Part 26

Pet. I will be gone sir, and not trouble you Ro. So shalt thou shew me friendship: take thou that, Liue and be prosperous, and farewell good fellow

Pet. For all this same, Ile hide me here about, His lookes I feare, and his intents I doubt

Rom. Thou detestable mawe, thou wombe of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morsell of the earth: Thus I enforce thy rotten Iawes to open, And in despight, Ile cram thee with more food

Par. This is that banisht haughtie Mountague, That murdred my Loues Cozin; with which griefe, It is supposed the faire Creature died, And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Stop thy vnhallowed toyle, vile Mountague: Can vengeance be pursued further then death? Condemned villaine, I do apprehend thee. Obey and go with me, for thou must die, Rom. I must indeed, and therfore came I hither: Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man, Flie hence and leaue me, thinke vpon those gone, Let them affright thee. I beseech thee Youth, Put not an other sin vpon my head, By vrging me to furie. O be gone, By heauen I loue thee better then my selfe, For I come hither arm'd against my selfe: Stay not, be gone, liue, and hereafter say, A mad mans mercy bid thee run away

Par. I do defie thy commisseration, And apprehend thee for a Fellon here

Ro. Wilt thou prouoke me? Then haue at thee Boy

Pet. O Lord they fight, I will go call the Watch

Pa. O I am slaine, if thou be mercifull, Open the Tombe, lay me with Iuliet

Rom. In faith I will, let me peruse this face: Mercutius kinsman, Noble Countie Paris, What said my man, when my betossed soule Did not attend him as we rode? I thinke He told me Paris should haue married Iuliet. Said he not so? Or did I dreame it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talke of Iuliet, To thinke it was so? O giue me thy hand, One, writ with me in sowre misfortunes booke. Ile burie thee in a triumphant graue. A Graue; O no, a Lanthorne; slaughtred Youth: For here lies Iuliet, and her beautie makes This Vault a feasting presence full of light. Death lie thou there, by a dead man inter'd, How oft when men are at the point of death, Haue they beene merrie? Which their Keepers call A lightning before death? Oh how may I Call this a lightning? O my Loue, my Wife, Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet vpon thy Beautie: Thou are not conquer'd: Beauties ensigne yet Is Crymson in thy lips, and in thy cheekes, And Deaths pale flag is not aduanced there. Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloudy sheet? O what more fauour can I do to thee, Then with that hand that cut thy youth in twaine, To sunder his that was thy enemie? Forgiue me Cozen. Ah deare Iuliet: Why art thou yet so faire? I will beleeue, Shall I beleeue, that vnsubstantiall death is amorous? And that the leane abhorred Monster keepes Thee here in darke to be his Paramour? For feare of that, I still will stay with thee, And neuer from this Pallace of dym night Depart againe: come lie thou in my armes, Heere's to thy health, where ere thou tumblest in. O true Appothecarie! Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die. Depart againe; here, here will I remaine, With Wormes that are thy Chambermaides: O here Will I set vp my euerlasting rest: And shake the yoke of inauspicious starres From this world-wearied flesh: Eyes looke your last: Armes take your last embrace: And lips, O you The doores of breath, seale with a righteous kisse A datelesse bargaine to ingrossing death: Come bitter conduct, come vnsauory guide, Thou desperate Pilot, now at once run on The dashing Rocks, thy Sea-sicke wearie Barke: Heere's to my Loue. O true Appothecary: Thy drugs are quicke. Thus with a kisse I die. Enter Frier with a Lanthorne, Crow, and Spade.

Fri. St. Francis be my speed, how oft to night Haue my old feet stumbled at graues? Who's there? Man. Here's one, a Friend, & one that knowes you well

Fri. Blisse be vpon you. Tell me good my Friend What Torch is yond that vainely lends his light To grubs, and eyelesse Sculles? As I discerne, It burneth in the Capels Monument

Man. It doth so holy sir, And there's my Master, one that you loue

Fri. Who is it? Man. Romeo

Fri. How long hath he bin there? Man. Full halfe an houre

Fri. Go with me to the Vault

Man. I dare not Sir. My Master knowes not but I am gone hence, And fearefully did menace me with death, If I did stay to looke on his entents

Fri. Stay, then Ile go alone, feares comes vpon me. O much I feare some ill vnluckie thing

Man. As I did sleepe vnder this young tree here, I dreamt my maister and another fought, And that my Maister slew him

Fri. Romeo. Alacke, alacke, what blood is this which staines The stony entrance of this Sepulcher? What meane these Masterlesse, and goarie Swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Romeo, oh pale: who else? what Paris too? And steept in blood? Ah what an vnkind houre Is guiltie of this lamentable chance? The Lady stirs

Iul. O comfortable Frier, where's my Lord? I do remember well where I should be: And there I am, where is my Romeo? Fri. I heare some noyse Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and vnnaturall sleepe, A greater power then we can contradict Hath thwarted our entents, come, come away, Thy husband in thy bosome there lies dead: And Paris too: come Ile dispose of thee, Among a Sisterhood of holy Nunnes: Stay not to question, for the watch is comming. Come, go good Iuliet, I dare no longer stay. Enter.

Iul. Go get thee hence, for I will not away, What's here, A cup clos'd in my true loues hand? Poyson I see hath bin his timelesse end O churle, drinke all? and left no friendly drop, To helpe me after, I will kisse thy lips, Happlie some poyson yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restoratiue. Thy lips are warme. Enter Boy and Watch.

Watch. Lead Boy, which way? Iul. Yea noise? Then ile be briefe. O happy Dagger. 'Tis in thy sheath, there rust and let me die.

Kils herselfe.

Boy. This is the place, There where the Torch doth burne Watch. The ground is bloody, Search about the Churchyard. Go some of you, who ere you find attach. Pittifull sight, here lies the Countie slaine, And Iuliet bleeding, warme and newly dead Who here hath laine these two dayes buried. Go tell the Prince, runne to the Capulets, Raise vp the Mountagues, some others search, We see the ground whereon these woes do lye, But the true ground of all these piteous woes, We cannot without circumstance descry. Enter Romeo's man.

Watch. Here's Romeo's man, We found him in the Churchyard

Con. Hold him in safety, till the Prince come hither. Enter Frier, and another Watchman.

3.Wat. Here is a Frier that trembles, sighes, and weepes We tooke this Mattocke and this Spade from him, As he was comming from this Church-yard side

Con. A great suspition, stay the Frier too. Enter the Prince.