Act
The two chief families
in Verona were the rich Capulets and the Montagues. There had been an old quarrel between these
families, which was grown to such a height, and so deadly was the enmity
between them, that it extended to the remotest kindred, to the followers and
retainers of both sides, insomuch that a servant of the house of Montague could
not meet a servant of the house of Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a
Montague by chance, but fierce words and sometimes bloodshed ensued; and
frequent were the brawls from such accidental meetings, which disturbed the
happy quiet of Verona's streets. Old lord Capulet made a great supper, to which
many fair ladies and many noble guests were invited. All the admired beauties
of Verona were present, and all comers were made welcome if they were not of
the house of Montague. At this feast of Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to the old lord Montague,
was present; and though it was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in this
assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, persuaded
the young lord to go to this assembly in the disguise of a mask, that he might
see his Rosaline, and seeing her compare her with
some choice beauties of Verona, who (he said) would make him think his swan a
crow. Romeo had small faith in Benvolio's words; nevertheless, for the love of Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. For Romeo was a sincere
and passionate lover, and one that lost his sleep for love, and fled society to
be alone, thinking on Rosaline, who disdained him,
and never required his love, with the least show of courtesy or affection; and Benvolio wished to cure his friend of this love by showing
him diversity of ladies and company. To this feast of Capulets
then young Romeo with Benvolio and their friend Mercutio went masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome, and
told them that ladies who had their toes unplagued
with corns would dance with them. And the old man was light hearted and merry,
and said that he had worn a mask when he was young, and could have told a
whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was
suddenly struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who danced there, who
seemed to him to teach the torches to burn bright, and her beauty to show by
night like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; beauty
too rich for use, too dear for earth! like a snowy dove trooping with crows (he
said), so richly did her beauty and perfections shine above the ladies her
companions. While he uttered these praises, he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of lord Capulet, who knew him by his voice
to be Romeo. And this Tybalt, being of a fiery and
passionate temper, could not endure that a Montague should come under cover of
a mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at their solemnities. And he stormed
and raged exceedingly, and would have struck young Romeo dead. But his uncle,
the old lord Capulet, would not suffer him to do any injury at that time, both
out of respect to his guests, and because Romeo had borne himself like a
gentleman, and all tongues in Verona bragged of him to be a virtuous and
well-governed youth. Tybalt, forced to be patient
against his will, restrained himself, but swore that this vile Montague should
at another time dearly pay for his intrusion. The dancing being done, Romeo
watched the place where the lady stood; and under favour
of his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in part the liberty, he
presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the hand, calling it a shrine,
which if he profaned by touching it, he was a blushing pilgrim, and would kiss
it for atonement. 'Good pilgrim,' answered the lady, 'your devotion shows by
far too mannerly and too courtly: saints have hands, which pilgrims may touch,
but kiss not.' 'Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too?' said Romeo. 'Ay,' said
the lady, 'lips which they must use in prayer.' 'O then, my dear saint,' said
Romeo, 'hear my prayer, and grant it, lest I despair.' In such like allusions
and loving conceits they were engaged, when the lady was called away to her
mother. And Romeo inquiring who her mother was, discovered that the lady whose
peerless beauty he was so much struck with, was young Juliet, daughter and heir
to the lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Montagues;
and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart to his foe. This troubled him,
but it could not dissuade him from loving. As little rest had Juliet, when she
found that the gentleman that she had been talking with was Romeo and a
Montague, for she had been suddenly smit with the
same hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo, which he had conceived for her;
and a prodigious birth of love it seemed to her, that she must love her enemy,
and that her affections should settle there, where family considerations should
induce her chiefly to hate.
Act 2
It being midnight,
Romeo with his companions departed; but they soon missed him, for, unable to
stay away from the house where he had left his heart, he leaped the wall of an
orchard which was at the back of Juliet's house. Here he had not been long,
ruminating on his new love, when Juliet appeared above at a window, through
which her exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of the sun in the
east; and the moon, which shone in the orchard with a faint light, appeared to
Romeo as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre
of this new sun. And she, leaning her cheek upon her hand, he passionately
wished himself a glove upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek. She all
this while thinking herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed: 'Ah me!'
Romeo, enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by her: 'O speak
again, bright angel, for such you appear, being over my head, like a winged
messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to gaze upon.' She, unconscious of
being overheard, and full of the new passion which that night's adventure had
given birth to, called upon her lover by name (whom she supposed absent): 'O
Romeo, Romeo!' said she, 'wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse
thy name, for my sake; or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I no
longer will be a Capulet.' Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have
spoken, but he was desirous of hearing more; and the lady continued her
passionate discourse with herself (as she thought), still chiding Romeo for
being Romeo and a Montague, and wishing him some other name, or that he would
put away that hated name, and for that name which was no part of himself, he
should take all herself. At this loving word Romeo could no longer refrain, but
taking up the dialogue as if her words had been addressed to him personally,
and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him Love, or by whatever other name
she pleased, for he was no longer Romeo, if that name was displeasing to her.
Juliet, alarmed to hear a man's voice in the garden, did not at first know who
it was, that by favour of the night and darkness had
thus stumbled upon the discovery of her secret; but when he spoke again, though
her ears had not yet -drunk a hundred words of that tongue's uttering, yet so
nice is a lover's hearing, that she immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and
she expostulated with him on the danger to which he had exposed himself by
climbing the orchard walls, for if any of her kinsmen should find him there, it
would be death to him, being a Montague. 'Alack,' said Romeo, 'there is more
peril in your eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do you but look kind upon
me, lady, and I am proof against their enmity. Better my life should be ended
by their hate, than that hated life should be prolonged, to live without your love.'
'How came you into this place,' said Juliet, 'and by whose direction?' 'Love
directed me,' answered Romeo: 'I am no pilot, yet wert
thou as far apart from me, as that vast shore which is washed with the farthest
sea, I should venture for such merchandise.' A crimson blush came over Juliet's
face, yet unseen by Romeo by reason of the night, when she reflected upon the
discovery which she had made, yet not meaning to make it, of her love to Romeo.
She would fain have recalled her words, but that was impossible: fain would she
have stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a distance, as the custom of
discreet ladies is, to frown and be perverse, and give their suitors harsh
denials at first; to stand off, and affect a coyness or indifference, where they
most love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly or too easily won;
for the difficulty of attainment increases the value of the object. But there
was no room in her case for denials, or puttings off,
or any of the customary arts of delay and protracted courtship. Romeo had heard
from her own tongue, when she did not dream that he was near her, a confession
of her love. So with an honest frankness, which the novelty of her situation
excused, she confirmed the truth of what he had before heard, and addressing
him by the name of fair Montague (love can sweeten a sour name), she begged him
not to impute her easy yielding to levity or an unworthy mind, but that he must
lay the fault of it (if it were a fault) upon the accident of the night which
had so strangely discovered her thoughts. And she added, that though her behaviour to him might not be sufficiently prudent,
measured by the custom of her sex, yet that she would prove more true than many
whose prudence was dissembling, and their modesty artificial cunning. Romeo was
beginning to call the heavens to witness, that nothing was farther from his
thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonour to such
an honoured lady, when she stopped him, begging him
not to swear; for although she joyed in him, yet she
had no joy of that night's contract: it was too rash, too unadvised, too
sudden. But he being urgent with her to exchange a vow of love with him that
night, she said that she already had given him hers before he requested it;
meaning, when he overheard her confession; but she would retract what she then
bestowed, for the pleasure of giving it again, for her bounty was as infinite
as the sea, and her love as deep. From this loving conference she was called
away by her nurse, who slept with her, and thought it time for her to be in
bed, for it was near to daybreak; but hastily returning, she said three or four
words more to Romeo, the purport of which was, that if his love was indeed honourable, and his purpose marriage, she would send a
messenger to him tomorrow, to appoint a time for their marriage, when she would
lay all her fortunes at his feet, and follow him as her lord through the world.
While they were settling this point, Juliet was repeatedly called for by her
nurse, and went in and returned, and went and returned again, for she seemed as
jealous of Romeo going from her, as a young girl of her bird, which she will
let hop a little from her hand, and pluck it back with a silken thread; and
Romeo was as loath to part as she; for the sweetest music to lovers is the
sound of each other's tongues at night. But at last they parted, wishing
mutually sweet sleep and rest for that night. The day was breaking when they
parted, and Romeo, who was too full of thoughts of his mistress and that
blessed meeting to allow him to sleep, instead of going home, bent his course
to a monastery hard by, to find friar Lawrence. The good friar was already up
at his devotions, but seeing young Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured
rightly that he had not been abed that night, but that some distemper of
youthful affection had kept him waking. He was right in imputing the cause of
Romeo's wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong guess at the object, for he
thought that his love for Rosaline had kept him
waking. But when Romeo revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested the
assistance of the friar to marry them that day, the holy man lifted up his eyes
and hands in a sort of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo's affections, for
he had been privy to all Romeo's love for Rosaline,
and his many complaints of her disdain: and he said, that young men's love lay
not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. But Romeo replying, that he
himself had often chidden him for doting on Rosaline,
who could not love him again, whereas Juliet both loved and was beloved by him,
the friar assented in some measure to his reasons; and thinking that a
matrimonial alliance between young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the means
of making up the long breach between the Capulets and
the Montagues; which no one more lamented than this
good friar, who was a friend to both the families and had often interposed his
mediation to make up the quarrel without effect; partly moved by policy, and
partly by his fondness for young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, the old
man consented to join their hands in marriage. Now was Romeo blessed indeed,
and Juliet, who knew his intent from a messenger which she had despatched according to promise, did not fail to be early
at the cell of friar Lawrence, where their hands were joined in holy marriage;
the good friar praying the heavens to smile upon that act, and in the union of
this young Montague and young Capulet to bury the old strife and long
dissensions of their families. The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home,
where she stayed impatient for the coming of night, at which time Romeo
promised to come and meet her in the orchard, where they had met the night
before; and the time between seemed as tedious to her, as the night before some
great festival seems to an impatient child, that has got new finery which it
may not put on till the morning. That same day, about noon, Romeo's friends, Benvolio and Mercutio, walking
through the streets of Verona, were met by a party of the Capulets
with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. This was the
same angry Tybalt who would have fought with Romeo at
old lord Capulet's feast. He, seeing Mercutio,
accused him bluntly of associating with Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio,
who had as much fire and youthful blood in him as Tybalt,
replied to this accusation with some sharpness; and in spite of all Benvolio could say to moderate their wrath, a quarrel was
beginning, when Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt
turned from Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the
disgraceful appellation of villain. Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was the kinsman of Juliet,
and much beloved by her; besides, this young Montague had never thoroughly
entered into the family quarrel, being by nature wise and gentle, and the name
of a Capulet, which was his dear lady's name, was now rather a charm to allay
resentment, than a watchword to excite fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he saluted mildly by the name of good Capulet,
as if he, though a Montague, had some secret pleasure in uttering that name:
but Tybalt, who hated all Montagues
as he hated hell, would hear no reason, but drew his weapon; and Mercutio, who knew not of Romeo's secret motive for
desiring peace with Tybalt, but looked upon his
present forbearance as a sort of calm dishonourable
submission, with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt
to the prosecution of his first quarrel with him; and Tybalt
and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio
fell, receiving his death's wound while Romeo and Benvolio
were vainly endeavouring to part the combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept his temper no longer, but
returned the scornful appellation of villain which Tybalt
had given him; and they fought till Tybalt was slain
by Romeo. This deadly broil failing out in the midst of Verona at noonday, the
news of it quickly brought a crowd of citizens to the spot, and among them the
old lords Capulet and Montague, with their wives; and soon after arrived the
prince himself, who being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt had slain, and having had the peace of his
government often disturbed by these brawls of Montagues
and Capulets, came determined to put the law in
strictest force against those who should be found to be offenders. Benvolio, who had been eyewitness to the fray, was
commanded by the prince to relate the origin of it; which he did, keeping as
near the truth as he could without injury to Romeo, softening and excusing the
part which his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for the
loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in
her revenge, exhorted the prince to do strict justice upon his murderer, and to
pay no attention to Benvolio's representation, who,
being Romeo's friend and a Montague, spoke partially. Thus she pleaded against
her new son-in-law, but she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and
Juliet's husband. On the other hand was to be seen Lady Montague pleading for
her child's life, and arguing with some justice that Romeo had done nothing
worthy of punishment in taking the life of Tybalt,
which was already forfeited to the law by his having slain Mercutio.
The prince, unmoved by the passionate exclamations of these women, on a careful
examination of the facts, pronounced his sentence, and by that sentence Romeo
was banished from Verona. Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few
hours a bride, and now by this decree seemed everlastingly divorced! When the
tidings reached her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo, who had slain
her dear cousin: she called him a beautiful tyrant, a fiend angelical, a
ravenous dove, a lamb with a wolf's nature, a serpent-heart hid with a
flowering face, and other like contradictory names, which denoted the struggles
in her mind between her love and her resentment: but in the end love got the
mastery, and the tears which she shed for grief that Romeo had slain her
cousin, turned to drops of joy that her husband lived whom Tybalt
would have slain. Then came fresh tears, and they were altogether of grief for
Romeo's banishment. That word was more terrible to her than the death of many Tybalts. Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in friar
Lawrence's cell, where he was first made acquainted with the prince's sentence,
which seemed to him far more terrible than death. To him it appeared there was
no world out of Verona's walls, no living out of the sight of Juliet. Heaven
was there where Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory, torture, hell. The
good friar would have applied the consolation of philosophy to his griefs: but this frantic young man would hear of none, but
like a madman he tore his hair, and threw himself all along upon the ground, as
he said, to take the measure of his grave. From this unseemly state he was
roused by a message from his dear lady, which a little revived him; and then
the friar took the advantage to expostulate with him on the unmanly weakness
which he had shown. He had slain Tybalt, but would he
also slay himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but in his life? The noble
form of man, he said, was but a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage which
should keep it firm. The law had been lenient to him, that instead of death,
which he had incurred, had pronounced by the prince's mouth only banishment. He
had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt
would have slain him: there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive,
and (beyond all hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most happy. All
these blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did Romeo put from him like
a sullen misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware, for such as
despaired, (he said) died miserable. Then when Romeo was a little calmed, he counselled him that he should go that night and secretly
take his leave of Juliet, and thence proceed straitways
to Mantua, at which place he should sojourn, till the friar found fit occasion
to publish his marriage, which might be a joyful means of reconciling their
families; and then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved to pardon
him, and he would return with twenty times more joy than he went forth with
grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the friar, and took his
leave to go and seek his lady, proposing to stay with her that night, and by
daybreak pursue his journey alone to Mantua; to which place the good friar
promised to send him letters from time to time, acquainting him with the state
of affairs at home. That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining secret
admission to her chamber, from the orchard in which he had heard her confession
of love the night before. That had been a night of unmixed joy and rapture; but
the pleasures of this night, and the delight which these lovers took in each
other's society, were sadly allayed with the prospect of parting, and the fatal
adventures of the past day. The unwelcome daybreak seemed to come too soon, and
when Juliet heard the morning song of the lark, she would have persuaded
herself that it was the nightingale, which sings by night; but it was too truly
the lark which sang, and a discordant and unpleasing note it seemed to her; and
the streaks of day in the east too certainly pointed out that it was time for
these lovers to part. Romeo took his leave of his dear wife with a heavy heart,
promising to write to her from Mantua every hour in the day; and when he had
descended from her chamber window, as he stood below her on the ground, in that
sad foreboding state of mind in which she was, he appeared to her eyes as one
dead in the bottom of a tomb. Romeo's mind misgave
him in like manner: but now he was forced hastily to depart, for it was death
for him to be found within the walls of Verona after daybreak. This was but the
beginning of the tragedy of this pair of star-crossed lovers. Romeo had not
been gone many days, before the old lord Capulet proposed a match for Juliet.
The husband he had chosen for her, not dreaming that she was married already,
was count Paris, a gallant, young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor to
the young Juliet, if she had never seen Romeo. The terrified Juliet was in a
sad perplexity at her father's offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to
marriage, the recent death of Tybalt, which had left
her spirits too weak to meet a husband with any face of joy, and how indecorous
it would show for the family of the Capulets to be
celebrating a nuptial feast, when his funeral solemnities were hardly over: she
pleaded every reason against the match, but the true one, namely, that she was
married already. But lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and in a
peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for by the following Thursday she
should be married to Paris: and having found her a husband, rich, young, and
noble, such as the proudest maid in Verona might joyfully accept, he could not
bear that out of an affected coyness, as he construed her denial, she should oppose
obstacles to her own good fortune. In this extremity Juliet applied to the
friendly friar, always her counsellor in distress,
and he asking her if she had resolution to undertake a desperate remedy, and
she answering that she would go into the grave alive rather than marry Paris,
her own dear husband living; he directed her to go home, and appear merry, and
give her consent to marry Paris, according to her father's desire, and on the
next night, which was the night before the marriage, to drink off the contents
of a phial which he then gave her, the effect of which would be that for
two-and-forty hours after drinking it she should appear cold and lifeless; and
when the bridegroom came to fetch her in the morning, he would find her to
appearance dead; that then she would be borne, as the manner in that country
was, uncovered on a bier, to be buried in the family vault; that if she could
put off womanish fear, and consent to this terrible trial, in forty-two hours
after swallowing the liquid (such was its certain operation) she would be sure
to awake, as from a dream; and before she should awake, he would let her
husband know their drift, and he should come in the night, and bear her thence
to Mantua. Love, and the dread of marrying Paris, gave young Juliet strength to
undertake this horrible adventure; and she took the phial of the friar,
promising to observe his directions. Going from the monastery, she met the
young count Paris, and modestly dissembling, promised to become his bride. This
was joyful news to the lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into
the old man; and Juliet, who had displeased him exceedingly, by her refusal of
the count, was his darling again, now she promised to be obedient. All things
in the house were in a bustle against the approaching nuptials. No cost was
spared to prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before
witnessed. On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion. She had many
misgivings lest the friar, to avoid the blame which might be imputed to him for
marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison; but then he was always known for a
holy man: then lest she should awake before the time that Romeo was to come for
her; whether the terror of the place, a vault of dead Capulets'
bones, and where Tybalt, all bloody, lay festering in
his shroud, would not be enough to drive her distracted: again she thought of
all the stories she had heard of spirits haunting the places where their bodies
were bestowed. But then her love for Romeo, and her aversion for Paris
returned, and she desperately swallowed the draught, and became insensible.
When young Paris came early in the morning with music to awaken his bride,
instead of a living Juliet, her chamber presented the dreary spectacle of a
lifeless corpse. What death to his hopes! What confusion then reigned through
the whole house! Poor Paris lamenting his bride, whom most detestable death had
beguiled him of, had divorced from him even before their hands were joined. But
still more piteous it was to hear the mournings of
the old lord and lady Capulet, who having but this one, one poor living child
to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had snatched her from their sight, just
as these careful parents were on the point of seeing her advanced (as they
thought) by a promising and advantageous match. Now all things that were
ordained for the festival were turned from their properties to do the office of
a black funeral. The wedding cheer served for a sad burial feast, the bridal
hymns were changed for sullen dirges, the sprightly instruments to melancholy
bells, and the flowers that should have been strewed in the bride's path, now
served but to strew her corse. Now, instead of a
priest to marry her, a priest was needed to bury her; and she was borne to
church indeed, not to augment the cheerful hopes of the living, but to swell
the dreary numbers of the dead. Bad news, which always travels faster than
good, now brought the dismal story of his Juliet's death to Romeo, at Mantua,
before the messenger could arrive, who was sent from friar Lawrence to apprise
him that these were mock funerals only, and but the shadow and representation
of death, and that his dear lady lay in the tomb but for a short while,
expecting when Romeo would come to release her from that dreary mansion. Just
before, Romeo had been unusually joyful and lighthearted. He had dreamed in the
night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave a dead man leave to think),
and that his lady came and found him dead, and breathed such life with kisses
in his lips, that he revived, and was an emperor! And now that a messenger came
from Verona, he thought surely it was to confirm some good news which his
dreams had presaged. But when the contrary to this flattering vision appeared,
and that it was his lady who was dead in truth, whom he could not revive by any
kisses, he ordered horses to be gotready, for he
determined that night to visit Verona, and to see his lady in her tomb. And as
mischief is swift to enter into the thoughts of desperate men, he called to
mind a poor apothecary, whose shop in Mantua he had lately passed, and from the
beggarly appearance of the man, who seemed famished, and the wretched show in
his show of empty boxes ranged on dirty shelves, and other tokens of extreme
wretchedness, he had said at the time (perhaps having some misgivings that his
own disastrous life might haply meet with a conclusion so desperate),'If a man
were to need poison, which by the law of Mantua it is death to sell, here lives
a poor wretch who would sell it him. 'These words of his now came into his
mind, and he sought out the apothecary, who after some pretended scruples,
Romeo offering him gold, which his poverty could not resist, sold him a poison,
which, if he swallowed, he told him, if he had the strength of twenty men,
would quickly despatch him. With this poison he set
out for Verona, to have a sight of his dear lady in her tomb, meaning, when he
had satisfied his sight, to swallow the poison, and be buried by her side. He
reached Verona at midnight, and found the churchyard, in the midst of which was
situated the ancient tomb of the Capulets. He had
provided a light, and a spade, and wrenching iron, and was proceeding to break
open the monument, when he was interrupted by a voice, which by the name of
vile Montague, bade him desist from his unlawful business. It was the young
count Paris, who had come to the tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable time of
night, to strew flowers and to weep over the grave of her that should have been
'his bride. He knew not what an interest Romeo had in the dead, but knowing him
to be a Montague, and (as he supposed) a sworn foe to all the Capulets, he judged that he was come by night to do some
villainous shame to the dead bodies; therefore in an angry tone he bade him
desist; and as a criminal, condemned by the laws of Verona to die if he were
found within the walls of the city, he would have apprehended him. Romeo urged
Paris to leave him, and warned him by the fate of Tybalt,
who lay buried there, not to provoke his anger, or draw down another sin upon
his head, by forcing him to kill him. But the count in scorn refused his
warning, and laid hands on him as a felon, which Romeo resisting, they fought,
and Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a light, came to see who it was that
he had slain, that it was Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua) should
have married Juliet, he took the dead youth by the hand, as one whom misfortune
had made a companion, and said that he would bury him in a triumphal grave,
meaning in Juliet's grave, which he now opened: and there lay his lady, as one
whom death had no power upon to change a feature or complexion, in her
matchless beauty; or as if Death were amorous, and the lean abhorred monster
kept her there for his delight; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as she had
fallen to sleep when she swallowed that benumbing potion; and near her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing, begged
pardon of his lifeless corpse, and for Juliet's sake called him cousin, and
said that he was about to do him a favour by putting
his enemy to death. Here Romeo took his last leave of his lady's lips, kissing
them; and here he shook the burden of his cross stars from his weary body,
swallowing that poison which the apothecary had sold him, whose operation was
fatal and real, not like that dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed,
the effect of which was now nearly expiring, and she about to awake to Complain
that Romeo had not kept his time, or that he had come too soon. For now the
hour was arrived at which the friar had promised that she should awake; and he,
having learned that his letters which he had sent to Mantua, by some unlucky
detention of the messenger, had never reached Romeo, came himself, provided
with the pickaxe and lantern, to deliver the lady from her confinement; but he
was surprised to find a light already burning in the Capulets'
monument, and to see swords and blood near it, and Romeo and Paris lying
breathless by the monument. Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine
how these fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of her trance, and
seeing the friar near her, she remembered the place where she was, and the
occasion of her being there, and asked for Romeo, but the friar, hearing a
noise, bade her come out of that place of death, and of unnatural sleep, for a
greater power than they could contradict had thwarted their intents; and being
frightened by the noise of people coming, he fled: but when Juliet saw the cup
closed in her true love's hand, she guessed that poison had been the cause of
his end, and she would have swallowed the dregs if any had been left, and she
kissed his still warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang upon them; then
hearing a nearer noise of people coming, she quickly unsheathed a dagger which
she wore, and stabbing herself, died by her true Romeo's side. The watch by
this time had come up to the place. A page belonging to count Paris, who had
witnessed the fight between his master and Romeo, had given the alarm, which
had spread among the citizens, who went up and down the streets of Verona
confusedly exclaiming, A Paris! a Romeo! a Juliet! as the rumour
had imperfectly reached them, till the uproar brought lord Montague and lord
Capulet out of their beds, with the prince, to inquire into the causes of the
disturbance. The friar had been apprehended by some of the watch, coming from
the churchyard, trembling, sighing, and weeping, in a suspicious manner. A
great multitude being assembled at the Capulets'
monument, the friar was demanded by the prince to deliver what he knew of these
strange and disastrous accidents. And there, in the presence of the old lords
Montague and Capulet, he faithfully related the story of their children's fatal
love, the part he took in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that union
to end the long quarrels between their families: how Romeo, there dead, was
husband to Juliet; and Juliet, there dead, was Romeo's faithful wife; how
before he could find a fit opportunity to divulge their marriage, another match
was projected for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime of a second marriage,
swallowed the sleeping draught (as he advised), and all thought her dead; how
meantime he wrote to Romeo, to come and take her thence when the force of the
potion should cease, and by what unfortunate miscarriage of the messenger the
letters never reached Romeo; further than this the friar could not follow the
story, nor knew more than that coming himself, to deliver Juliet from that
place of death, he found the count Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of the
transactions was supplied by the narration of the page who had seen Paris and
Romeo fight, and by the servant who came with Romeo from Verona, to whom this
faithful lover had given letters to be delivered to his father in the event of his
death, which made good the friar's words, confessing his marriage with Juliet,
imploring the forgiveness of his parents, acknowledging the buying of the
poison of the poor apothecary, and his intent in coming to the monument, to
die, and lie with Juliet. All these circumstances agreed together to clear the
friar from any hand he could be supposed to have in these complicated
slaughters, further than as the unintended consequences of his own well meant,
yet too artificial and subtle contrivances. And the prince, turning to these
old lords, Montague and Capulet, rebuked them for their brutal and irrational
enmities, and showed them what a scourge Heaven had laid upon such offences,
that it had found means even through the love of their children to punish their
unnatural hate. And these old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury their
long strife in their children's graves; and lord Capulet requested lord
Montague to give him his hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in
acknowledgement of the union of their families, by the marriage of the young
Capulet and Montague; and saying that lord Montague's hand (in token of
reconcilement) was all he demanded for his daughter's jointure: but lord
Montague said he would give him more, for he would raise her a statue of pure
gold, that while Verona kept its name, no figure should be so esteemed for its
richness and workmanship as that of the true and faithful Juliet. And lord
Capulet in return said that he would raise another statue to Romeo. So did-
these poor old lords, when it was too late, strive to outdo each other in
mutual courtesies: while so deadly had been their rage and enmity in past
times, that nothing but the fearful overthrow of their children (poor
sacrifices to their quarrels and dissensions) could remove the rooted hates and
jealousies of the noble families.
[ Grande appunti ]
