The Best of Shakespeare:. William Shakespeare

The curfew bell hath rung, ‘tis three o’clock:—

       Look to the bak’d meats, good Angelica;

       Spare not for cost.

       Nurse.

       Go, you cot-quean, go,

       Get you to bed; faith, you’ll be sick tomorrow

       For this night’s watching.

       Capulet.

       No, not a whit: what! I have watch’d ere now

       All night for lesser cause, and ne’er been sick.

       Lady Capulet.

       Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time;

       But I will watch you from such watching now.

       [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse.]

       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 poor and loving child,

       But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

       And cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight!

       Nurse.

       O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day!

       Most lamentable day, most woeful day

       That ever, ever, I did yet behold!

       O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!

       Never was seen so black a day as this:

       O woeful day! O woeful day!

       Paris.

       Beguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!

       Most detestable death, by thee beguil’d,

       By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!—

       O love! O life!—not life, but love in death!

       Capulet.

       Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d,