SCENE III. A Church-yard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.

Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch.

Par. Give me my torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof;

Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,)
But thou shalt hear it; whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.
Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure. [Retires.
Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal
bed.

Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain
The perfect model of eternity;
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,'
Accept this latest favor at my hands;
That living honored thee, and, being dead,
With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb!

[The boy whistles. The boy gives warning, something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies, and true-love's rites? What, with a torch!-muffle me, night, a while.

[Retires.

1 The folio has these lines :

"Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew;
O wo! thy canopy is dust and stones,
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew;

Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans;
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be, to strew thy grave and weep."

In the text, the seven lines are printed as they appear in the quarto of 1597.

Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, &c.

Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching-iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light. Upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or see'st, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is, partly, to behold my lady's face;

But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring; a ring that I must use

In dear1 employment; therefore hence, be gone ;-
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,

By Heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs.
The time and my intents are savage-wild ;
More fierce, and more inexorable far,
Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea.

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship.-Take
thou that;

Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow.
Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout;
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.
Rom. Thou détestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[Breaking open the door of the monument.
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!
Par. This is that banished, haughty Montague,
That murdered my love's cousin ;-with which grief,
It is supposed the fair creature died,—

And here is come to do some villanous shame
To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.—

[Advances.

1 That is, in action of importance. The sense of the word dear has been explained.

Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague;
Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.
Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither.— Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence and leave me;-think upon these gone; Let them affright thee.-I beseech thee, youth, Heap not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury.-O, be gone! By Heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither armed against myself. Stay not; begone;-live, and hereafter say— A madman's mercy bade thee run away. Par. I do defy thy conjurations,1

And do attach thee as a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy.

[They fight. call the watch.

Page. O Lord! they fight. I will go

[Exit Page.

Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.]—If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

[Dies.

Rom. In faith, I will.-Let me peruse this face; Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris. What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet. Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so ?-O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;—

A grave? O, no; a lantern, slaughtered youth;

1 I refuse to do as thou conjurest me to do, i. e. depart. So Constance, in King John, says :—

"No, I defy all counsel, all redress."

2 A lantern may here signify what in ancient records is styled lanternium, i. e. a spacious round or octagonal turret, full of windows, by means of which cathedrals and sometimes halls are illuminated.

A presence is a public room, which is, at times, the presence-chamber of a sovereign.

For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interred.
[Laying PARIS in the monument.
How oft, when men are at the point of death
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death; O, how may
Call this a lightning?-O my love!
my wife!
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.-
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favor can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin!-Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous;
And that the lean, abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I will still stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again; here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O, you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!—
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark!
Here's to my love! [Drinks.]-O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [Dies.

2

1 The first quarto reads, " But how," &c. This idea very frequently occurs in our old dramas.

2 See note, p. 225.

3 Conduct for conductor.

Enter, at the other end of the church-yard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade.

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! -Who's there? Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.

Fri. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond' that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capels' monument.

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love.

Who is it?

Fri.

Bal.

Romeo.
Fri. How long hath he been there?
Bal.

Fri. Go with me to the vault.
Bal.

Full half an hour.

I dare not, sir.

My master knows not but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death,
If I did stay to look on his intents.

Fri. Stay, then, I'll go alone.-Fear comes upon me;
O, much I fear some ill, unlucky thing.
Bal. As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,
I dreamed my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.

Fri.

Romeo? [Advances. Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre ?— What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolored by this place of peace?

[Enters the monument. Romeo! O, pale!-Who else? what, Paris too?

1 This accident was reckoned ominous.

2 This was one of the touches of nature that would have escaped the hand of any painter less attentive to it than Shakspeare. What happens to a person while he is under the manifest influence of fear, will seem to him, when he is recovered from it, like a dream.