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Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Cap. Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Fri. Peace, ho! for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all; And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion, For 't was your heaven she should be advanc'd; And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? 0! in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long. But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse: and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church; For though fond nature bids us all lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.
Cap. 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. Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris: - every one prepare
[Exeunt CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, PARIS, and Friar. 1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.
Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah! put up, put up; for, well you know, this is a pitiful case.
[Exit Nurse. 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
Enter PETER. Pet. Musicians, 0, musicians! "Heart's ease, Heart's ease:” 0! an you will have me live, play — "Heart's ease.”
1 Mus. Why “Heart's ease?”
“My heart is full of woe.” O! play me some merry dump, to comfort
2 Mus. Not a dump we: 't is no time to play now.
Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.
1 Mus. Then, will I give you the serving-creature.
Pet. Then, will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate.. I will carry no crotchets : I'll re you, I'll fa you. Do you note me?
1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.
Pet. Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. - Answer me like men:
When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then music, with her silver sound; Why, "silver sound?” why, “music with her silver sound?” What say you, Simon Catling?
1 Mus. Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
"silver sound," because musicians sound for silver.
Pet. Pretty too! - What say you, James Soundpost ? 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. Pet. 0! I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for
“music with her silver sound,” because musicians have seldom gold for sounding:
Then music with her silver sound,
[Exit, singing. 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same.
2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
you. It is
ACT V. SCENE I.
Mantua. A Street.
Balthasar? Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well?
- How now,
How fares my Juliet? That I ask again;
Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill:
Rom. Is it e'en so? then, I defy you, stars!
Bal. I do beseech you, Sir, have patience:
Tush! thou art deceiv'd;
Bal. No, my good lord.
No matter; get thee gone,
[Exit BALTHASAR. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means : -0, mischief! thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary, And hereabouts he dwells, which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples: meagre were his looks, Sharp misery bad worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said -
Who calls so loud ?
Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law
Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Thao these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell: