Capulet.
A jealous-hood, a jealous-hood!—Now, fellow,
[Enter Servants, with spits, logs and baskets.]
What’s there?
1 Servant. Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what.
Capulet.
Make haste, make haste. [Exit 1 Servant.]
—Sirrah, fetch drier logs:
Call Peter, he will show thee where they are.
2 Servant.
I have a head, sir, that will find out logs
And never trouble Peter for the matter.
[Exit.]
Capulet.
Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha!
Thou shalt be loggerhead.—Good faith, ‘tis day.
The county will be here with music straight,
For so he said he would:—I hear him near.
[Music within.]
Nurse!—wife!—what, ho!—what, nurse, I say!
[Re-enter Nurse.]
Go, waken Juliet; go and trim her up;
I’ll go and chat with Paris:—hie, make haste,
Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already:
Make haste, I say.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.
[Enter Nurse.]
Nurse.
Mistress!—what, mistress!—Juliet!—fast, I warrant her, she:—
Why, lamb!—why, lady!—fie, you slug-abed!—
Why, love, I say!—madam! sweetheart!—why, bride!—
What, not a word?—you take your pennyworths now;
Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,
The County Paris hath set up his rest
That you shall rest but little.—God forgive me!
Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep!
I needs must wake her.—Madam, madam, madam!—
Ay, let the county take you in your bed;
He’ll fright you up, i’ faith.—Will it not be?
What, dress’d! and in your clothes! and down again!
I must needs wake you.—lady! lady! lady!—
Alas, alas!—Help, help! My lady’s dead!—
O, well-a-day that ever I was born!—
Some aqua-vitae, ho!—my lord! my lady!
[Enter Lady Capulet.]
Lady Capulet
What noise is here?
Nurse.
O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet.
What is the matter?
Nurse.
Look, look! O heavy day!
Lady Capulet.
O me, O me!—my child, my only life!
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!—
Help, help!—call help.
[Enter Capulet.]
Capulet.
For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse.
She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!
Lady Capulet
Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
Capulet.
Ha! let me see her:—out alas! she’s cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated:
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Accursed time! unfortunate old man!
Nurse.
O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet.
O woful 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 Lawrence and Paris, with Musicians.]
Friar.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Capulet.
Ready to go, but never to return:—
O son, the night before thy wedding day
Hath death lain with thy bride:—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.
Have I thought long to see this morning’s face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Lady Capulet.
Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one
