Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
NURSE
O lamentable day!
CAPULET’S WIFE O woeful time!
CAPULET
Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar Laurence and Paris, with Musicians
FRIAR LAURENCE
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
CAPULET
Ready to go, but never to return.
(To Paris) O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death lain with thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir.
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die,
And leave him all. Life, living, all is death’s.
⌈Paris, Capulet and his Wife, and the Nurse all at once wring their hands and cry out together:⌉
PARIS
Have I thought long to see this morning’s face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee beguiled,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.
O love, O life: not life, but love in death.
CAPULET’S WIFE
Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catched it from my sight!
NURSE
O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!
Most lamentable day! Most woeful day
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day, O day, O day, O hateful day,
Never was seen so black a day as this I
O woeful day, O woeful day! 85
CAPULET
Despised, distressed, hated, martyred, killed!
Uncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child, O child, my soul and not my child!
Dead art thou, alack, my child is dead,
And with my child my joys are buried.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion’s cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid. Now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid.
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion,
For ’twas your heaven she should be advanced,
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love you love your child so ill
That you run mad, seeing that she is well.
She’s not well married that lives married long,
But she’s best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corpse, and, as the custom is,
All in her best array bear her to church;
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
CAPULET
All things that we ordained festival
Turn from their office to black funeral.
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast,
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corpse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
FRIAR LAURENCE
Sir, go you in; and madam, go with him,
And go, Sir Paris. Everyone prepare
To follow this fair corpse unto her grave.
The heavens do lour upon you for some ill.
Move them no more by crossing their high will.
⌈They cast rosemary on Juliet, and shut the curtains.⌉ Exeunt all but the Nurse and Musicians
⌈FIRST⌉ MUSICIAN Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
NURSE
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,
For well you know this is a pitiful case.
⌈FIRST⌉ MUSICIAN
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Exit Nurse Enter Peter
PETER Musicians, O, musicians! ‘Heart’s ease’, ‘Heart’s ease’; O,an you will have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease’.
⌈FIRST⌉ MUSICIAN Why ‘Heart’s ease’?
PETER O, musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full of woe’. O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.
⌈FIRST⌉ MUSICIAN Not a dump, we. ’Tis no time to play now.
PETER You will not then?
FIRST MUSICIAN No.
PETER I will then give it you soundly.
FIRST MUSICIAN What will you give us?
PETER No money, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the minstrel.
FIRST MUSICIAN Then will I give you the serving-creature.
PETER (drawing his dagger) Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will carry no crochets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?
FIRST MUSICIAN An you re us and fa us, you note us.
SECOND MUSICIAN Pray you, put up your dagger and put out your wit.
⌈PETER⌉ Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.
⌈Sings⌉
When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music with her silver sound—
Why ‘silver sound’, why ‘music with her silver sound’?
What say you, Matthew Minikin?
FIRST MUSICIAN Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
PETER Prates! What say you, Hugh Rebec?
SECOND MUSICIAN I say ’silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver.
PETER Prates too! What say you, Simon Soundpost?
THIRD MUSICIAN Faith, I know not what to say.
PETER O, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is ’music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for sounding.
⌈Sings⌉
Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress. Exit