"Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she do give her sorrow so much sway,
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage
To stop the inundation of her tears,"
"Tell me not, Friar, that thou hearest of this,
Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it.
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I'll help it presently."
"Hold, daughter, I do spy a king of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate which we could prevent."
"That cop'st with death himself to 'scape from it;
And if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy."
"Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes
To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead."
"By holy Lawrence to fall prostrate here
To beg your pardon. Pardon, I beseech you.
Henceforward I am ever ruled by you."
"So please you, let me now be left alone,
And let the Nurse this night sit up with you,
For I am sure you have your hands full all
In this so sudden business."
"Farewell.-God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat of life."
"My dismal scene I needs must act alone.
Come, vial. [She takes out the vial.]
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married then tomorrow morning?
[She takes out her knife and puts it down beside her.]
No, no, this shall forbid it. Lie thou there.
"Upon a rapier's point! Stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romeo, Romeo, Romeo! Here's a drink. I drink to thee."
"How sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her.-Madam, madam, madam!
Ay, let the County take you in your bed,
He'll frighten you up, i' faith."
"Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field."
"Have I thought so long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such as 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 life in death!
"The most you sought was her promotion,
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced;
And weep you now, seeing she is advanced
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?"
"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 corse,
And all things change them to the contrary."