SENS
Shakespeare’s Narrative Sources: Italian Novellas and Their European Dissemination
Brooke - Modernised edition
| THE TRAGICAL HISTORY of Romeus and Juliet , written first in Italian by Bandell, and now in English by Ar. Br.
In aedibus Richardi Tottelli. Cum Privilegio. | Frontispiece. |
|
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
| To the Reader. The God of all glory created universally all creatures, to set forth his praise, both those which we esteem profitable in use and pleasure, and also those, which we account noisome, and loathsome. But principally he hath appointed man, the chiefest instrument of his honour, not only for ministering matter thereof in man himself, but as well in gathering out of other the occasions of publishing God’s goodness, wisdom, and power. And in like sort, every doing of man hath by God’s dispensation something, whereby God may, and ought to be honoured. So the good doings of the good, and the evil acts of the wicked, the happy success of the blessed, and the woeful proceedings of the miserable, do in divers sort sound one praise of God. And as each flower yieldeth honey to the bee, so every example ministreth good lessons to the well-disposed mind. The glorious triumph of the continent man upon the lusts of wanton flesh, encourageth men to honest restraint of wild affections the shameful and wretched ends of such as have yielded their liberty thrall to foul desires, teach men to withhold themselves from the headlong fall of loose dishonesty. So, to like effect, by sundry means, the good man’s example biddeth men to be good, and the evil man’s mischief warneth men not to be evil. To this good end, serve all ill ends of ill beginnings. And to this end (good Reader) is this tragical matter written, to describe unto thee a couple of unfortunate lovers, thralling themselves to unhonest desire, neglecting the authority and advice of parents and friends, conferring their principal counsels with drunken gossips, and superstitious friars (the naturally fit instruments of unchastity) attempting all adventures of peril, for the attaining of their wished lust using auricular confession (the key of whoredom, and treason) for furtherance of their purpose, abusing the honourable name of lawful marriage, to cloak the shame of stolen contracts, finally, by all means of unhonest life, hasting to most unhappy death. This precedent (good Reader) shall be to thee, as the slaves of Lacedaemon, oppressed with excess of drink, deformed and altered from likeness of men, both in mind, and use of body, were to the free born children, so showed to them by their parents to the intent to raise in them an hateful loathing of so filthy beastliness. Hereunto if you apply it, you shall deliver my doing from offence, and profit yourselves. Though I saw the same argument lately set forth on stage with more commendation than I can look for (being there much better set forth then I have or can do), yet the same matter penned as it is, may serve to like good effect, if the readers do bring with them like good minds, to consider it. Which hath the more encouraged me to publish it, such as it is. Ar. Br. | Verse address to the reader.
|
|
5
10
15
20
25
30 | To the Reader. Amid the desert rocks, the mountain bear, Brings forth unformed, unlike herself her young: Nought else but lumps of flesh withouten hair, In tract of time, her often licking tongue Gives them such shape, as doth (ere long) delight The lookers on: Or when one dog doth shake With muzzled mouth, the joints too weak to fight. Or when upright he standeth by his stake, (A noble crest) or wild in savage wood, A dozen dogs one holdeth at a bay, With gaping mouth, and stained jaws with blood, Or else, when from the farthest heavens, they The lodestar are, the weary pilots mark, In storms to guide to haven the tossed bark. Right so my muse Hath (now at length) with travail long brought forth Her tender whelps, her divers kinds of style, Such as they are, or nought, or little worth, Which careful travail, and a longer while, May better shape. The eldest of them lo, I offer to the stake, my youthful work, Which one reproachful mouth might overthrow: The rest (unlicked as yet) a while shall lurk, Till time give strength, to meet and match in fight With slanders whelps. Then shall they tell of strife Of noble triumphs, and deeds of martial might, And shall give rules of chaste and honest life. The while I pray that you with favour blame, Or rather not reprove the laughing game Of this my muse. | Prose address to the reader.
|
|
5
10
| Love hath inflaméd twain by sudden sight, And both do grant the thing that both desire They wed in shrift by counsel of a friar. Young Romeus climbs fair Juliet’s bower by night. Three months he doth enjoy his chief delight. By Tybalt’s rage provokéd unto ire, He payeth death to Tybalt for his hire. A banished man he ’scapes by secret flight. New marriage is offered to his wife. She drinks a drink that seems to reave her breath: They bury her that sleeping yet hath life. Her husband hears the tidings of her death. He drinks his bane. And she with Romeus’ knife, When she awakes, herself, alas, she slay’th. | Argument.
|
|
5
10
| There is beyond the Alps, a town of ancient fame, Whose bright renown yet shineth clear: Verona men it name; Built in a happy time, built on a fertile soil, Maintained by the heavenly fates, and by the townish toil The fruitful hills above, the pleasant vales below, The silver stream with channel deep, that through the town doth flow, The store of springs that serve for use, and eke for ease, And other more commodities, which profit may and please, Eke many certain signs of things betid of old, To fill the hungry eyes of those that curiously behold, Do make this town to be preferred above the rest Of Lombard towns, or at the least, compared with the best. In which while Escalus as prince alone did reign, To reach reward unto the good, to pay the lewd with pain, | 1. Description of Verona.
|
|
15
20
| Alas, I rue to think, an heavy hap befell: Which Boccace scant, not my rude tongue, were able forth to tell. Within my trembling hand, my pen doth shake for fear, And, on my cold amazéd head, upright doth stand my hair. But sith she doth command, whose hest I must obey, In mourning verse, a woeful chance to tell I will assay. | 2. The narrator introduces the woeful story he is about to tell. He feels unequal to his writing task.
|
|
| Help, learnéd Pallas, help, ye Muses with your art, Help, all ye damnéd fiends to tell of joys returned to smart. Help eke, ye sisters three, my skilless pen t’indite: For you it caused which I, alas, unable am to write. | 3. Invocation to several deities.
|
|
25
30
35
40
| There were two ancient stocks, which Fortune high did place Above the rest, indued with wealth, and nobler of their race, Loved of the common sort, loved of the prince alike, And like unhappy were they both, when Fortune list to strike; Whose praise, with equal blast, Fame in her trumpet blew; The one was clepéd Capulet, and th’other Montague. A wonted use it is, that men of likely sort, (I wot not by what fury forced) envy each other’s port. So these, whose equal state bred envy pale of hue, And then, of grudging envy’s root, black hate and rancour grew As, of a little spark, oft riseth mighty fire, So of a kindled spark of grudge, in flames flash out their ire. And then their deadly food, first hatched of trifling strife, Did bathe in blood of smarting wounds; it reavéd breath and life, No legend lie I tell, scarce yet their eyes be dry, That did behold the grisly sight, with wet and weeping eye. | 4. The old grudge between the two families.
|
|
45
50
| But when the prudent prince, who there the sceptre held, So great a new disorder in his commonweal beheld; By gentle mean he sought, their choler to assuage; And by persuasion to appease, their blameful furious rage. But both his words and time, the prince hath spent in vain: So rooted was the inward hate, he lost his busy pain. When friendly sage advice, ne gentle words avail, By thund’ring threats, and princely power their courage ’gan he quail In hope that when he had the wasting flame supprest, In time he should quite quench the sparks that burned within their breast. | 5. The Prince’s intervention.
|
|
55
60
| Now whilst these kindreds do remain in this estate, And each with outward friendly show doth hide his inward hate: One Romeus, who was of race a Montague, Upon whose tender chin, as yet, no manlike beard there grew, Whose beauty and whose shape so far the rest did stain, That from the chief of Verona youth he greatest fame did gain, Hath found a maid so fair (he found so foul his hap), Whose beauty, shape, and comely grace, did so his heart entrap That from his own affairs, his thought she did remove; Only he sought to honour her, to serve her and to love. To her he writeth oft, of messengers are sent, At length, in hope of better speed, himself the lover went, Present to plead for grace, which absent was not found: And to discover to her eye his new receivéd wound. | 6. Presentation of Romeus and his love for a Veronese girl.
|
|
65
70
| But she that from her youth was fostered evermore With virtue’s food, and taught in school of wisdom’s skilful lore By answer did cut off th’affections of his love, That he no more occasion had so vain a suit to move. So stern she was of cheer, for all the pain he took, That, in reward of toil, she would not give a friendly look. And yet how much she did with constant mind retire; | 7. Romeus’ beloved one: her chastity and virtue.
|
|
75
80
85
| So much the more his fervent mind was pricked forth by desire. But when he many months, hopeless of his recure, Had servéd her, who forcéd not what pains he did endure, At length he thought to leave Verona, and to prove If change of place might change away his ill-bestowéd love; And speaking to himself, thus ’gan he make his moan: “What booteth me to love and serve a fell, unthankful one, Sith that my humble suit and labour sowed in vain, Can reap none other fruit at all but scorn and proud disdain? What way she seeks to go, the same I seek to run, But she the path wherein I tread, with speedy flight doth shun. I cannot live, except that near to her I be; She is aye best content when she is farthest off from me. Wherefore henceforth I will far from her take my flight; Perhaps mine eye once banished by absence from her sight, This fire of mine, that by her pleasant eyne is fed, Shall little and little wear away, and quite at last be dead.” | 8. Romeus suffers unrequited love and wishes to leave Verona.
|
|
90
95
| But whilst he did decree this purpose still to keep, A contrary, repugnant thought sank in his breast so deep, That doubtful is he now which of the twain is best: In sighs, in tears, in plaint, in care, in sorrow and unrest, He moans the day, he wakes the long and weary night; So deep hath love with piercing hand, Within his breast, and hath so mastered quite his heart, That he of force must yield as thrall, no way is left to start. He cannot stay his step, but forth still must he run; | 9. Romeus is torn between opposite alternatives, and is prey of despair.
|
|
100
| His kindred and allies do wonder what he ails, And each of them in friendly wise his heavy hap bewails. | 10. His friends are worried about him.
|
|
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
| But one among the rest, the trustiest of his feres, Far more than he with counsel filled, and riper of his years, ’Gan sharply him rebuke, such love to him he bare, That he was fellow of his smart, and partner of his care. “What mean’st thou, Romeus,” quoth he, “what doting rage Doth make thee thus consume away the best part of thine age, In seeking her that scorns, and hides her from thy sight, Not forcing all thy great expense, ne yet thy honour bright, Thy tears, thy wretched life, ne thine unspotted truth, Which are of force, I ween, to move the hardest heart to ruth? Now for our friendship’s sake, and for thy health, I pray, That thou henceforth become thine own. Oh, give no more away Unto a thankless wight thy precious free estate; In that thou lovest such a one, thou seem’st thyself to hate. For she doth love elsewhere, and then thy time is lorn, Or else (what booteth thee to sue?) Love’s court she hath forsworn. Both young thou art of years, and high in Fortune’s grace: What man is better shaped than thou? Who hath a sweeter face? By painful studies’ mean, great learning hast thou won; Thy parents have none other heir, thou art their only son. What greater grief, trow’st thou, what woeful deadly smart Should so be able to distrain thy seely father’s heart, As in his age to see thee plungéd deep in vice, When greatest hope he hath to hear thy virtue’s fame arise? What shall thy kinsmen think, thou cause of all their ruth? Thy deadly foes do laugh to scorn thy ill-employéd youth. Wherefore my counsel is, that thou henceforth begin To know and fly the error which too long thou livedst in. Remove the veil of love, that keeps thine eyes so blind, That thou ne canst the ready path of thy forefathers find. But if unto thy will so much in thrall thou art, Yet in some other place bestow thy witless wand’ring heart. Choose out some worthy dame, her honour thou and serve, Who will give ear to thy complaint, But sow no more thy pains in such a barren soil, As yields in harvest time no crop, in recompense of toil. Ere long the townish dames together will resort; Some one of beauty, favour, shape, and of so lovely port, With so fast fixéd eye, perhaps thou may’st behold, That thou shalt quite forget thy love, and passions past of old.” | 11. A close friend rebukes him and urges him to look at other young ladies.
|
|
145
150
| The young man’s listening ear received the wholesome sound, And reason’s truth y-planted so, within his head had ground; That now with healthy cool y-tempered is the heat, And piecemeal wears away the grief that erst his heart did fret. To his approved friend a solemn oath he plight, At every feast y-kept by day, and banquet made by night, At pardons in the church, at games in open street, And everywhere he would resort where ladies wont to meet; Eke should his savage heart like all indifferently, For he would view and judge them all with unalluréd eye. | 12. Romeus follows his friend’s advice and starts to attend feasts and parties.
|
|
| How happy had he been, had he not been forsworn; But twice as happy had he been, had he been never born. For ere the moon could thrice her wasted horns renew, False Fortune cast for him, poor wretch, a mischief new to brew. | 13. The narrator comments on Romeus’ misfortune.
|
|
155
160
| The weary winter nights restore the Christmas games, And now the season doth invite to banquet townish dames. And first in Capel’s house, the chief of all the kin Spar’th for no cost, the wonted use of banquets to begin. No lady fair or foul was in Verona town, No knight or gentleman of high or low renown, But Capulet himself hath bid unto his feast, Or by his name in paper sent, appointed as a geast. Young damsels thither flock, of bachelors a rout, Not so much for the banquet’s sake, as beauties to search out. | 14. Capulet’s feast at Christmas.
|
|
165
170
| But not a Montague would enter at his gate, (For as you heard, the Capulets and they were at debate) Save Romeus, and he, in mask with hidden face, The supper done, with other five did press into the place. When they had masked awhile, with dames in courtly wise, All did unmask, the rest did show them to their ladies’ eyes; | 15. No Montague is admitted to the feast. Yet Romeus and five more go there masked. At some point they take off their masks.
| |
| But bashful Romeus The open press, and him withdrew into the chamber’s nook. | 16. Romeus withdraws to a secluded part of the room.
| |
175
| But brighter than the sun, the waxen torches shone, That maugre what he could, he was espied of everyone. But of the women chief, their gazing eyes that threw, To wonder at his sightly shape and beauty’s spotless hue, With which the heavens him had and nature so bedecked, That ladies thought the fairest dames were foul in his respect. | 17. Romeus’ beauty is gazed upon by all women.
|
|
180
185
190
195
| And in their head beside, another wonder rose, How he durst put himself in throng among so many foes. Of courage stout they thought his coming to proceed: And women love an hardy heart, as I in stories read. The Capulets disdain the presence of their foe, Yet they suppress their stirréd ire, the cause I do not know: Perhaps t’offend their guests the courteous knights are loth, Perhaps they stay from sharp revenge, dreading the Prince’s wroth. Perhaps for that they shamed to exercise their rage Within their house, ’gainst one alone, and him of tender age. They use no taunting talk, ne harm him by their deed; They neither say, “What mak’st thou here?” ne yet they say, “God speed.” So that he freely might the ladies view at ease; And they also beholding him, their change of fancies please; Which Nature had him taught to do with such a grace, That there was none but joyéd at his being there in place. the beauty of each dame, And judged who best, and who next her, was wrought in Nature’s frame. | 18. Everybody wonders about his boldness, but no one dares to challenge him. The narrator wonders why. Everybody gazes on him, and Romeo judges all the beauties.
|
|
200
| At length he saw a maid, right fair, of perfect shape, have chosen to their rape. Whom erst he never saw; of all she pleased him most; Within himself he said to her, “Thou justly may’st thee boast Of perfect shape’s renown, and beauty’s sounding praise, Whose like ne hath, ne shall be seen, ne liveth in our days.” | 19. Romeus sees a fair maid and falls in love.
|
|
205
210
| And whilst he fixed on her his partial piercéd eye, His former love, for which of late he ready was to die, Is now as quite forgot, as it had never been: The proverb saith, “Unminded oft are they that are unseen.” And as out of a plank a nail a nail doth drive, So novel love out of the mind the ancient love doth rive. This sudden kindled fire in time is wox so great, That only death and both their bloods might quench the fiery heat. | 20. Romeus forgets about his former beloved one. The narrator comments on his sudden change and the new kindled love with proverbial wisdom.
|
|
215
220
| When Romeus saw himself Where both was hope of pleasant port, and danger to be lost, He doubtful, scarcely knew what countenance to keep; In Lethe’s flood his wonted flames were quenched and drenchéd deep. Yea, he forgets himself, ne is the wretch so bold To ask her name, that without force hath him in bondage fold. Ne how t’unloose his bonds doth the poor fool devise, But only seeketh by her sight to feed his hungry eyes: Through them he swalloweth down How surely are the wareless wrapt by those that lie in wait! So is the poison spread throughout his bones and veins, That in a while, alas, the while, it hasteth deadly pains. | 21. Romeus feels as in a tempest tossed and does not dare to ask her name. He tries to follow her by sight, and is poisoned by her beauty.
|
|
225
230
235
| Whilst Juliet, for so this gentle damsel hight, From side to side on every one did cast about her sight: At last her floating eyes were anchored fast on him, Who for her sake did banish health and freedom from each limb. He in her sight did seem to pass the rest as far As Phoebus’ shining beams do pass the brightness of a star. In wait lay warlike Love with golden bow and shaft, And to his ear with steady hand the bowstring up he raft. Till now she had escaped his sharp inflaming dart, Till now he listed not assault her young and tender heart. His whetted arrow loosed, so touched her to the quick, That through the eye it strake the heart, and there the head did stick. It booted not to strive, for why, she wanted strength; The weaker aye unto the strong of force must yield, at length. The pomps now of the feast her heart ’gins to despise; And only joyeth when her eyne meet with her lover’s eyes. | 22. Juliet sees Romeus and is pierced by Cupid’s arrow (the power of sight).
|
|
240
| When their new smitten hearts had fed on loving gleams, Whilst, passing to and fro their eyes, Each of these lovers ’gan by other’s looks to know, That friendship in their breast had root, and both would have it grow. | 23. The two youths look at each other for a while and become aware of mutual love.
|
|
245
| When thus in both their hearts And each of them had sought the mean to end the war by speech, Dame Fortune did assent their purpose to advance, With torch in hand a comely knight did fetch her forth to dance; She quit herself so well, and with so trim a grace, That she the chief praise won that night from all Verona race. | 24. Juliet is invited to dance.
|
|
250
255
| The whilst our Romeus a place had warely won, Nigh to the seat where she must sit, the dance once being done. Fair Juliet turned to her chair with pleasant cheer, And glad she was her Romeus approachéd was so near. At th’one side of her chair her lover Romeo, And on the other side there sat one called Mercutio; A courtier that each where was highly had in price, For he was courteous of his speech, and pleasant of device. Even as a lion would among the lambs be bold, Such was among the bashful maids Mercutio to behold. | 25. Romeus places himself close to her seat, and on the other side there sits Mercutio, a courteous youth.
|
|
260
| With friendly gripe he seized fair Juliet’s snowish hand: A gift he had that Nature gave him in his swathing band, That frozen mountain ice was never half so cold, As were his hands, though ne’er so near the fire he did them hold. | 26. Juliet’s right hand is seized by Mercutio’s cold hand.
| |
265
| As soon as had the knight the virgin’s right hand raught, Within his trembling hand her left hath loving Romeus caught. For he wist well himself for her abode most pain, And well he wist she loved him best, unless she list to feign. | 27. Juliet’s left hand is seized by Romeus. Emotion prevents him from talking to her.
| |
270
275
280
285
290
295
300
305
| Then she with tender hand his tender palm hath pressed; What joy, trow you, was grafféd so in Romeus’ cloven breast The sudden sweet delight hath stoppéd quite his tongue, Ne can he claim of her his right, ne crave redress of wrong. But she espied straightway, by changing of his hue From pale to red, from red to pale, and so from pale anew, That veh’ment love was cause, why so his tongue did stay, And so much more she longed to hear what Love could teach him say. When she had longéd long, and he long held his peace, And her desire of hearing him, by silence did increase, At last, with trembling voice and shamefast cheer, the maid Unto her Romeus turned herself, and thus to him she said: “O blesséd be the time of thy arrival here”: But ere she could speak forth the rest, to her Love drew so near And so within her mouth, her tongue he gluéd fast, That no one word could ’scape her more than what already passed. In great contented ease the young man straight is rapt: “What chance”, quoth he, “un’ware to me, O lady mine, is hapt, That gives you worthy cause my coming here to bliss?” Fair Juliet was come again unto herself by this: First ruthfully she looked, then said with smiling cheer: “Marvel no whit, my heart’s delight, my only knight and fere, Mercutio’s icy hand had all-to frozen mine, And of thy goodness thou again hast warmed it with thine.” Whereto with stayéd brow, ’gan Romeus to reply: “If so the gods have granted me such favour from the sky, That by my being here some service I have done That pleaseth you, I am as glad, as I a realm had won. O well-bestowéd time, that hath the happy hire, Which I would wish, if I might have, my wishéd heart’s desire. For I of God would crave, as price of pains forepast, To serve, obey, and honour you, so long as life shall last; As proof shall teach you plain, if that you like to try His faultless truth, that nill for aught unto his lady lie. But if my touched hand have warmed yours some deal, Assure yourself the heat is cold, which in your hand you feel, Compared to such quick sparks and glowing furious glead, As from your beauty’s pleasant eyne, Love causéd to proceed; Which have so set on fire each feeling part of mine, That lo, my mind doth melt away, my outward parts do pine. And but you help, all whole, to ashes shall I turn; Wherefore, alas, have ruth on him, whom you do force to burn.” | 28. Juliet presses Romeus’ palm. When she sees him blush, she spurns him on to speak. Roméo declares his love.
|
|
310
| Even with his ended tale, the torches’ dance had end, And Juliet of force must part from her new chosen friend. His hand she clasped hard, and all her parts did shake, When leisureless with whisp’ring voice thus did she answer make: “You are no more your own, dear friend, than I am yours, My honour savéd, pressed t’obey your will, while life endures.” | 29. They must part but Juliet declares her love and acknowledges Romeus’ own.
|
|
315
| Lo, here the lucky lot that seld true lovers find, Each takes away the other’s heart, and leaves the own behind. A happy life is love, if God grant from above, That heart with heart by even weight do make exchange of love. | 30. The narrator comments on happy love when blessed by God.
|
|
320
325
330
335
340
| But Romeus gone from her, his heart for care is cold; He hath forgot to ask her name that hath his heart in hold. With forgéd careless cheer, of one he seeks to know, Both how she hight, and whence she came, that him enchanted so. So hath he learned her name, and know’th she is no geast, Her father was a Capulet, and master of the feast. Thus hath his foe in choice to give him life or death, That scarcely can his woeful breast keep in the lively breath. Wherefore with piteous plaint fierce Fortune doth he blame, That in his ruth and wretched plight doth seek her laughing game. And he reproveth Love, chief cause of his unrest, Who ease and freedom hath exiled out of his youthful breast. Twice hath he made him serve, hopeless of his reward; Of both the ills to choose the less, I ween the choice were hard. First to a ruthless one he made him sue for grace, And now with spur he forceth him to run an endless race. Amid these stormy seas one anchor doth him hold, He serveth not a cruel one, as he had done of old. And therefore is content, and chooseth still to serve, Though hap should swear that guerdonless the wretched wight should sterve. The lot of Tantalus is, Romeus, like to thine; For want of food amid his food, the miser still doth pine. | 31. Romeus discovers Juliet’s name and laments his lot.
|
|
345
350
355
360
365
370
375
380
| As careful was the maid what way were best devise To learn his name, that entertained her in so gentle wise, Of whom her heart received so deep, so wide a wound. An ancient dame she called to her, and in her ear ’gan round. This old dame in her youth had nursed her with her milk, With slender needle taught her sew, and how to spin with silk. “What twain are those,” quoth she, “which press unto the door, Whose pages in their hand do bear two torches light before?” And then as each of them had of his household name, So she him named yet once again, the young and wily dame. “And tell me, who is he with visor in his hand, That yonder doth in masking weed beside the window stand?” “His name is Romeus,” said she, “a Montague, Whose father’s pride first stirred the strife which both your households rue.” The word of Montague her joys did overthrow, And straight instead of happy hope, despair began to grow. “What hap have I,” quoth she, “to love my father’s foe? What, am I weary of my weal? What, do I wish my woe?” But though her grievous pains distrained her tender heart, Yet with an outward show of joy she cloakéd inward smart; And of the courtlike dames her leave so courtly took, That none did guess the sudden change by changing of her look. Then at her mother’s hest to chamber she her hied, So well she feigned, mother ne nurse the hidden harm descried. But when she should have slept, as wont she was, in bed, Not half a wink of quiet sleep could harbour in her head. For lo, an hugy heap of divers thoughts arise, That rest have banished from her heart, and slumber from her eyes. And now from side to side she tosseth and she turns, And now for fear she shivereth, and now for love she burns. And now she likes her choice, and now her choice she blames, And now each hour within her head a thousand fancies frames. Sometime in mind to stop amid her course begun, Sometime she vows, what so betide, th’attempted race to run. Thus danger’s dread and love within the maiden fought: The fight was fierce, continuing long by their contrary thought. In turning maze of love she wand’reth to and fro, Then standeth doubtful what to do, lost, overpressed with woe. How so her fancies cease, her tears did never blin, With heavy cheer and wringéd hands thus doth her plaint begin: | 32. Juliet discovers Romeus’ name and despairs, giving up sleep.
|
|
385
390
395
400
| “Ah, silly fool,” quoth she, “y-caught in subtle snare! Ah, wretchéd wench, bewrapt in woe! Whence come these wand’ring thoughts to thy unconstant breast? By straying thus from reason’s law, that reave thy wonted rest. What if his subtle brain to feign have taught his tongue, And so the snake that lurks in grass thy tender heart hath stung? What if with friendly speech the traitor lie in wait, As oft the poisoned hook is hid, wrapt in the pleasant bait? Oft under cloak of truth hath Falsehood served her lust; And turned their honour into shame, that did so slightly trust. What, was not Dido so, a crowned queen, defamed? And eke, for such a heinous crime, have men not Theseus blamed? A thousand stories more, to teach me to beware, In Boccace and in Ovid’s books too plainly written are. Perhaps, the great revenge he cannot work by strength, By subtle sleight, my honour stained, he hopes to work at length. So shall I seek to find my father’s foe his game; So, I befiled, Report shall take her trump of black defame, Whence she with pufféd cheek shall blow a blast so shrill Of my dispraise, that with the noise Verona shall she fill. Then I, a laughing-stock through all the town become, Shall hide myself, but not my shame, within an hollow tomb.” | 33. Juliet fears that Romeus might want to dishonour her.
|
|
405
410
415
420
425
| Straight underneath her foot she treadeth in the dust. Her troublesome thought, as wholly vain, y-bred of fond distrust. “No, no, by God above, I wot it well,” quoth she, “Although I rashly spake before, in no wise can it be That where such perfect shape with pleasant beauty rests, There crooked craft and treason black should be appointed guests. Sage writers say, the thoughts are dwelling in the eyne; Then sure I am, as Cupid reigns, that Romeus is mine. The tongue the messenger eke call they of the mind; So that I see he loveth me; shall I then be unkind? His face’s rosy hue I saw full oft to seek; And straight again it flashéd forth, and spread in either cheek. His fixéd heavenly eyne, that through me quite did pierce His thoughts unto my heart, my thought they seeméd to rehearse. What meant his falt’ring tongue in telling of his tale? The trembling of his joints, and eke his colour waxen pale? And whilst I talked with him, himself he hath exiled Out of himself, a seeméd me, ne was I sure beguiled. Those arguments of love Craft wrate not in his face, But Nature’s hand, when all deceit was banished out of place. What other certain signs seek I of his good will? These do suffice; and steadfast I will love and serve him still. Till Atropos shall cut my fatal thread of life, So that he mind to make of me his lawful wedded wife. | 34. Juliet changes her mind and believes that his beauty can only reflect moral integrity.
| |
| For so perchance this new alliance may procure Unto our houses such a peace as ever shall endure.” | 35. Thus she believes that their alliance may help quench the feud.
| |
430
| Oh, how we can persuade ourself to what we like, And how we can dissuade our mind, if aught our mind mislike! Weak arguments are strong, our fancies straight to frame To pleasing things, and eke to shun if we mislike the same. | 36. The narrator comments on the power of self- persuasion.
|
|
435
440
| The maid had scarcely yet ended the weary war, Kept in her heart by striving thoughts, when every shining star Had paid his borrowed light, and Phoebus spread in skies His golden rays, which seemed to say, now time it is to rise. And Romeus had by this forsaken his weary bed, Where restless he a thousand thoughts had forgéd in his head. And while with ling’ring step by Juliet’s house he passed, And upwards to her windows high his greedy eyes did cast, His love that looked for him there ’gan he straight espy. With pleasant cheer each greeted is; she followeth with her eye His parting steps, and he oft looketh back again But not so oft as he desires; warely he doth refrain. | 37. At dawn Romeus passes by her house and greets her.
| |
445
| What life were like to love, if dread of jeopardy Y-soured not the sweet, if love were free from jealousy! | 38. The narrator comments on love free from jealousy.
|
|
450
| But she more sure within, unseen of any wight, When so he comes, looks after him till he be out of sight. In often passing so, his busy eyes he threw, That every pane and tooting hole the wily lover knew. | 39. Juliet looks after him when he often passes her house and he looks up at her.
| |
455
| In happy hour he doth a garden plot espy, From which, except he warely walk, men may his love descry; For lo, it fronted full upon her leaning place, Where she is wont to show her heart by cheerful friendly face. And lest the arbours might their secret love bewray, He doth keep back his forward foot from passing there by day; But when on earth the Night her mantle black hath spread; Well armed he walketh forth alone, ne dreadful foes doth dread. | 40. Romeus finds a way to get into the garden at night.
| |
| Whom maketh Love not bold, nay, whom makes he not blind? | 41. The narrator’s proverbial wisdom.
|
|
460
465
| He reaveth danger’s dread oft-times out of the lover’s mind. By night he passeth here, a week or two in vain; And for the missing of his mark his grief hath him nigh slain. And Juliet that now doth lack her heart’s relief, Her Romeus’ pleasant eyne, I mean, is almost dead for grief. Each day she changeth hours (for lovers keep an hour When they are sure to see their love in passing by their bower). | 42. Romeus passes by Juliet’s house at night but does not see Juliet and Juliet despairs for not seeing him. The narrator comments on lovers’ apprehension.
|
|
470
475
| Impatient of her woe, she happed to lean one night Within her window, and anon the moon did shine so bright That she espied her love: her heart revivéd sprang; And now for joy she claps her hands, which erst for woe she wrang. Eke Romeus, when he saw his long desiréd sight, His mourning cloak of moan cast off, hath clad him with delight. Yet dare I say, of both that she rejoicéd more: His care was great, hers twice as great was all the time before; For whilst she knew not why he did himself absent, Aye doubting both his health and life, his death she did lament. | 43. Finally, one night, Juliet sees Romeus and greatly rejoices.
| |
480
| For love is fearful oft where is no cause of fear, And what love fears, that love laments, as though it chancéd were. Of greater cause always is greater work y-bred; While he nought doubteth of her health, she dreads lest he be dead. | 44. The Narrator comments on lovers’ fears.
|
|
485
| When only absence is the cause of Romeus’ smart, By happy hope of sight again he feeds his fainting heart. What wonder then if he were wrapped in less annoy? What marvel if by sudden sight she fed of greater joy His smaller grief or joy no smaller love do prove; Ne, for she passed him in both, did she him pass in love: But each of them alike did burn in equal flame, The well-beloving knight and eke the well-beloved dame. | 45. Although Juliet rejoices more than him, reassured that he is not dead, they love alike.
|
|
490
495
500
505
510
515
| Now whilst with bitter tears her eyes as fountains run, With whispering voice, y-broke with sobs, thus is her tale begun: “O Romeus, of your life too lavish sure you are, That in this place, and at this time, to hazard it you dare. What if your deadly foes, my kinsmen, saw you here? Like lions wild, your tender parts asunder would they tear. In ruth and in disdain, I, weary of my life, With cruel hand my mourning heart would pierce with bloody knife. For you, mine own, once dead, what joy should I have here? And eke my honour stained, which I than life do hold more dear.” “Fair lady mine, dame Juliet, my life,” quoth he, “Even from my birth committed was to fatal sisters three. They may in spite of foes draw forth my lively thread; And they also, whoso saith nay, asunder may it shred. But who to reave my life, his rage and force would bend, Perhaps should try unto his pain how I it could defend. Ne yet I love it so, but always for your sake, A sacrifice to death I would my wounded corpse betake. If my mishap were such, that here before your sight, I should restore again to death, of life, my borrowed light, This one thing and no more my parting sprite would rue, That part he should before that you by certain trial knew The love I owe to you, the thrall I languish in, And how I dread to lose the gain which I do hope to win; And how I wish for life, not for my proper ease, But that in it you might I love, you honour, serve and please, Till deadly pangs the sprite out of the corpse shall send.” And thereupon he sware an oath, and so his tale had end. | 46. Juliet asks Romeus how he got there and urges him to go away, being an enemy to her family; Romeus expresses his love.
|
|
520
525
530
535
540
| Now love and pity boil in Juliet’s ruthful breast; In window on her leaning arm her weary head doth rest; Her bosom bathed in tears, to witness inward pain, With dreary cheer to Romeus thus answered she again: “Ah, my dear Romeus, keep in these words,” quoth she, “For lo, the thought of such mischance already maketh me For pity and for dread well-nigh to yield up breath; In even balance poiséd are my life and eke my death. For so my heart is knit, yea, made one self with yours, That sure there is no grief so small, by which your mind endures, But as you suffer pain, so I do bear in part, Although it lessens not your grief, the half of all your smart. But these things overpast, if of your health and mine You have respect, or pity aught my teary, weeping eyne, In few unfeigned words your hidden mind unfold, That as I see your pleasant face, your heart I may behold. For if you do intend my honour to defile, In error shall you wander still, as you have done this while; But if your thought be chaste, and have on virtue ground, If wedlock be the end and mark which your desire hath found, Obedience set aside, unto my parents due, The quarrel eke that long ago between our households grew, Both me and mine I will all whole to you betake, And following you whereso you go, my father’s house forsake. But if by wanton love and by unlawful suit You think in ripest years to pluck my maidenhood’s dainty fruit, You are beguiled; and now your Juliet you beseeks To cease your suit, and suffer her to live among her likes.” | 47. Juliet asks him if his intention is honest, and proposes marriage.
|
|
545
550
555
560
| Then Romeus, whose thought was free from foul desire, And to the top of virtue’s height did worthily aspire, Was filled with greater joy than can my pen express, Or, till they have enjoyed the like, the hearer’s heart can guess. And then with joined hands, heaved up into the skies, He thanks the Gods, and from the heavens for vengeance down he cries If he have other thought but as his lady spake; And then his look he turned to her, and thus did answer make: “Since, lady, that you like to honour me so much As to accept me for your spouse, I yield myself for such. In true witness whereof, because I must depart, Till that my deed do prove my word, I leave in pawn my heart. To-morrow eke betimes before the sun arise, To Friar Laurence will I wend, to learn his sage advice. He is my ghostly sire, and oft he hath me taught What I should do in things of weight, when I his aid have sought. And at this self-same hour, I plight you here my faith, I will be here, if you think good, to tell you what he saith.” | 48. Romeus rejoices and tells Juliet that he will ask the friar for advice and will return the following night at the same hour with news.
|
|
| She was contented well; else favour found he none That night at lady Juliet’s hand, save pleasant words alone. | 49. Romeus finds no other satisfaction than pleasant words.
| |
565
570
575
580
585
| This barefoot friar girt with cord his grayish weed, For he of Francis’ order was, a friar, as I read. Not as the most was he, a gross unlearnéd fool, But doctor of divinity proceeded he in school. The secrets eke he knew in Nature’s works that lurk; By magic’s art most men supposed that he could wonders work. Ne doth it ill beseem divines those skills to know, If on no harmful deed they do such skilfulness bestow; For justly of no art can men condemn the use, But right and reason’s lore cry out against the lewd abuse. The bounty of the friar and wisdom hath so won The townsfolks’ hearts, that well nigh all to Friar Laurence run To shrive themselves; the old, the young, the great and small; Of all he is beloved well, and honoured much of all. And, for he did the rest in wisdom far exceed, The prince by him, his counsel craved, was holp at time of need. Betwixt the Capulets and him great friendship grew, A secret and assuréd friend unto the Montague. Loved of this young man more than any other guest, The friar eke of Verona youth aye likéd Romeus best; For whom he ever hath in time of his distress, As erst you heard, by skilful lore found out his harm’s redress: | 50. Description of the friar as a well-beloved doctor in divinity and very close to Romeus.
|
|
590
595
| To him is Romeus gone, ne stay’th he till the morrow; To him he painteth all his case, his passéd joy and sorrow. How he hath her espied with other dames in dance, And how that first to talk with her himself he did advance; Their talk and change of looks he ’gan to him declare, And how so fast by faith and troth they both y-coupléd are, That neither hope of life, nor dread of cruel death, Shall make him false his faith to her, while life shall lend him breath. And then with weeping eyes he prays his ghostly sire To further and accomplish all their honest hearts’ desire. | 51. Romeus tells the friar about his love for Juliet and recounts their encounter. He asks him to marry them.
|
|
600 | A thousand doubts and moe in th’old man’s head arose, A thousand dangers like to come the old man doth disclose, And from the spousal rites he redeth him refrain, Perhaps he shall be bet advised within a week or twain. | 52. The friar tries to dissuade him. |
|
605
| Advice is banished quite from those that follow love, Except advice to what they like their bending mind do move. As well the father might have counselled him to stay That from a mountain’s top thrown down is falling half the way As warn his friend to stop amid his race begun, Whom Cupid with his smarting whip enforceth forth to run. | 53. The narrator comments on Romeus’ deafness to all advice.
|
|
610
| the friar doth grant at last; And part, because he thinks the storms, so lately overpast, Of both the households’ wrath, this marriage might appease; So that they should not rage again, but quite for ever cease The respite of a day he asketh to devise What way were best, unknown, to end so great an enterprise. | 54. At last the friar consents as he thinks that the marriage might assuage the feud.
|
|
615
| The wounded man that now doth deadly pains endure, Scarce patient tarrieth whilst his leech doth make the salve to cure: So Romeus hardly grants a short day and a night, Yet needs he must, else must he want his only heart’s delight. | 55. Romeus’ hurry.
|
|
| You see that Romeus no time or pain doth spare; Think that the whilst fair Juliet is not devoid of care. | 56. The narrator addresses the reader about Romeus’ and Juliet’s hurry.
|
|
620
| Young Romeus poureth forth his hap and his mishap Into the friar’s breast; but where shall Juliet unwrap The secrets of her heart? To whom shall she unfold Her hidden burning love, and eke her thought and cares so cold? | 57. The narrator shifts his narrative to Juliet- and-the-Nurse pair.
|
|
625
630
| The nurse of whom I spake, within her chamber lay, Upon the maid she waiteth still; to her she doth bewray Her new receivéd wound, and then her aid doth crave, In her, she saith, it lies to spill, in her, her life to save. Not easily she made the froward nurse to bow, But won at length with promised hire, she made a solemn vow. To do what she commands, as handmaid of her hest; Her mistress’ secrets hide she will within her covert breast. | 58. Juliet discloses her secret love to the Nurse.
|
|
635
640
645
650
| To Romeus she goes; of him she doth desire To know the mean of marriage, by counsel of the friar. “On Saturday,” quoth he, “if Juliet come to shrift, She shall be shrived and marriéd; how like you, nurse, this drift?” “Now by my truth,” quoth she, “God’s blessing have your heart, For yet in all my life I have not heard of such a part. Lord, how you young men can such crafty wiles devise, If that you love the daughter well, to blear the mother’s eyes. An easy thing it is with cloak of holiness To mock the seely mother, that suspecteth nothing less. But that it pleaséd you to tell me of the case, For all my many years, perhaps, I should have found it scarce. Now for the rest let me and Juliet alone; To get her leave, some feat excuse I will devise anon; For that her golden locks by sloth have been unkempt, Or for unwares some wanton dream the youthful damsel dreamt, Or for in thoughts of love her idle time she spent, Or otherwise within her heart deservéd to be shent. I know her mother will in no case say her nay; I warrant you, she shall not fail to come on Saturday.” | 59. The Nurse goes to Romeus and is instructed to accompany Juliet to shrive on Saturday.
|
|
655
660
| And then she swears to him, the mother loves her well; And how she gave her suck in youth, she leaveth not to tell. “A pretty babe,” quoth she, “it was when it was young; Lord, how it could full prettily have prated with it tongue! A thousand times and more I laid her on my lap, And clapped her on the buttock soft, and kissed where I did clap. And gladder then was I of such a kiss, forsooth, Than I had been to have a kiss of some old lecher’s mouth.” And thus of Juliet’s youth began this prating nurse, And of her present state to make a tedious, long discourse. | 60. The Nurse prates about Juliet’s youth and her having been like a mother for her.
|
|
665
670
| For though he pleasure took in hearing of his love, The message’ answer seeméd him to be of more behove. But when these beldames sit at ease upon their tail, The day and eke the candle-light before their talk shall fail. And part they say is true, and part they do devise, Yet boldly do they chat of both, when no man checks their lies. Then he six crowns of gold out of his pocket drew, And gave them her; “A slight reward,” quoth he, “and so, adieu.” In seven years twice told she had not bowed so low Her crooked knees, as now they bow; she swears she will bestow Her crafty wit, her time, and all her busy pain, To help him to his hopéd bliss; and, cow’ring down again, She takes her leave, and home she hies with speedy pace; | 61. Romeus silences the Nurse by giving her money.
|
|
675
680
685
690
695
700
| The chamber door she shuts, and then she saith with smiling face: “Good news for thee, my girl, good tidings I thee bring. Leave off thy wonted song of care, and now of pleasure sing. For thou may’st hold thyself the happiest under sun, That in so little while, so well, so worthy a knight hast won. The best y-shaped is he, and hath the fairest face Of all this town, and there is none hath half so good a grace: So gentle of his speech, and of his counsel wise”: And still with many praises more she heaved him to the skies. “Tell me else what,” quoth she, “this evermore I thought; But of our marriage, say at once, what answer have you brought?” “Nay, soft,” quoth she, “I fear you’re hurt by sudden joy.” “I list not play,” quoth Juliet, “although thou list to toy.” How glad, trow you, was she, when she had heard her say, No farther off than Saturday deferréd was the day! Again the ancient nurse doth speak of Romeus, “And then,” said she, “he spake to me, and then I spake him thus.” Nothing was done or said that she hath left untold, Save only one, that she forgot, the taking of the gold. “There is no loss,” quoth she, “sweet wench, to loss of time, Ne in thine age shalt thou repent so much of any crime. For when I call to mind my former passéd youth, One thing there is which most of all doth cause my endless ruth. At sixteen years I first did choose my loving fere, And I was fully ripe before, I dare well say, a year. The pleasure that I lost, that year so overpast, A thousand times I have bewept, and shall while life doth last. In faith it were a shame, yea, sin it were, y-wis, When thou may’st live in happy joy, to set light by thy bliss.” | 62. The Nurse gives Juliet the news and praises Romeus. She does not mention the money she has received.
| |
705
710
| She that this morning could her mistress’ mind dissuade, Is now become an oratress, her lady to persuade. If any man be here whom love hath clad with care, To him I speak; if thou wilt speed, thy purse thou must not spare, Two sorts of men there are, seld welcome in at door, The wealthy sparing niggard, and the suitor that is poor. And oftentimes a slight reward doth cause a more desart. Y-written have I read, I wot not in what book, There is no better way to fish than with a golden hook. | 63. The Narrator comments on the persuasive power of gold. His address to the reader.
|
|
715
| Of Romeus these two do sit and chat awhile, And to themselves they laugh how they the mother shall beguile. A feat excuse they find, but sure I know it not, And leave for her to go to shrift on Saturday she got. So well this Juliet, this wily wench did know Her mother’s angry hours, and eke the true bent of her bow. | 64. Juliet and the Nurse talk about Romeus and devise a stratagem to go to church. The narrator ignores what it is.
|
|
720
725
730
| The Saturday betimes, in sober weed y-clad, She took her leave, and forth she went with visage grave and sad. With her the nurse is sent, as bridle of her lust, With her the mother sends a maid almost of equal trust. Betwixt her teeth the bit the jennet now hath caught, So warely eke the virgin walks, her maid perceiveth nought. She gazeth not in church on young men of the town, Ne wand’reth she from place to place, but straight she kneeleth down Upon an altar’s step, where she devoutly prays, And there upon her tender knees the weary lady stays; Whilst she doth send her maid the certain truth to know, If Friar Laurence leisure had to hear her shrift, or no. Out of his shriving place he comes with pleasant cheer; The shamefast maid with bashful brow to himward draweth near. “Some great offence,” quoth he, “you have committed late, Perhaps you have displeased your friend by giving him a mate.” | 65. On Saturday Juliet, the Nurse and a maid go to church.
|
|
735
| Then turning to the nurse and to the other maid, “Go, hear a mass or two,” quoth he, “which straightway shall be said. For, her confession heard, I will unto you twain The charge that I received of you restore to you again.” | 66. The friar tells the two women to go hear a mass or two and then return.
|
|
740
| What, was not Juliet, trow you, right well apaid? That for this trusty friar hath changed her young mistrusting maid? I dare well say, there is in all Verona none, But Romeus, with whom she would so gladly be alone. | 67. The narrator comments upon Juliet’s satisfaction.
|
|
745
750
755
760
765
770
| Thus to the friar’s cell they both forth walkéd bin; He shuts the door as soon as he and Juliet were in. But Romeus, her friend, was entered in before, And there had waited for his love, two hours large and more. ’Twixt hope he livéd and despair of coming or of stay. Now wavering hope and fear are quite fled out of sight, For what he hoped he hath at hand, his pleasant, chief delight. And joyful Juliet is healed of all her smart, For now the rest of all her parts have found her straying heart. Both their confessions first the friar hath heard them make. And then to her with louder voice thus Friar Laurence spake: “Fair lady Juliet, my ghostly daughter dear, As far as I of Romeus learn, who by you standeth here, ’Twixt you it is agreed, that you shall be his wife, And he your spouse in steady truth, till death shall end your life. Are you both fully bent to keep this great behest?” And both the lovers said, it was their only heart’s request. When he did see their minds in links of love so fast, When in the praise of wedlock’s state some skilful talk was past, When he had told at length the wife what was her due, His duty eke by ghostly talk the youthful husband knew; How that the wife in love must honour and obey, What love and honour he doth owe, and debt that he must pay. The words pronouncéd were which holy church of old Appointed hath for marriage, and she a ring of gold Received of Romeus; and then they both arose. To whom the friar then said: “Perchance apart you will disclose, Betwixt yourself alone, the bottom of your heart; Say on at once, for time it is that hence you should depart.” | 68. The friar confesses them and celebrates the secret marriage.
|
|
775
| Then Romeus said to her, both loth to part so soon, “Fair lady, send to me again your nurse this afternoon. Of cord I will bespeak a ladder by that time; By which, this night, while others sleep, I will your window climb. Then will we talk of love and of our old despairs, And then, with longer leisure had, dispose our great affairs.” | 69. Romeus tells Juliet to send the Nurse to him to organise his arrival at night (the cord ladder).
| |
780
| These said, they kiss, and then part to their fathers’ house, The joyful bride unto her home, to his eke go’th the spouse: Contented both, and yet both uncontented still, Till Night and Venus’ child give leave the wedding to fulfil. | 70. After planning to meet, Romeus and Juliet part.
| |
785
790
795
| The painful soldier, sore y-beat with weary war, The merchant eke that needful things doth dread to fetch from far, The ploughman that for doubt of fierce invading foes, Rather to sit in idle ease than sow his tilt hath chose, Rejoice to hear proclaimed the tidings of the peace; Not pleasured with the sound so much; but, when the wars do cease, Then ceased are the harms which cruel war brings forth: The merchant then may boldly fetch his wares of precious worth; Dreadless the husbandman doth till his fertile field. For wealth, her mate, not for herself, is peace so precious held: So lovers live in care, in dread, and in unrest, And deadly war by striving thoughts they keep within their breast: But wedlock is the peace whereby is freedom won To do a thousand pleasant things that should not else be done. The news of ended war these two have heard with joy, But now they long the fruit of peace with pleasure to enjoy. | 71. The narrator comments on the lovers’ cares and unrest.
|
|
800
805
| In stormy wind and wave, in danger to be lost, hath been long while betossed; The seas are now appeased, and thou, by happy star, Art come in sight of quiet haven; and, now the wrackful bar Is hid with swelling tide, boldly thou may’st resort Unto thy wedded lady’s bed, thy long desiréd port. God grant, no folly’s mist so dim thy inward sight, That thou do miss the channel that doth lead to thy delight. God grant, no danger’s rock, y-lurking in the dark, Before thou win the happy port, wrack thy sea-beaten bark. | 72. The narrator addresses Romeus, wishing him God’s blessing for his arrival at a safe port.
|
|
810
| A servant Romeus had, of word and deed so just, That with his life, if need required, his master would him trust. His faithfulness had oft our Romeus proved of old; And therefore all that yet was done unto his man he told, Who straight, as he was charged, To which he hath made fast two strong and crooked iron hooks. | 73. Romeus’ trusty servant prepares the ladder.
|
|
815
820
| The bride to send the nurse at twilight faileth not, To whom the bridegroom given hath the ladder that he got, And then to watch for him appointeth her an hour; For whether Fortune smile on him, or if she list to lower, He will not miss to come to his appointed place, Where wont he was to take by stealth the view of Juliet’s face. | 74. Juliet sends him the Nurse at twilight and appoints her to watch for Romeus to arrive.
|
|
825
| How long these lovers thought the lasting of the day, Let other judge that wonted are like passions to assay: For my part, I do guess So that I deem, if they might have, as of Alcume we hear, The sun bound to their will, if they the heavens might guide, Black shade of night and doubled dark should straight all over hide. | 75. The narrator comments on their impatience about the arrival of night.
|
|
830
835
840
845
850
| Th’appointed hour is come; he, clad in rich array, Walks toward his desiréd home: good fortune guide his way. Approaching near the place from whence his heart had life, So light he wox, he leapt the wall, and there he spied his wife, Who in the window watched the coming of her lord; Where she so surely had made fast the ladder made of cord, That dangerless her spouse the chamber window climbs, Where he ere then had wished himself above ten thousand times. The windows close are shut; else look they for no guest; To light the waxen quarriers, the ancient nurse is pressed, Which Juliet had before prepared to be light, That she at pleasure might behold her husband’s beauty bright. A kerchief white as snow ware Juliet on her head, Such as she wonted was to wear, attire meet for the bed. As soon as she him spied, about his neck she clung, And by her long and slender arms a great while there she hung. A thousand times she kissed, and him unkissed again, Ne could she speak a word to him, though would she ne’er so fain. And like betwixt his arms to faint his lady is; She fets a sigh and clappeth close her closéd mouth to his; And ready then to sownd she lookéd ruthfully, That lo, it made him both at once to live and eke to die. These piteous painful pangs were haply overpast, And she unto herself again returnéd home at last. Then, through her troubled breast, even from the farthest part, An hollow sigh, a messenger, she sendeth from her heart. | 76. Romeus arrives at Juliet’s chamber and the two lovers embrace.
|
|
855
860
865
870
875
880
885
| “O Romeus,” quoth she, “in whom all virtues shine, Welcome thou art into this place, where from these eyes of mine Such teary streams did flow, that I suppose well-nigh The source of all my bitter tears is altogether dry. Absence so pined my heart, which on thy presence fed, And of thy safety and thy health so much I stood in dread. But now what is decreed by fatal destiny, I force it not; let Fortune do, and death, their worst to me. Full recompensed am I for all my passéd harms, In that the Gods have granted me to clasp thee in mine arms.” The crystal tears began to stand in Romeus’ eyes, When he unto his lady’s words ’gan answer in this wise: “Though cruel Fortune be so much my deadly foe, That I ne can by lively proof cause thee, fair dame, to know How much I am by love enthralléd unto thee, Ne yet what mighty power thou hast, by thy desert, on me, Ne torments that for thee I did ere this endure, Yet of thus much, ne will I feign, I may thee well assure, The least of many pains which of thy absence sprung, More painfully than death itself my tender heart hath wrung. Ere this, one death had reft a thousand deaths away, But life prolongéd was by hope of this desiréd day, Which so just tribute pays of all my passéd moan, That I as well contented am as if myself alone Did from the Ocean reign unto the sea of Ind. Wherefore now let us wipe away old cares out of our mind. For as the wretched state is now redressed at last, So is it skill behind our back the curséd care to cast. Since Fortune of her grace hath place and time assigned, Where we with pleasure may content our uncontented mind, In Lethes hide we deep all grief and all annoy, Whilst we do bathe in bliss, and fill our hungry hearts with joy. And, for the time to come, let be our busy care So wisely to direct our love, as no wight else be ware; Lest envious foes by force despoil our new delight, And us throw back from happy state to more unhappy plight.” | 77. The two lovers reassure each other and promise to love wisely.
| |
890
| Fair Juliet began to answer what he said, But forth in haste the old nurse stepped, and so her answer stayed. “Who takes not time,” quoth she, “when time well offered is, Another time shall seek for time, and yet of time shall miss. And when occasion serves, whoso doth let it slip, Is worthy sure, if I might judge, of lashes with a whip. | 78. The Nurse urges them to stop talking and waste no more time.
|
|
895
900
| Wherefore if each of you hath harmed the other so, And each of you hath been the cause of other’s wailéd woe, Lo here a field” – she showed a field-bed ready dight – “Where you may, if you list, in arms revenge yourself by fight.” Whereto these lovers both ’gan easily assent, And to the place of mild revenge with pleasant cheer they went, Where they were left alone – the nurse is gone to rest. How can this be? They restless lie, ne yet they feel unrest. | 79. The Nurse urges them to go to bed (the site of a love- battlefield.).
|
|
905
910
| I grant that I envy the bliss they livéd in; Oh that I might have found the like, I wish it for no sin, But that I might as well with pen their joys depaint, As heretofore I have displayed their secret hidden plaint. Of shivering care and dread I have felt many a fit, But Fortune such delight as theirs did never grant me yet. By proof no certain truth can I unhappy write, But what I guess by likelihood, that dare I to indite. | 80. The narrator avows jealous ignorance of such a bliss which he can hardly describe.
|
|
915
920
| The blindfold goddess that with frowning face doth fray, And from their seat the mighty kings throws down with headlong sway, Beginneth now to turn to these her smiling face; Needs must they taste of great delight, so much in Fortune’s grace. If Cupid, god of love, be god of pleasant sport, I think, O Romeus, Mars himself envies thy happy sort. Ne Venus justly might, as I suppose, repent, If in thy stead, O Juliet, this pleasant time she spent. Thus pass they forth the night, in sport, in jolly game; The hastiness of Phoebus’ steeds in great despite they blame. In which as yet no breach was made How glad was he, speak you that may your lover’s parts embrace. | 81. Description of their passing the night in jolly game.
| |
925
930
| The marriage thus made up, and both the parties pleased, The nigh approach of day’s return these seely fools dis-eased. And for they might no while in pleasure pass their time, Ne leisure had they much to blame the hasty morning’s crime, With friendly kiss in arms of her his leave he takes, And every other night, to come, a solemn oath he makes, By one self mean, and eke to come at one self hour: And so he doth, till Fortune list to sauce his sweet with sour. | 82. The lovers blame the arrival of the morning but promise to meet again every night.
|
|
935
940
| But who is he that can his present state assure? And say unto himself, thy joys shall yet a day endure? her changes be so strange; And every wight y-thralléd is by Fate unto her change, Who reigns so over all, that each man hath his part (Although not aye, perchance, alike) of pleasure and of smart. For after many joys some feel but little pain, And from that little grief they turn to happy joy again. But other some there are, that, living long in woe, At length they be in quiet ease, but long abide not so; Whose grief is much increased by mirth that went before, Because the sudden change of things doth make it seem the more. | 83. Uncertainty of life and the wavering of Fortune’s wheel.
|
|
945
950
| Of this unlucky sort our Romeus is one, For all his hap turns to mishap, and all his mirth to moan. And joyful Juliet another leaf must turn; As wont she was, her joys bereft, she must begin to mourn. The summer of their bliss doth last a month or twain, But winter’s blast with speedy foot doth bring the fall again. By envious Fortune overthrown, on earth now grovelling lies. She paid their former grief with pleasure’s doubled gain, But now for pleasure’s usury, tenfold redoubleth pain. | 84. Prefiguration of the two lovers’ mishap.
|
|
955
960
| The prince could never cause those households so agree, But that some sparkles of their wrath as yet remaining be; Which lie this while raked up in ashes pale and dead Till time do serve that they again in wasting flame may spread. At holiest times, men say, most heinous crimes are done; The morrow after Easter day the mischief new begun. A band of Capulets did meet – my heart it rues – Within the walls, by Purser’s gate, a band of Montagues. | 85. The feud is rekindled: a new brawl breaks the morning after Easter by Purser’s gate.
|
|
965
| The Capulets, as chief, a young man have chose out, Best exercised in feats of arms, and noblest of the rout, Our Juliet’s uncle’s son, that clepéd was Tybalt; He was of body tall and strong, and of his courage halt. | 86. Description of Tybalt, chief of the Capulets.
| |
970
975
980
985
990
| They need no trumpet sound to bid them give the charge, So loud he cried with strainéd voice and mouth outstretchéd large: “Now, now,” quoth he, “my friends, ourself so let us wreak, That of this day’s revenge and us our children’s heirs may speak. Now once for all let us their swelling pride assuage; Let none of them escape alive.” Then he, with furious rage, And they with him, gave charge upon their present foes, And then forthwith a skirmish great upon this fray arose. For, lo, the Montagues thought shame away to fly, And rather than to live with shame, with praise did choose to die. The words that Tybalt used to stir his folk to ire, Have in the breasts of Montagues kindled a furious fire. With lions’ hearts they fight, warely themselves defend; To wound his foe, his present wit and force each one doth bend. This furious fray is long on each side stoutly fought, That whether part had got the worst, full doubtful were the thought. The noise hereof anon throughout the town doth fly, And parts are taken on every side; both kindreds thither hie. Here one doth gasp for breath, his friend bestrideth him; And he hath lost a hand, and he another maiméd limb, His leg is cut whilst he strikes at another full, And whom he would have thrust quite through, hath cleft his crackéd skull. Their valiant hearts forbode their foot to give the ground; With unappalléd cheer they took full deep and doubtful wound. Thus foot by foot long while, and shield to shield set fast, One foe doth make another faint, but makes him not aghast. | 87. Tybalt starts the quarrel.
|
|
995
1000
1005
| And whilst this noise is rife in every townsman’s ear, Eke, walking with his friends, the noise doth woeful Romeus hear. With speedy foot he runs unto the fray apace; With him, those few that were with him he leadeth to the place. They pity much to see the slaughter made so great, That wetshod they might stand in blood on either side the street. “Part, friends,” said he, “part, friends, Help, friends, to part the fray,” And to the rest, “Enough,” he cries, “Now time it is to stay. God’s farther wrath you stir, beside the hurt you feel, And with this new uproar confound all this our common weal.” But they so busy are in fight, so eager and fierce, That through their ears his sage advice no leisure had to pierce. Then leapt he in the throng, to part and bar the blows As well of those that were his friends, as of his deadly foes. | 88. Romeus arrives and tries to part the enemies, yet to no avail.
|
|
Italian 
English