that wordIs father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead: ‘Romeo is banished,’—
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word’s death; no words can that woe sound.—
Where is my father and my mother, nurse?
Nurse.
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse:
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Juliet.
Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.
Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,
Both you and I; for Romeo is exil’d:
He made you for a highway to my bed;
But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.
Come, cords; come, nurse; I’ll to my wedding-bed;
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Nurse.
Hie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo
To comfort you: I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night:
I’ll to him; he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.
Juliet.
O, find him! give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
[Enter Friar Lawrence.]
Friar.
Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.
Affliction is enanmour’d of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
[Enter Romeo.]
Romeo.
Father, what news? what is the prince’s doom
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Friar.
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company:
I bring thee tidings of the prince’s doom.
Romeo.
What less than doomsday is the prince’s doom?
Friar.
A gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,—
Not body’s death, but body’s banishment.
Romeo.
Ha, banishment? be merciful, say death;
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death; do not say banishment.
Friar.
Hence from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Romeo.
There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence-banished is banish’d from the world,
And world’s exile is death,—then banished
Is death misterm’d: calling death banishment,
Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil’st upon the stroke that murders me.
Friar.
O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law,
And turn’d that black word death to banishment:
This is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not.
Romeo.
‘Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not.—More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished,—
This may flies do, when I from this must fly.
And sayest thou yet that exile is not death!
Hadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,
But banished to kill me; banished?
O friar, the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,
To mangle me with that word banishment?
Friar.
Thou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,—
Romeo.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Friar.
I’ll give thee armour to keep off that word;
