay here, so you’ll keep forgetting,
Forgetting about any home other than this one.

JULIET.
It's almost morning; I want you to go,
But not much farther than a playful bird
That hops just a bit from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his tangled chains,
And she pulls it back with a silk thread,
So lovingly possessive of its freedom.

ROMEO.
I wish I were your bird.

JULIET.
My love, I wish the same:
But I might smother you with too much affection.
Good night, good night. Saying goodbye is such sweet sadness
That I'll keep saying good night until it's tomorrow.

[Leave.]

ROMEO.
May sleep rest upon your eyes and peace fill your heart.
I wish I could be sleep and peace, so sweet to bring you rest.
Now I'll go to my spiritual father's cell,
To ask for his help and share my good fortune.

[Log out.]

Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
The gray morning smiles on the gloomy night,
Breaking up the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And speckled darkness, like a drunkard, stumbles away
From the path of the day, lit by Titan's fiery wheels.
Now, before the sun rises with its burning eye
To bring the day to life and dry the night's damp dew,
I must fill this wicker basket of ours
With harmful weeds and flowers full of healing juices.
The earth, nature's mother, is also her tomb;
What she buries, she also brings to life again in her womb.
And from her womb, we find children of all kinds,
Feeding on the nourishment she provides.
Many are excellent for their many virtues,
None exist without some purpose, and all are different.
Oh, there’s so much powerful grace hidden
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true properties.
There’s nothing so bad that exists on the earth
That doesn’t contribute some good to it;
And nothing so good that, pushed beyond its limits,
Can’t stray from its true purpose and become harmful.
Virtue itself can turn into vice when misused,
And sometimes vice can be dignified through the right actions.

Enter Romeo.

Within the fragile skin of this delicate flower Both poison and healing power reside: Smelling it refreshes every part of you, But tasting it kills both senses and heart. Two opposing forces always camp In people and plants alike—virtue and wild desire; And when the worse side takes control, It quickly destroys the whole, like a deadly disease.

ROMEO.
Good morning, father.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Bless you!
Who’s up so early, greeting me so sweetly?
Young man, waking up this early suggests a troubled mind.
Old men often stay awake, burdened by worries,
And where worry settles, sleep doesn’t stay;
But when young minds are clear and untroubled,
They rest easily, enjoying deep, golden sleep.
So your early rising tells me one of two things:
Either you’re troubled by something, or—I’ve got it right—
Our Romeo didn’t sleep in his bed last night.

ROMEO.
That's true; I did enjoy a sweeter rest.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
God forgive sin. Were you with Rosaline?

ROMEO.
With Rosaline, my spiritual father? No.
I’ve forgotten that name and all the pain that came with it.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Good, my boy. But where have you been?

ROMEO.
I’ll tell you before you ask me again.
I’ve been at a feast with my enemy,
Where suddenly someone wounded me
And I wounded them too. Both our cures
Depend on your help and holy medicine.
I hold no hatred, good man; and look,
My request even helps my enemy too.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Be straightforward, my son, and clear in your purpose;
Confusing confessions only get confusing forgiveness.

ROMEO.
Let me put it plainly—my deep love is for the beautiful daughter of wealthy Capulet.
Just as I love her, she loves me back.
Everything’s in place, except for what you need to unite us
through holy marriage. I’ll tell you when, where, and how
we met, fell in love, and exchanged our vows as we walk, but for now, I ask this—
please agree to marry us today.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Holy Saint Francis! What a sudden change is this!
Is Rosaline, whom you loved so deeply,
So quickly forgotten? Young men’s love, it seems,
Lives not in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Good heavens, how many tears
Have stained your cheeks for Rosaline!
So much saltwater wasted,
Trying to season a love that didn’t even exist.
The sun hasn’t yet dried your sighs from the skies above,
And I can still hear your old groans in my ears.
Look, there’s still a trace of a tear
On your cheek that hasn’t even dried yet.
If you ever truly felt these sorrows,
They were all for Rosaline—and now you’ve changed?
If so, let me say this: women may fall,
When men lack the strength to stay steadfast.

ROMEO.
You often scolded me for loving Rosaline.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
You're infatuated, not truly in love, my student.

ROMEO.
And told me to bury love.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Not in a grave
To put one in, just to take another out.

ROMEO.
Please don’t scold me; the one I love now
Returns grace for grace and love for love.
The other didn’t do that.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Oh, she knew well
That your love was just repeating words without truly understanding them.
But come on, young doubter, come with me,
I'll help you with this for one specific reason;
This marriage might turn out to be so fortunate
That it changes the hatred between your families into true love.

ROMEO.
Oh, let's go; I'm in a rush.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Be smart and take it slow; people who rush end up tripping.

[Going out.]

Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

MERCUTIO.
Where on earth could Romeo be? Didn’t he come home last night?

BENVOLIO.
Not to his dad's place; I talked to his servant.

MERCUTIO.
You know, that pale, cold-hearted girl, Rosaline, is driving him so crazy that he’s bound to lose his mind.

BENVOLIO.
Tybalt, old Capulet's relative, has sent a letter to his father's house.

A challenge, for my life.

BENVOLIO.
Romeo will respond to it.

MERCUTIO.
Anyone who can write can reply to a letter.

BENVOLIO.
No, he’ll respond to the one who sent the letter, accepting the challenge since he’s been challenged.

MERCUTIO.
Poor Romeo, he's already as good as dead—pierced by a white girl's dark eyes, hit straight in the ear by a love song, his heart split by Cupid's blunt arrow. And is he really the guy to go up against Tybalt?

BENVOLIO.
Why, who is Tybalt?

MERCUTIO.
More than the Prince of Cats. Oh, he's the bold master of manners. He fights with precision, like singing on key—keeps rhythm, spacing, and balance. He pauses just the right amount, one, two, and then the third hits you in the heart: the exact butcher of a silk button, a duelist, a duelist; a gentleman of the highest order, skilled in all the reasons to fight. Ah, the legendary passado, the reversed thrust, the lunge.

The what?

MERCUTIO.
Curse these ridiculous, affected, lisping fantasies, these trendy accent changers. By God, a good sword, a strong man, a decent prostitute. Isn’t it just pitiful, grandfather, that we’re plagued by these pests, these fashion-obsessed people, these “excuse-me” types, who are so caught up in the latest trends that they can’t relax with the old ways? Oh, their bones, their bones!

Enter Romeo.

BENVOLIO.
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!

MERCUTIO.
Without his roe, like a dried-up herring. Oh flesh, flesh, how have you become so fishy! Now he's all about the style that Petrarch flowed with. Laura, compared to his lady, was just a kitchen maid—though, to be fair, she had a better poet to write about her. Dido was plain; Cleopatra, a wandering gypsy; Helen and Hero, nobodies and loose women; Thisbe might have had pretty eyes, but that's beside the point. Signor Romeo, good day! There's a French greeting for your fancy French pants. You totally ditched us last night.

ROMEO.
Good morning to you both. What fake act did I show you?

MERCUTIO.
The joke, sir, the joke; don't you get it?

ROMEO.
Sorry, good Mercutio, I had important matters to handle, and in a situation like mine, a person might have to skip formalities.

MERCUTIO.
That basically means a situation like yours forces a man to bend at the knees.

ROMEO.
Meaning, to bow.

You got it perfectly.

ROMEO.
A very polite explanation.

MERCUTIO.
No, I’m the absolute height of politeness.

ROMEO.
Pink for flower.

MERCUTIO.
Got it.

ROMEO.
Well, then my shoe is perfectly stylish.

MERCUTIO.
Sure, wit, keep up with this joke now until you've worn out your shoe, so that when the single sole of it is worn out, the joke may still remain, purely unique.

ROMEO.
Oh, what a thin joke, only unique for how simple it is!

MERCUTIO.
Step in between us, good Benvolio; my patience is wearing thin.

ROMEO.
Quickly now, hurry up; or I'll call it a tie.

MERCUTIO.
No, if your wit's off chasing wild geese, I'm out of here. You've got more of the wild-goose in one part of your wit than I have in all five of mine. Did I catch you there with the goose?

ROMEO.
You were never with me for anything unless it was for the goose.

MERCUTIO.
I'll bite your ear for that joke.

Romeo: No, good goose, don’t bite.

MERCUTIO.
Your wit is like a bittersweet apple; it's the sharpest kind of sauce.

ROMEO.
Isn’t it well delivered to a sweet goose then?

MERCUTIO.
Oh, here's a flexible wit, stretching from an inch wide to a yard long.

ROMEO.
I drag it out because that word "broad," when added to "goose," makes you, far and wide, a broad goose.

MERCUTIO.
Isn't this better than moping around for love? Now you're sociable, now you're Romeo; now you're being yourself, both by your own nature and your own wit. This silly love is like a big fool, running around with his tongue out, trying to hide his toy in a hole.

BENVOLIO.
Hold up, hold up.

MERCUTIO.
You want me to stop telling my story against the grain.

BENVOLIO.
Otherwise, you would have exaggerated your story.

MERCUTIO.
Oh, you're wrong; I would have kept it short because I was getting to the main point of my story and didn't plan to drag out the argument any further.

Enter Nurse and Peter.

ROMEO.
Look what we have here! A ship, a ship!

MERCUTIO.
Two, two; a shirt and a dress.

Nurse.
Peter!

PETER.
Anonymous.

NURSE.
My fan, Peter.

MERCUTIO.
Good Peter, cover her face; her fan is prettier than her face.

NURSE.
Good morning, gentlemen.

MERCUTIO.
Good evening, fair lady.

NURSE.
Is it good then?

MERCUTIO.
It's no less, I tell you; the dirty hand of the clock is now on the stroke of noon.

NURSE.
Shame on you! What kind of man are you?

ROMEO.
Someone, ma'am, that God made for himself to ruin.

NURSE.
Honestly, that's well said; is he the one who ruins himself, you say? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I can find young Romeo?

ROMEO.
I can tell you, but young Romeo will be older by the time you find him than he was when you started looking for him. I’m the youngest one with that name, simply because there isn’t anyone worse.

NURSE.
You’re right.

MERCUTIO.
Yeah, is the worst all good now? Well played, for sure; clever, very clever.

NURSE.
If you're the one, sir, I'd like to have a word with you.

She'll invite him over for dinner.

MERCUTIO.
A pimp, a pimp, a pimp! Hey there!

ROMEO.
What have you found?

MERCUTIO.
No rabbit, sir, unless it's a rabbit in a Lent pie, already a bit stale and moldy before it's eaten.
[Sings.]
    An old gray hare,
    An old gray hare,
  Is fine meat for Lent;
    But a hare that's gray
    Isn't worth the stay
  When it spoils before it's spent.
Romeo, are you coming to your dad’s? We’re heading there for dinner.

I'm coming with you.

MERCUTIO.
Goodbye, old lady; goodbye, ma'am, ma'am, ma'am.

Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.

NURSE.
Please tell me, sir, who was that rude guy so full of his mischief?

ROMEO.
A guy, Nurse, who loves the sound of his own voice and will say more in a minute than he can back up in a month.

NURSE.
If anyone talks bad about me, I'll put them in their place, even if they're stronger than him—and twenty guys like him. And if I can't do it myself, I'll find someone who can. Worthless jerk! I'm not one of his flirtatious girls; I'm not one of his low-class buddies.—And you just stand there and let every idiot treat me however they want!

PETER.
I didn’t see anyone taking advantage of you; if I had, I’d have pulled my weapon out right away. Let me tell you, I’m just as quick to draw as anyone else, as long as it’s a good fight and the law backs me up.

NURSE.
Now, before God, I’m so angry that I’m shaking all over. Rotten scoundrel. Please, sir, a word: as I mentioned, my young lady asked me to find you. What she told me to say, I'll keep to myself for now. But first, let me tell you, if you’re planning to lead her into a false sense of security, as they say, it would be a very shameful thing to do, as they say, because she’s young. So, if you intend to deceive her, honestly, it would be a terrible thing to do to any young lady, and very dishonest.

ROMEO.
Nurse, send my regards to your lady and mistress. I swear to you,—

NURSE.
Good heart, and honestly, I’ll tell her the same. Oh Lord, oh Lord, she’s going to be so happy!

ROMEO.
What are you going to tell her, Nurse? You're not paying attention to me.

NURSE.
I’ll tell her, sir, that you swear your sincerity, which, as I see it, is a proper gentleman’s gesture.

ROMEO.
Tell her to come up with a way
To go to confession this afternoon,
And there, at Friar Lawrence’s cell,
She’ll confess her sins and get married. Here’s something for your trouble.

NURSE.
No, really, sir; not a cent.

ROMEO.
Come on; I’m telling you, you will.

NURSE.
This afternoon, sir? Alright, she'll be there.

ROMEO.
Wait here, good Nurse, by the abbey wall.
Within the hour, my servant will come to you
And bring ropes made like a ladder,
Which will carry me to the height of my happiness
In the secrecy of the night.
Goodbye, be reliable, and I’ll make it worth your effort.
Goodbye; give my regards to your mistress.

NURSE.
May God in heaven bless you. Listen, sir.

ROMEO.
What do you say, my dear Nurse?

NURSE.
Is your man discreet? Haven't you heard the saying, Two can keep a secret if one of them is gone?

ROMEO.
I promise you, my guy is as dependable as steel.

NURSE.
Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. My goodness! When she was just a little chatterbox—oh, there’s a nobleman in town, Paris, who would love to win her over; but she, bless her heart, would just as soon see a toad, a nasty toad, as see him. I tease her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the better-looking man, but I’ll tell you, when I say that, she turns as pale as any cloth in the whole wide world. Doesn’t rosemary and Romeo both start with the same letter?

ROMEO.
Yeah, Nurse; so what? Both start with an R.

NURSE.
Oh, you tease! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, wait, it starts with another letter, and she has the cutest way of saying it, mixing you and rosemary together, that it would make you happy to hear it.

ROMEO.
Give my regards to your lady.

NURSE.
Yes, a thousand times. Peter!

[Exit Romeo.]

PETER.
Someone.

NURSE.
Before and after.

[Exit.]

Enter Juliet.

JULIET.
The clock struck nine when I sent the Nurse out, She promised she'd be back in half an hour. Maybe she can’t find him—no, that’s not it. Oh, she’s so slow! Love’s messengers should be like thoughts, Which move ten times faster than the sun’s rays, Pushing shadows away from the dark hills. That’s why swift-winged doves carry love, And why Cupid has such fast wings. Now the sun is at the highest point of this day’s journey, And it’s been three long hours since nine— But she’s still not back. If she had feelings and the energy of youth, She’d move as fast as a ball, And my words would send her to my love, And his words would send her back to me. But old people—oh, they act as if they’re dead— Clumsy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead.

Enter Nurse and Peter.

Oh God, she’s here. Sweet Nurse, what’s the news?
Did you see him? Send your servant away.

NURSE.
Peter, stay at the gate.

[Exit Peter.]

JULIET.
Now, my dear sweet Nurse—Oh Lord, why do you look so sad?
If the news is bad, at least tell it cheerfully;
If it's good, you're ruining the joy of happy news
by delivering it to me with such a sour face.

NURSE.
I’m so tired, let me rest for a bit;
Ugh, my bones ache! What a trip I’ve had!

JULIET.
I wish you had my bones, and I had your news:
No, come on, I beg you, speak; please, good Nurse, speak.

NURSE.
Jesus, what's the rush? Can't you wait a moment? Don't you see I'm out of breath?

JULIET.
How can you be out of breath when you have the breath to tell me you’re out of breath? The excuse you’re making for this delay takes longer than the story you’re excusing. Is your news good or bad? Just answer that; Say one or the other, and I’ll wait for the details. Just tell me, is it good or bad?

NURSE.
Well, you’ve made a simple choice; you don’t know how to pick a man. Romeo? No, not him. Sure, his face is better than any man’s, his leg outshines all others, and as for his hand, foot, and body—though they’re nothing to talk about—they’re still unmatched. He’s not exactly the most polite, but I’ll bet he’s as gentle as a lamb. Go on, girl, serve God. So, have you eaten at home?

JULIET.
No, no. I already knew all that before.
What does he say about our marriage? What about that?

NURSE.
Oh Lord, my head hurts so much! What a terrible headache I have!
It feels like it's going to split into twenty pieces.
And my back on the other side—oh, my back, my back!
Curse you for sending me running around,
About to catch my death from all this rushing up and down.

JULIET.
Honestly, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.
Please, sweet Nurse, tell me—what does my love say?

NURSE.
Your love speaks like an honest gentleman—
Courteous, kind, handsome,
And, I’m sure, virtuous. Where’s your mom?

JULIET.
Where's my mom? Oh, she's inside.
Where else would she be? You're answering so strangely.
'Your love says, like a true gentleman,
'Where's your mom?'

NURSE.
Oh dear God,
Are you so impatient? Well, excuse me, I’m sure.
Is this how you treat someone with aching bones?
From now on, deliver your own messages.

JULIET.
What’s all this fuss about? So, what does Romeo say?

NURSE.
Do you have permission to go to confession today?

I have.

NURSE.
Hurry now to Friar Lawrence’s cell; Your husband is waiting there to make you his wife. Now the excitement is showing in your blushes, Your cheeks will turn bright red at any good news. Go to the church. I have to head another way, To get a ladder so your love can climb Up to your window when it’s dark tonight. I do all this work and labor for your happiness, But you’ll have your own work to do later tonight. Go on. I’ll head to dinner; hurry to the cell.

JULIET.
Hurry to good luck! Thank you, dear Nurse, goodbye.

[Exit.]

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
May the heavens smile on this sacred act
so that later it doesn’t bring us any sorrow.

ROMEO.
Amen, amen, but no matter what sorrow comes,
It could never outweigh the joy
I feel in just one short minute of seeing her.
Just join our hands with sacred words,
Then let death, greedy for love, do whatever it wants—
It's enough for me to simply call her mine.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
These intense pleasures have intense endings,
And they burn out in their victory, like fire and gunpowder,
Which destroy each other as soon as they meet. The sweetest honey
Becomes sickening in its own sweetness,
And ruins the appetite when tasted too much.
So love in moderation: that’s how love lasts long;
Moving too fast is just as bad as moving too slow.

Enter Juliet.

Here comes the lady. Oh, such a light step Will never wear down the eternal stone. A lover could walk on the spider’s threads That float in the playful summer breeze And still not fall; vanity is that light.

JULIET.
Good evening to my spiritual advisor.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Romeo will thank you, my daughter, for both of us.

JULIET.
Just as much to him, or else his thanks are over the top.

ROMEO.
Ah, Juliet, if your joy is as full as mine,
And if you're even better at expressing it,
Then fill this nearby air with your sweet words,
And let the melody of your voice
Reveal the imagined happiness we both feel
From this precious moment together.

JULIET.
Imagination that's richer in substance than in words
Boasts about its essence, not its decoration.
Only beggars can calculate their value;
But my true love has grown so overwhelming
I can't even begin to measure half of my riches.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Come on, let's go and get this done quickly,
Because, with all due respect, you won't be left alone
Until the church unites you both as one.

[Exit.]

Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and Servants.

BENVOLIO.
Please, good Mercutio, let’s head inside:
It’s a hot day, the Capulets are out,
And if we run into them, we won’t avoid a fight,
Because in this heat, tempers are flaring.

MERCUTIO.
You're like one of those guys who, when he walks into a bar, slaps his sword on the table and says, 'God, I hope I don't have to use this!' but after his second drink, picks a fight with the bartender when there really isn't any reason for it.

BENVOLIO.
Do I seem like that kind of guy?

MERCUTIO.
Come on, come on, you're as quick-tempered as anyone in Italy; you get irritated just as easily as you get upset, and just as easily upset as you get irritated.

And what for?

MERCUTIO.
No, if there were two like you, we wouldn't have any soon, because one would kill the other. You? Why, you'd pick a fight with someone just because they have one hair more or one hair less in their beard than you. You'd start a fight with someone for cracking nuts, with no other reason than the fact that you've got hazel eyes. What kind of eye but yours would notice such a petty reason for a fight? Your head is as full of arguments as an egg is full of yolk, and yet your head has been beaten as scrambled as an egg for fighting. You even argued with someone for coughing in the street because they woke up your dog, which was sleeping in the sun. Didn't you fall out with a tailor for wearing his new jacket before Easter? With another person for tying his new shoes with an old ribbon? And yet you’re trying to lecture me about fighting?

BENVOLIO.
If I were as quick to argue as you are, anyone could own my life outright for just an hour and fifteen minutes.

The fee simple! So simple!

Enter Tybalt and others.

BENVOLIO.
Oh no, the Capulets are coming.

I couldn't care less.

TYBALT.
Stay close to me, I'll talk to them.
Gentlemen, good evening: I need a word with one of you.

MERCUTIO.
Just one word with one of us? Add something to it; make it a word and a punch.

TYBALT.
You'll find me ready for that, sir, if you give me a reason.

MERCUTIO.
Couldn't you take an opportunity without picking a fight?

TYBALT.
Mercutio, you're hanging out with Romeo.

MERCUTIO.
Consort? What, are you calling us musicians? If you’re making us musicians, get ready to hear nothing but out-of-tune notes. Here’s my sword, this is what will make you dance. Damn it, consort!

BENVOLIO.
We’re talking here in a crowded public place.
Either move to somewhere private
And calmly discuss your issues,
Or leave; everyone’s watching us here.

MERCUTIO.
People are meant to look, so let them stare.
I’m not moving for anyone’s satisfaction, no way.

Enter Romeo.

TYBALT.
Alright, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my guy.

MERCUTIO.
But I’ll be damned, sir, if he wears your uniform.
Seriously, go to the field first, he’ll be your follower;
In that sense, you can call him your servant.

TYBALT.
Romeo, the love I have for you can only call you one thing: You're a villain.

ROMEO.
Tybalt, the reason I have to care about you
Makes me ignore the anger that comes
With such a greeting. I'm no villain;
So goodbye; I see you don’t know who I really am.

TYBALT.
Kid, nothing can excuse the harm you’ve done to me, so turn around and fight.

ROMEO.
I swear, I’ve never done anything to harm you,
I actually love you more than you can imagine
Until you understand the reason for my love.
So, good Capulet, a name I value
As much as my own, let’s make peace.

MERCUTIO.
Oh calm, shameful, disgusting submission!
[Draws his sword.] Alla stoccata takes the win.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, are you ready to fight?

TYBALT.
What do you want with me?

MERCUTIO.
Hey, King of Cats, just one of your nine lives is all I’m after; I’m going to take it boldly, and depending on how you treat me after that, I might just beat the other eight out of you. Are you going to draw your sword from its sheath, or what? Hurry up, or mine will be at your ears before you can get it out.

TYBALT.
[Drawing.] I'm here for you.

ROMEO.
Gentle Mercutio, put your sword away.

MERCUTIO.
Come on, let's see your move.

They're fighting.

ROMEO.
Draw your sword, Benvolio; stop their fighting.
Guys, come on, stop this madness,
Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince has clearly
Forbidden this brawling in the streets of Verona.
Stop it, Tybalt! Come on, Mercutio!

[Tybalt and his followers exit.]

MERCUTIO.
I’m hurt.
A curse on both your houses! I’m done for.
Is he gone and got away with it?

BENVOLIO.
What, are you hurt?

MERCUTIO.
Yeah, yeah, just a scratch, just a scratch. But honestly, it's enough.
Where’s my boy? Go, you rascal, get a doctor.

[Exit Page.]

ROMEO.
Stay strong, man; the injury can't be that bad.

MERCUTIO.
No, it’s not as deep as a well or as wide as a church door, but it’s enough—it’ll do. Ask for me tomorrow, and you’ll find me a serious man... in a grave. I’m done for, I swear, finished with this world. A curse on both your houses! Damn it, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat—something so small—to kill a man. A show-off, a scoundrel, a villain who fights by the rules of a manual! Why the hell did you come between us? I was wounded under your arm.

ROMEO.
I had good intentions.

MERCUTIO.
Help me to a house, Benvolio,
Or I'll pass out. A curse on both your houses.
They’ve turned me into worm food.
I’ve got it, and bad too. Your houses!

[Exit Mercutio and Benvolio.]

ROMEO.
This man, the Prince’s close relative,
My true friend, has been fatally wounded
Because of me; my reputation is stained
By Tybalt’s lies—Tybalt, who just an hour ago
Became my cousin. Oh sweet Juliet,
Your beauty has made me weak
And softened the steel of my bravery.

Re-enter Benvolio.

BENVOLIO.
Oh Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead,
That noble spirit has risen to the clouds,
Leaving the earth behind far too soon.

ROMEO.
Today’s dark events will lead to more trouble ahead;
This is just the start of the sorrow that others will have to finish.

Re-enter Tybalt.

BENVOLIO.
Here comes angry Tybalt coming back again.

ROMEO.
Mercutio is dead, and you're celebrating?
Forget mercy and let fierce anger guide me now!
Now, Tybalt, take back the "villain" you called me earlier,
Because Mercutio's soul is just above us,
Waiting for yours to join him.
One of us, or maybe both, has to go with him.

TYBALT.
You miserable boy, who was just keeping him company here,
Will go with him from this world.

ROMEO.
This will decide that.

They fight; Tybalt falls.

BENVOLIO.
Romeo, go, get out of here!
The townspeople are awake, and Tybalt is dead.
Don’t just stand there in shock. The Prince will sentence you to death
if they catch you. Go now, leave, hurry!

ROMEO.
Oh, I'm fate's fool!

BENVOLIO.
Why are you waiting?

[Exit Romeo.]

Enter Citizens.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Which way did the one who killed Mercutio run?
Tybalt, the murderer, which way did he go?

BENVOLIO.
There’s Tybalt.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Get up, sir, and come with me.
I order you in the Prince’s name to obey.

Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives and others.

PRINCE.
Where are the wicked ones who started this fight?

BENVOLIO.
O noble Prince, I can explain everything
About the unfortunate events of this deadly fight.
There lies the man, killed by young Romeo,
Who murdered your relative, brave Mercutio.

LADY CAPULET.
Tybalt, my cousin! Oh, my brother’s child!
Oh, Prince! Oh, husband! Oh, the blood has been spilled
Of my dear kinsman! Prince, if you are just,
For our blood spilled, take Montague’s blood in return.
Oh, cousin, cousin.

PRINCE.
Benvolio, who started this violent fight?

BENVOLIO.
Tybalt, who Romeo killed, lies here dead; Romeo tried to reason with him, telling him to think about how pointless the fight was, and even reminded him of your strong anger. He said all this with a calm voice, a gentle look, and on bent knees. But none of it could calm Tybalt’s wild rage. Tybalt, refusing peace, attacked Mercutio with his sword. Mercutio, just as angry, fought back fiercely, and with the skill of a soldier, knocked aside one deadly blow, only to strike back at Tybalt with another. Tybalt, quick on his feet, countered it. Romeo called out loudly, "Stop, friends! Break it up!" and faster than he could speak, he swung his arm, blocking their deadly swords, and jumped between them. But under Romeo’s arm, Tybalt struck and fatally wounded brave Mercutio, then ran off. But soon, Tybalt returned to Romeo, who had just given in to his own need for revenge, and they fought like lightning. Before I could draw my weapon to stop them, brave Tybalt was killed. And as Tybalt fell, Romeo turned and ran. That’s exactly how it happened, or may I die if I’m lying.

LADY CAPULET.
He's related to the Montagues.
He's biased because of affection, so he's not being honest.
About twenty of them were involved in this violent fight,
And all twenty together only took one life.
I demand justice, and you, Prince, must deliver it;
Romeo killed Tybalt, so Romeo cannot be allowed to live.

PRINCE.
Romeo killed him, and he killed Mercutio.
Who now is responsible for paying the price for his precious blood?

MONTAGUE.
Not Romeo, Prince—he was Mercutio’s friend.
His only fault was finishing what the law should have done:
Taking Tybalt’s life.

PRINCE.
And for that crime,
We banish him right away from here.
I’m personally affected by your hateful actions—
My own blood was spilled because of your violent fights.
But I’ll punish you with such a heavy fine
That you’ll all regret the loss I’ve suffered.
I won’t listen to excuses or pleas;
Neither tears nor prayers will erase these wrongs.
So don’t even try. Romeo must leave quickly,
Or, if he’s found, that will be the moment he dies.
Take this body away, and follow my orders.
Showing mercy just leads to more death by sparing killers.

[Exit.]

Enter Juliet.

JULIET.
Hurry up, you fiery-footed horses, And race toward the place where the sun rests. A driver like Phaeton could rush you to the west And bring on cloudy night right away. Draw your dark curtains, love-filled night, So prying eyes will close, and Romeo Can come to my arms, unseen and undisturbed. Lovers don’t need light to do what passion calls for— Their beauty guides them; and if love is blind, It fits perfectly with the dark. Come, calm night, You serious widow dressed in black, And teach me how to win at this losing game, One played for two untouched maidenhoods. Calm my restless blood, still alive in my cheeks, With your dark cloak, until strange love feels brave, And pure love seems like modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, you bright day hidden in night; You’ll rest on night’s wings, Brighter than fresh snow on a raven’s back. Come, gentle night; come, patient, quiet night, Bring me my Romeo, and when I die, Take him and turn him into little stars. He’ll make the heavens look so beautiful That everyone will fall in love with night And stop worshiping the blinding sun. Oh, I’ve bought the house of love, But haven’t moved in yet; though I’m his, I haven’t had him yet. This day is so long— It feels like the day before a holiday To an impatient child who has new clothes But isn’t allowed to wear them. Oh, here’s my Nurse, And she’s bringing news, and every word she says That isn’t Romeo’s name is meaningless to me.

Enter Nurse, with wires.

So, Nurse, what’s the news? What do you have there?
Are those the ropes Romeo asked you to get?

NURSE.
Yeah, yeah, the cords.

[Drops them.]

JULIET.
Oh no, what’s the news? Why are you wringing your hands?

NURSE.
Oh, what a sad day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!
We’re ruined, my lady, we’re ruined.
Oh no, he’s gone, he’s killed, he’s dead.

JULIET.
Can heaven really be that envious?

NURSE.
Romeo can, Even though heaven can't. Oh Romeo, Romeo. Who would have ever thought it? Romeo!

JULIET.
What kind of devil are you, tormenting me like this?
This torture should be screamed about in dreadful hell.
Has Romeo killed himself? Just say "Yes,"
And that single word will poison me more
Than the deadly stare of a cockatrice.
I’m not myself if there’s such a "Yes"
Or if your eyes are closed to avoid answering "Yes."
If he's dead, say "Yes"; if not, say "No."
Just a simple word will decide my joy or misery.

NURSE.
I saw the wound, I saw it with my own eyes,
God help us!—right here on his strong chest.
A heartbreaking body, a bloody, heartbreaking body;
Pale, pale as ashes, covered in blood,
All soaked in blood. I fainted at the sight.

JULIET.
Oh, break, my heart. Poor bankrupt heart, break now.
Go blind, eyes; never look at freedom again.
Wretched body, return to the earth; let movement end here,
And you and Romeo lie together on one heavy coffin.

NURSE.
Oh Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I ever had.
Oh kind Tybalt, such an honest gentleman!
That I should live to see you dead.

JULIET.
What kind of storm is this, turning everything upside down?
Is Romeo killed, and is Tybalt dead too?
My closest cousin and my even dearer love?
Then let the dreadful trumpet sound the final judgment,
Because who could still be alive if those two are gone?

NURSE.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo’s been banished.
Romeo, who killed him, has been banished.

JULIET.
Oh God! Was it Romeo’s hand that spilled Tybalt’s blood?

NURSE.
It did, it did; oh no, it really did.

JULIET.
Oh, a serpent's heart hidden behind a blooming face!
Did a dragon ever live in such a lovely cave?
Beautiful tyrant, angelic demon,
Dove-like raven, wolf in sheep's clothing!
Hated reality wrapped in divine appearance!
The exact opposite of what you truly seem to be,
A damned saint, an honorable villain!
Oh nature, what were you doing in hell
When you placed the spirit of a devil
In the mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was there ever a book with such vile content
So elegantly bound? Oh, that deceit should live
Inside such a beautiful palace.

NURSE.
There’s no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men. They’re all liars,
All deceitful, all worthless, all fakes.
Oh, where’s my man? Give me some brandy.
These troubles, these pains, these sorrows are aging me.
Shame on Romeo.

JULIET.
May your tongue be cursed
For saying such a thing! He wasn’t born to bring shame.
Shame itself would be ashamed to rest on his forehead,
Because it’s a throne where honor is crowned
As the only ruler of the whole world.
Oh, what a fool I was to scold him!

NURSE.
Are you really going to speak kindly about the man who killed your cousin?

JULIET.
Should I speak badly of my husband? Oh, my poor love, who will defend your name, When I, your wife of only three hours, have torn it apart? But why, you villain, did you kill my cousin? That villainous cousin would have killed my husband. Stop, foolish tears, go back to where you came from; Your drops belong to sorrow, Yet you’re wrongly offering them to joy. My husband is alive, the one Tybalt wanted to kill, And Tybalt is dead, the one who wanted to kill my husband. There’s comfort in that—so why am I crying? But there was something worse than Tybalt’s death, Something that destroyed me. I want to forget it, But it keeps coming back to my mind, Like a guilty conscience haunting a sinner. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo is banished. That word "banished," that single word "banished," Is worse than ten thousand Tybalt deaths. Tybalt’s death Was enough pain—if it had ended there. And if bitter sorrow loves company, And insists on bringing more grief along, Then why didn’t she say my father or my mother—or both—had died, Something normal people might cry over? But no, after hearing of Tybalt’s death, Comes the cruel blow: "Romeo is banished." Saying that word Kills my father, my mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet— Everyone’s dead! Romeo is banished, And that word has no end, no limits, no boundaries, It’s the death of everything, and no words can truly express that pain. Where are my father and my mother, Nurse?

NURSE.
Crying and mourning over Tybalt’s body.
Will you go to them? I’ll take you there.

JULIET.
Wash his wounds with tears. I'll cry mine
when theirs dry up, for Romeo’s banishment.
Pick up those ropes. Poor ropes, you’ve been betrayed,
just like me, because Romeo is exiled.
He made you to be a pathway to my bed,
but now I, still a girl, will die a widowed virgin.
Come, ropes. Come, Nurse. I’ll go to my wedding bed,
and death, not Romeo, will take my virginity.

NURSE.
Go to your room. I’ll find Romeo
To comfort you. I know exactly where he is.
Listen, your Romeo will be here tonight.
I’ll go to him; he’s hiding at Lawrence’s place.

JULIET.
Oh, find him, give this ring to my true love,
And tell him to come say his final goodbye.

[Exit.]

Enter Friar Lawrence.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Romeo, come out; come out, you troubled man.
Trouble is in love with you,
And you’re married to misfortune.

Enter Romeo.

ROMEO.
Father, what's the news? What's the Prince's sentence?
What sorrow is waiting to introduce itself to me,
That I don't know about yet?

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
My dear son is far too familiar
With such bitter company.
I bring you news of the Prince's sentence.

ROMEO.
What punishment could be worse than the end of the world?

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
A kinder sentence came from his lips—
Not death, but exile from this place.

ROMEO.
What? Banishment? Just say death, be merciful;
Exile is so much more terrifying,
Way worse than death. Don’t call it banishment.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
You’re banished from Verona.
Be patient; the world is big and full of opportunities.

ROMEO.
There’s no world outside Verona’s walls,
Just purgatory, torture, and hell itself.
Being banished means being cut off from the world,
And being exiled from the world is like death. So banishment
Is just another name for death. Calling death banishment,
You’re cutting off my head with a golden axe,
And smiling as you deliver the blow that kills me.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Oh, what a deadly sin, how rude and ungrateful!
Your crime deserves death by law, but the kind Prince,
Taking your side, has set the law aside,
And changed that harsh sentence of death to banishment.
This is great mercy, and you don’t even see it.

ROMEO.
This is torture, not mercy. Heaven is here
where Juliet lives, and every cat, dog,
and little mouse—every unworthy creature—
lives here in heaven and gets to look at her,
but Romeo doesn't. There’s more worth,
more honor, more romance in filthy flies than in Romeo.
They can touch the pure miracle of Juliet's hand
and steal immortal blessings from her lips,
which, even in pure innocence
still blush, as if thinking their own kisses are sinful.
But Romeo can’t. He’s banished.
Flies can do this, but I have to run away.
They’re free, but I’m banished.
And you’re still telling me exile isn’t death?
Didn’t you have poison ready, or a sharp knife,
or some sudden way to die, no matter how crude,
instead of banishing me? Banished?
Oh Friar, the damned in hell use that word.
It’s spoken with screams. How can you,
a holy man, a spiritual guide,
a forgiver of sins, and my sworn friend,
torture me with that word—banished?

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
You foolish madman, listen to me for a moment,

ROMEO.
Oh, you’re going to talk about banishment again.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
I’ll give you protection against that word,
The soothing balm of philosophy,
To comfort you, even though you’re banished.

ROMEO.
Still banished? Forget philosophy.
Unless philosophy can create a Juliet,
Move a city, or overturn a Prince’s judgment,
It’s useless, it doesn’t help, so don’t talk about it anymore.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Oh, now I see that crazy people don’t listen.

ROMEO.
How could they, when even wise men can't see?

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Let me talk with you about your situation.

ROMEO.
You can’t talk about what you don’t understand.
If you were as young as I am, with Juliet as your love,
Married for just an hour, Tybalt killed,
Madly in love like I am, and banished like me,
Then you could talk, then you might tear your hair out,
And collapse on the ground like I’m doing now,
Measuring the size of a grave not yet dug.

[Knocking inside.]

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Get up; someone's knocking. Romeo, hide yourself.

ROMEO.
Not me, unless the sighs of lovesick groans
Hide me like a mist from searching eyes.

[Knock knock.]

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Listen, they're knocking!—Who's there?—Romeo, get up,
You'll be caught.—Wait a moment.—Stand up.

[Knocking.]

Run to my office.—In a moment.—God's will,
What foolishness is this.—I'm coming, I'm coming.

[Knocking.]

Who's knocking so hard? Where are you from, and what do you want?

NURSE.
[From inside.] Let me in, and I'll tell you why I'm here.
I've come from Lady Juliet.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Welcome!

Enter Nurse.

NURSE.
Oh holy Friar, please tell me, holy Friar,
Where is my lady's husband, where's Romeo?

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
There he is on the ground, overwhelmed by his own tears.

NURSE.
Oh, he's in the same situation as my mistress.
Exactly the same! Oh, such sorrowful sympathy!
What a sad predicament. She’s lying just like that,
Crying and sobbing, sobbing and crying.
Get up, get up; stand up and be a man.
For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, get up and stand.
Why would you sink into such despair?

ROMEO.
Nurse.

NURSE.
Oh sir, oh sir, death is the end of everything.

ROMEO.
Did you speak of Juliet? How is she?
Does she see me as some heartless killer now,
Since I’ve tainted the early days of our love
With blood not far removed from her own?
Where is she? How is she? And what does
My hidden wife say about our ruined love?

NURSE.
Oh, she doesn’t say anything, sir, but just cries and cries;
Sometimes she collapses on her bed, then suddenly jumps up,
Calling for Tybalt, then crying out for Romeo,
And then she falls down again.

ROMEO.
As if that name,
Fired from the deadly aim of a gun,
Killed her, just like that cursed hand of my name
Killed her relative. Oh, tell me, Friar, please tell me,
In what vile part of this body
Does my name reside? Tell me, so I can destroy
This hateful place.

[Unsheathing his sword.]

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Stop your desperate hand.
Are you a man? Your appearance says you are.
But your tears are too emotional, your wild actions show
The irrational rage of an animal.
An unseemly woman disguised as a man,
And a poorly-behaved beast pretending to be both!
You’ve shocked me. By my holy order,
I thought you had better self-control.
Have you killed Tybalt? Are you going to kill yourself too?
And destroy your wife, who lives through you,
By committing this hateful act against yourself?
Why are you cursing your birth, heaven, and earth?
Since birth, heaven, and earth have all come together
Within you; and now you’d throw all that away.
Shame on you, you disgrace your body, your love, your mind,
Which, like a rich man, overflows with potential,
But you don’t use any of it properly
To honor your body, your love, and your mind.
Your noble form is just a wax figure,
Lacking the courage of a man;
Your sworn love is nothing but empty lies,
Killing the love you vowed to cherish;
Your mind, that should guide your form and love,
Has twisted under the weight of your actions.
Like gunpowder in the hands of an untrained soldier,
You’ve ignited it with your own foolishness,
And you’re destroying yourself with your own defense.
Come on, get a grip. Juliet is alive,
The reason you wanted to die so recently.
That’s something to be happy about. Tybalt wanted to kill you,
But you killed Tybalt instead; that’s something to be happy about.
The law that sentenced you to death has been softened
To exile; that’s something to be happy about.
You’ve been blessed with a load of good fortune;
Happiness is offering itself to you, dressed in its finest.
But like an ungrateful and sulking child,
You’re rejecting your luck and your love.
Be warned, because people like that end up miserable.
Now, go to your wife like it was planned.
Climb up to her room and comfort her.
But don’t stay past the night watch,
Because after that you won’t be able to escape to Mantua.
You’ll live there until we can find the right time
To announce your marriage, bring peace to your families,
Beg forgiveness from the Prince, and welcome you back
With far more joy than you left here with grief.
Go ahead, Nurse. Give my regards to your lady,
And tell her to send everyone to bed quickly,
Since sorrow already makes them want to rest.
Romeo is on his way.

NURSE.
Oh Lord, I could've stayed here all night
Listening to such good advice. Oh, how wonderful knowledge is!
My lord, I'll go tell my lady that you're coming.

ROMEO.
Go ahead, and tell my love to get ready to scold me.

NURSE.
Here, sir, she asked me to give you this ring.
Hurry up, get going, it's getting really late.

[Leave.]

ROMEO.
How much better I feel after hearing this.

FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Go now, good night, and this is what you must do:
Either leave before the guards are posted,
Or by sunrise, leave here in disguise.
Stay in Mantua. I’ll track down your messenger,
And he’ll let you know from time to time
Any good news that happens here.
Give me your hand; it’s late; goodbye; good night.

ROMEO.
If it weren’t for the thought of a greater joy ahead calling me, Leaving you would be a sorrow, though it’s so short. Goodbye.

[Exit.]

Enter Lady Capulet and Paris.

CAPULET.
Things have taken such an unlucky turn, sir,
That we haven’t had time to talk to our daughter.
You see, she loved her cousin Tybalt deeply,
And so did I. Well, we’re all born to die.
It’s very late; she won’t be coming down tonight.
I assure you, if it weren’t for your company,
I would’ve been in bed an hour ago.

PARIS.
These troubled times aren't fit for romance.
Goodnight, ma'am. Please give my regards to your daughter.

LADY CAPULET.
I will, and I’ll find out what she’s thinking early tomorrow;
Tonight she’s shut away with her sadness.

CAPULET.
Sir Paris, I’ll make a bold offer of my daughter’s love. I’m sure she’ll listen to me in every way; no, I don’t doubt it at all. Wife, go talk to her before you go to bed, Let her know about my son Paris’s love for her, And tell her—listen to me—on Wednesday next, But wait, what day is it today?

PARIS.
Monday, my lord.

CAPULET.
Monday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday's too soon.
Let's make it Thursday; Thursday it is—tell her
She'll be marrying this noble earl then.
Will you be ready? Are you okay with this rush?
We won’t make it a big deal—just a few friends,
Because listen, since Tybalt was killed so recently,
People might think we didn’t care much about him,
Being family, if we celebrate too much.
So we’ll invite about half a dozen friends,
And that’s it. So, how does Thursday sound?

PARIS.
My lord, I wish Thursday were tomorrow.

CAPULET.
Alright, off you go. Thursday it is, then.
Go talk to Juliet before you head to bed,
Get her ready, wife, for the wedding day.
Goodbye, my lord.—Someone, light my room, now!
Honestly, it’s so late that it might as well be early already. Good night.

[Exit.]

Enter Romeo and Juliet.

JULIET.
Are you leaving? It's not even close to morning yet.
It was the nightingale, not the lark,
That broke through the quiet and reached your ear;
She sings every night on that pomegranate tree.
Trust me, my love, it was the nightingale.

ROMEO.
It was the lark, the morning's messenger,
Not the nightingale. Look, my love, how jealous streaks
Cut through the separating clouds in the eastern sky.
The night’s stars have faded, and cheerful day
Stands on its toes atop the misty mountains.
I have to go and live, or stay and die.

JULIET.
That light isn’t daylight, I know it’s not.
It’s some meteor the sun has sent out
To be your torchbearer tonight
And light your path to Mantua.
So stay a little longer, you don’t have to leave yet.

ROMEO.
Let me be caught, let me be put to death—
I’m fine with it, as long as that’s what you want.
I’ll say that gray light isn’t the morning’s eye,
It’s just the pale glow of the moon’s brow.
And that’s not the lark whose song fills
The sky so high above our heads.
I’d rather stay than leave, no matter the risk.
Come, death, I’m ready if Juliet says so.
What do you think, my love? Let’s talk—it’s not morning yet.

JULIET.
It is, it is! Hurry, go, get out of here.
It’s the lark singing so off-key,
Making harsh, discordant sounds and unpleasant notes.
Some say the lark sings sweet melodies;
Not this one—it’s tearing us apart.
Some say the lark and the hated toad trade eyes.
Oh, I wish they had traded voices too,
Because its voice separates us, driving us apart,
Chasing you away with its morning song.
Oh, leave now—the light is growing brighter and brighter.

ROMEO.
The lighter it gets, the heavier our troubles become.

Enter Nurse.

NURSE.
Ma'am.

Nurse?

NURSE.
Your mom is coming to your room.
It's already morning, be careful and stay alert.

[Log out.]

JULIET.
Alright then, window, let the daylight in and my life out.

ROMEO.
Goodbye, goodbye. One kiss, and I’ll climb down.

[Going down.]

JULIET.
Are you leaving already? Love, my lord, my husband, my friend,
I need to hear from you every single day,
Because every minute feels like many days.
Oh, by this measure, I'll be so much older
Before I see my Romeo again.

ROMEO.
Goodbye!
I won't miss any chance
To send my love and greetings to you.

JULIET.
Do you think we’ll ever meet again?

ROMEO.
I don’t doubt it, and all these troubles will make for sweet stories in the future.

JULIET.
Oh God! I have a soul that foresees disaster!
I think I see you, now that you're so far below,
Like someone dead in the bottom of a tomb.
Either my eyes are failing, or you look pale.

ROMEO.
And believe me, my love, you look the same to me.
Sadness drains the life out of us. Goodbye, goodbye.

[Exit below.]

JULIET.
Oh Fortune, Fortune! Everyone says you're unreliable,
If you're so unreliable, why do you stay with him
Who is famous for loyalty? Be unreliable, Fortune;
Then maybe you won’t keep him away for long
And send him back to me.

LADY CAPULET.
[Offstage.] Hey, daughter, are you awake?

JULIET.
Who’s calling? Is it my mother?
Is she still up so late, or awake this early?
What unusual reason brings her here?

Enter Lady Capulet.

LADY CAPULET.
What's wrong, Juliet?

JULIET.
Ma'am, I'm not feeling great.

LADY CAPULET.
Still crying over your cousin's death?
What, do you think you can wash him out of his grave with your tears?
And even if you could, you couldn't bring him back to life.
So stop it: some grief shows a lot of love,
But too much grief just shows a lack of sense.

JULIET.
Still, let me cry for such a deep loss.

LADY CAPULET.
You’ll feel the loss, but not the friend you’re crying over.

JULIET.
Feeling the loss so deeply,
I can't help but constantly mourn my friend.

LADY CAPULET.
Well, girl, you're not crying so much over his death
As you are because the villain who killed him is still alive.

JULIET.
What villain are you talking about?

That same villain, Romeo.

JULIET.
He's no villain; they're worlds apart.
God forgive him. I forgive him with all my heart.
And yet no one else hurts my heart like he does.

LADY CAPULET.
That's because the murderous traitor is still alive.

JULIET.
Yes, madam, but out of my hands’ reach.
If only I could be the one to avenge my cousin’s death.

LADY CAPULET.
Don't worry, we’ll get revenge for it.
So stop crying. I’ll send someone to Mantua,
Where that banished fugitive is living,
And they’ll give him a dose of poison so unusual
That he’ll soon join Tybalt in death.
Then I hope you’ll be satisfied.

JULIET.
Honestly, I’ll never be satisfied
With Romeo until I see him—dead—
My poor heart is so upset over my cousin.
Madam, if you could find someone
To carry poison, I’d prepare it myself,
So that Romeo, after taking it,
Would quickly rest in peace. Oh, how I hate
Hearing his name when I can’t reach him
To take out the love I had for my cousin
On the man who killed him.

LADY CAPULET.
You figure out the way, and I’ll find the right man.
But now, let me share some happy news with you, girl.

JULIET.
And happiness is perfect in such a desperate moment.
What are they, I beg you, my lady?

LADY CAPULET.
Well, well, you have a thoughtful father, my child;
Someone who, to lift you out of your sadness,
Has arranged a sudden day of happiness,
One you didn’t expect, and neither did I.

JULIET.
Ma'am, what day is that, if I may ask?

LADY CAPULET.
Well, my child, next Thursday morning
The charming, young, and noble gentleman,
Count Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church,
Will happily make you his joyful bride.

JULIET.
By Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too,
He’s not going to make me a happy bride there.
I’m shocked at this rush, that I’m supposed to marry
Before the one who should be my husband even courts me.
Please tell my lord and father, madam,
I’m not ready to marry yet; and when I do, I swear
It’ll be Romeo—who you know I hate—
Rather than Paris. Now that’s some news, isn’t it?

LADY CAPULET.
Here comes your father—tell him yourself
And see how he reacts.

Enter Capulet and Nurse.

CAPULET. When the sun sets, the air starts to drizzle dew; But for the death of my nephew, It’s pouring rain. What’s this? A fountain, girl? Still crying? Always crying? In that small body of yours, You’re imitating a ship, a sea, and a wind. Your eyes, which I’ll call the sea, Keep flowing with tears; your body is the ship, Sailing on this salty flood; the wind is your sighs, Which, battling with your tears and they with them, Will overturn your storm-tossed body unless there’s a sudden calm. How now, wife? Did you deliver our decision to her?

LADY CAPULET.
Yes, sir, but she refuses; she thanks you for the offer.
I wish the foolish girl were married to her grave.

CAPULET.
Wait. Hold on, hold on, wife.
What? She refuses? Doesn't she thank us?
Isn't she proud? Doesn't she realize how lucky she is,
Undeserving as she may be, that we found
Such a fine gentleman to marry her?

JULIET.
I'm not proud that you gave it to me, but I'm grateful you did.
I can never be proud of something I hate;
But I'm still thankful for the hate if it comes from love.

CAPULET.
What’s this, all this twisted reasoning? What is this?
Proud, are you? And I thank you, or I don’t thank you;
And yet you’re not proud. You spoiled little brat,
Don’t give me any thanks or say anything about pride.
Just get yourself ready for Thursday
To marry Paris at Saint Peter’s Church,
Or I’ll drag you there myself on a sled.
Get out, you sickly-looking wretch! Out, you worthless girl!
You pale-faced fool!

LADY CAPULET.
Shame on you! What’s wrong with you, are you crazy?

JULIET.
Dear father, I'm begging you on my knees,
Please listen to me patiently, just for a moment.

CAPULET.
Get out of my sight, you rebellious troublemaker!
I’m telling you—go to the church on Thursday,
Or don’t ever dare to look me in the face again.
Don’t speak, don’t argue, don’t even respond to me.
I feel like hitting something. Wife, we thought we were lucky
That God gave us this one and only child;
But now I see even one child is too much,
And that having her is nothing but a curse.
Get rid of her, worthless girl.

NURSE.
God in heaven, bless her.
You're at fault, my lord, for criticizing her like that.

CAPULET.
And why is that, Miss Know-It-All? Keep quiet,
Good sense; go chatter with your friends elsewhere.

NURSE.
I don't speak treason.

CAPULET.
Oh God, you good people!

NURSE.
Can’t one speak?

CAPULET.
Quiet, you babbling fool!
Save your seriousness for chatting over a drink,
We don’t need it here.

LADY CAPULET.
You're too intense.