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(SOFT PIANO MUSIC PLAYS)
(HORSE WHINNYING)
(CROWD CHEERING)
NARRATOR: Two households,
both alike in dignity,
in Fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
from ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
And so the prince has called a tournament
to keep the battle from the city streets.
Now rival Capulets and Montagues,
they try their strength to gain the royal ring.
(WHINNYING)
Ride, cousin!
(CHUCKLES)
(CROWD CHEERING)
(CHEERING CONTINUES)
(WHINNIES)
(SNORTS)
(SPITS)
We here declare Mercutio,
from the house of Montague, our champion.
And so I bid you all enjoy the day.
(CHEERING CONTINUES)
NURSE: Juliet? Juliet, please.
My lady and my lord will soon be home
with news of the tournament.
Then hurry, nurse. Why do you dally so?
Oh, I should so hurry till my heart gives out.
Your heart is made of sterner stuff than that.
Your heart is made of sterner stuff...
(JULIET CHUCKLES)
that you should laugh to see me so wore out.
I keep you fast to make you young and strong.
SERVANT: Here, what about this one?
- (GRUNTS) - (GLASS SHATTERS)
Do you not choke to see Lord Tybalt bested by a Montague dog?
Leave it. The quarrel is between our masters.
The quarrel is between our masters and us, their men.
(SPITS)
Stop!
(GRUNTING)
Stop!
Put down your sword! You know not what you do.
Hold up there.
Turn now, Benvolio, and look upon thy death.
Tybalt, I do but keep the peace.
Put up your sword or manage it to part these men with me.
What? Do you draw your sword and talk of peace?
I hate the word as I hate hell,
all Montagues and thee.
MONTAGUE: Back, Tybalt! You argue with a child.
Turn now and fight your equal if you dare.
(GRUNTING)
Old Montague doth flourish his blade in spite of me!
- No! - Enough!
SERVANT: The prince! The prince!
Rebellious subjects! Stop this!
Enemies to peace would stain the pleasure of a tournament
with bitter blood?
Throw your ill-tempered weapons to the ground...
and hear the sentence of your angry prince.
Three civil brawls,
bred of a foolish word by thee, Lord Capulet or Montague,
have thrice destroyed the calm of our streets.
If ever you disturb our town again,
your lives will pay the price for the offense.
You, Capulet, you go along with me.
And, Montague, come you this afternoon.
And now, on pain of death, all fighting men depart.
(SNORTS, WHINNIES)
- Good afternoon, my cousin. - Is it so?
I thought it should be night.
Not much past 4:00.
When I am sad, the hours seem long.
(HAMMERING)
What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
I lack the thing which, if I had it, would make them short.
I see. You're in love.
- How was the tournament? - It served its turn...
to launch another clash with Capulets.
So you must fence with hate, and I with love.
Love is a harsh tyrant where he rules.
(SIGHS) Love is a smoke,
raised on the fume of sighs,
a madness drenched in syrup and choked with rage.
May I not know who it is you love?
I love a woman.
- That much I found unaided. - Who loves me not.
Sweet cousin, say not so, but may I have a name?
Rosaline.
Rosaline?
- The niece of Lord Capulet? - The same.
Be ruled by me and forget to think of her.
Oh, teach me how I should forget to think.
Love will not call on you but once,
nor stay forever when he comes.
Release your eyes. Be glad she does not care.
- Examine other beauties. - To what purpose?
Cousin, I pray you change your mind.
My child is still a stranger to this world.
Let two more summers wither in their pride
before we judge her right to be a wife.
Younger than she are happy mothers now.
Juliet is my only living child.
She's the hopeful lady of my earth...
but woo her, gentle Paris.
Win her heart.
Now, Peter, sir, come hither, pray.
Take this list...
of the last and final names,
search them through Verona, bid them come
to feast and welcome at my house this night.
Go.
- (PEOPLE CHATTERING) - (DOGS BARKING)
PETER: Find out those men whose names are written here.
I must first find out what names he here has writ.
Pray you, sir. Can you read?
Aye. If I know the letters and the language.
Stay, fellow. I can read.
"Signor Martino and his wife and daughters,
Count Anselme and his beauteous sisters,
the lady widow of Vitravio,
Signor Placentio and his lovely wife,
my nephew, Count Tybalt,
and Lucio and lively Helena,
my fairness, Rosaline." What assembly is this?
A masked gathering tonight at our house.
- Who's house? - My master, the great Lord Capulet.
If you not be of the House of Montague,
you're right welcome for your help.
I bid you thanks.
So Rosaline sups with Capulet this night.
Do but compare her face with some I know,
and I will make you think your swan a crow.
As if there could be fairer than my love.
I'll go tonight,
but only to rejoice and worship at the glory of my choice.
Hmm.
Now, stay here.
Heavens, child.
- What are you thinking? - Go, go, go on.
Make haste. The guests will be long gone
ere you are ready to receive them.
(SIGHS)
What is it, Mother?
Juliet...
you're a woman now. - (CHUCKLES) Not a woman.
Well, she's nearly a woman.
Nearly, but not yet.
Nurse, I know my daughter's age.
I think of her birth as if 'twere yesterday.
I remember, too,
one day when she did fall and cut her brow,
my husband, rest his soul, picked up the child.
"Why do you fall on your face?" says he,
"You will fall backward when you have more wit."
And looking up at him, the child said, "Yes."
Enough of this. I pray you, hold your peace.
Yet, madam, I must laugh to think a child
could stop crying like that and then say "yes" to Jack.
Nurse, I pray you, stop. I beg.
Peace, I have done.
But I must say, you were the prettiest babe
I ever nursed till now.
If I could live to see you wed, I'll have my wish.
And that is the very theme that I came to talk about.
Tell me, daughter, what do you think of marriage?
- I never think of it. - Well, think of it now.
Younger than you are mothers.
I was your mother, too, when I was your age.
I know it.
Count Paris wants you for his wife and love.
Count Paris?
So, daughter...
can you love the man? - I hardly know him.
Then learn to know him at the feast tonight.
Seek how you feel.
Study his eyes and read the message there.
See...
if you can be happy with him.
I'll look and try to like him, if that is my parents' wish.
ROMEO: Should we attempt to talk our way inside
or sweep past in a crowd without a word?
Say nothing, lest you say too much.
We will not challenge them for fear they challenge us.
We'll enter, take the lady's measure,
and having taken it, depart.
MERCUTIO: Nay, gentle Romeo, we must see you dance.
ROMEO: Not I, Mercutio.
You have the dancing shoes and dancing feet to fill them.
My soul is made of lead.
It sticks me to the ground, I cannot move.
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and fly.
(MAN ANNOUNCING THE ARRIVAL OF GUESTS)
ROMEO: But should we enter?
I start to fear some consequence yet hanging in the stars
shall bitterly begin this fearful date.
Maybe we should consider what we do.
I dreamed a dream last night.
(CHUCKLES) And so did I.
Well, what was yours?
That dreamers often lie.
In bed asleep, where they do dream things true.
Ha! Then I see Queen Mab has been with you.
She is the fairies' midwife,
and she comes in shape no bigger than an agate stone
on the forefinger of an alderman,
drawn with a team of little atomies,
athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
and in this state, she gallops night by night
through lovers brains, and then they dream of love,
o'er courtiers knees that dream on curtsies straight,
o'er lawyers fingers, who straight dream on fees,
o'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, enough.
You talk of nothing.
True, I talk of dreams,
which are the children of an idle brain
begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
which is as thin of substance as the air
and more inconstant than the wind.
Much more of this, and we shall be too late.
Come, let us brave our fears and steer our course.
Whatever it may prove.
On, lusty gentlemen.
- (LIGHT MUSIC PLAYING) - (INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Welcome, gentlemen.
Ladies that have their toes unplagued with corns
will walk about with you.
(LAUGHTER)
I welcome you all. Come, musicians play.
(DANCING MUSIC BEGINS)
CAPULET: A hall, a hall. Make room.
Methinks we have the pick of what's on show.
They all look hungrier than a starving dog.
- (BARKS) - (CHUCKLES)
PARIS: My lady Juliet.
Count Paris.
Can I beseech that you will pity me enough to dance
and warm my evening with a heavenly smile?
Keep your unmannered hand for lesser prey...
and leave the fair one to her own device.
Is that not Rosaline?
Aye, it is she.
Should you not start to make your case?
My case? When you carried me hither,
that I might see I have no case to make?
Go, you speak with her.
The Montagues in Capulet's domain?
Messer Benvolio, have you all run mad?
He that I stand for has run mad for love of your green eyes.
Since Romeo is here, why is he in need of deputies?
Of course, he means to plead his cause himself.
(SCOFFS) Indeed.
From where we stand, he looks well occupied.
(VOCALIZING)
The lady Rosaline is well disposed
but trembles for your safety.
ROMEO: What lady is that who doth enrich
the hand of yonder knight?
I do not know.
But Rosaline...
Oh, she does teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
like a fine jewel in an Ethiope's ear.
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
So shows the snowy dove trooping with crows,
as yonder lady o'er her fellow shows.
But what of your old love, Rosaline?
Did my heart love till now?
Forswear the sight.
I never saw true beauty till this night.
- Sirrah, I must protest. - I have a prior claim.
WOMAN: Count Paris, come dance with me.
What claim is that?
The claim of love that ever must be heard.
Then shall I take advantage of this turn,
try my chances with fair Rosaline?
(LAUGHS)
Now, by the shield and honor of my blood,
to strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.
Why, how now, Tybalt, why storm you so?
Uncle, the man Juliet is with is a Montague.
- Young Romeo, is it? - (APPLAUSE)
It's him, that villain Romeo.
Content thee, gentle coz.
Let him alone.
You heard the prince's warning at the joust.
To harm a Montague under this roof means riot,
and in its bloody wake, our deaths.
I would not for the wealth of all the town
let any harm beset him in my house.
I'll not endure it.
You will endure it, for I say you will.
Am I master here or you?
You'll make a mutiny among the guests.
You will set cock-a-hoop, you'll be the man!
- Uncle, 'tis a shame! - Go to, go to.
You shall contrary me. You are a princox, go.
Good my lord husband, why are you so hot?
He may be hot, but I am hotter still
to see a Montague at leisure here.
MASTER OF CEREMONIES: The Morisca!
Morisca?
Why, what a perfect dance for our amusement.
To find the dance that's fit for Romeo,
we first need to put a rope around his neck.
Nay, cousin, come, tread a length with me,
and I shall coax you into company.
Lead her, gentle nephew, in a country dance
that we may see your anger is forsworn.
(SCOFFS)
If you so order, Uncle, but be warned,
this foul invasion, that you think so sweet,
shall turn to bitter gall before the end.
(ORCHESTRAL MUSIC PLAYS)
(PANTING SOFTLY)
Speak, sir.
You are too grave for one who cuts a country dance.
If I profane with my own worthiest hand
this holy shrine...
my lips, two blushing pilgrims,
ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
(SIGHS)
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much.
Which mannerly devotion shows in this,
for saints have hands that pilgrim's hands do touch,
palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Have saints not lips, and holy palmers, too?
Aye, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.
They pray,
grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Then move not...
while my prayers' effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips?
Oh, trespass sweetly urged.
Give me my sin again.
You kiss by the book.
Madam... your mother craves a word with you.
Who is her mother?
Her mother is the lady of the house.
- You mean she's a Capulet? - She is.
And I tell you, he that can lay hold of Juliet
shall have the chinks.
Oh, my dear God.
My life is my foe's debt.
(GRUNTS)
Know you the man my cousin has made welcome?
Nay, but he would seem a goodly youth.
Goodly and deadly.
He is Romeo,
- hope of the House of Montague. - (GASPS)
Come hither, Nurse.
Who is that gentleman going through the door?
His name is Romeo and a Montague.
The only son of your great enemy.
My only love sprung from my only hate.
To early seen unknown and known too late.
What's this? What's this?
It's nothing.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
A somber face to wear after a ball.
If I am young, must I always be glad?
No blaggard then, has cracked your peace of mind?
- What blaggard would this be? - None I would name...
nor let their name be spoken in this house.
Cousin, I love thee.
Tybalt, I know it.
Your honor is as dear to me as life.
(SIGHS)
And with that warming thought, I'll take my leave.
- (OWL HOOTING) - (DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE)
MERCUTIO: Romeo?
BENVOLIO: Romeo!
Can I go home when all my heart is here?
BENVOLIO: Cousin Romeo?
MERCUTIO: Romeo?
Should I go home when all my heart is here?
- BENVOLIO: Romeo! - (MERCUTIO LAUGHS)
MERCUTIO: Romeo?
Romeo? Cousin Romeo?
He is wise, and on my life, has stolen home to bed.
He ran this way.
(SIGHS) I know he's jumped the wall.
Let's call him, good Mercutio.
Romeo?
Suitor!
Madman!
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon
who's already sick and pale with grief
that thou, her maid, are far more fair than she.
(BIRD SINGING)
Wait...
it is my lady.
Oh, it is my love.
Oh, that she knew she were.
The brightness of her cheek would shame the stars
as daylight doth a lamp.
Her eyes set in heaven would give forth such light
that birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.
Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand
that I might touch that cheek.
Ah, me.
She speaks.
Oh, speak again, bright angel.
Oh, Romeo, Romeo,
where for art thou, Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name,
or if thou wilt not, but be sworn my love,
and I'll no longer be a Capulet.
Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
You'd be yourself if you were not called Montague.
What's in a name?
That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would.
Romeo, cast off thy name, and for that name,
which is no part of you, take all of me.
- I take you at your word. - (GASPS)
Call me your love, and I'll be new baptized henceforth.
- I never will be Romeo. - What man are you
that hides within the shadows of the night to spy on me?
I know not how to tell you who I am.
My name, dear saint,
is hateful to myself because it is an enemy to you.
I have not heard you speak a hundred words,
yet I do know the sound of that sweet voice.
Are you not Romeo and a Montague?
Neither, dear love, if either you dislike.
Why have you come?
This place is death if any of my kinsmen find you here.
With love's light wings did I o'er perch these walls...
for stony limits cannot hold love out,
and what love can do, that dares love attempt.
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
To see you look severe
more frightens me than 20 of their swords.
(SIGHS)
Look you but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity.
I would not for the world they saw you here.
But I would not have missed the words you spoke.
(SIGHS)
I blush to think what you have heard tonight.
If I should ask you now for vows of love, I know you would say aye...
but if you swear, you may prove false.
They say that Jove does laugh at lovers' perjuries.
And will you now call me too fast?
When had you not heard me, I should be slow as ice.
Romeo, trust me, and I will prove more true
than those who play the game with far more cunning wit.
Lady, by yonder moon I swear
that tips with silver all the fruit tree tops.
Oh, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon
that monthly changes in her circled orb,
lest that your love prove likewise variable.
What shall I swear by?
Do not swear at all, and listen hard.
Are we too rash, too unadvised, too quick?
No, for this bud of love in summer's breath
will prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
- I promise. - NURSE: Juliet?
Go and good night,
and let sweet rest come to your heart and mine within my breast.
But will you leave me so unsatisfied?
What satisfaction would you have tonight?
The exchange of your love's faithful vow for mine.
I gave you mine before you did request it.
NURSE: My lady?
- Madam? - Anon, good nurse.
Sweet Montague, be true.
Stay here a while, and I will come again.
I'm afraid all this is but a dream.
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Think if your love be pure, your purpose marriage?
It is, my lady.
Then I will send to you to learn my fate,
where and what time we will perform the rite,
and all my fortunes at your feet I lay
and follow you, my lord, throughout the world.
NURSE: Juliet!
My lady?
A thousand times, good night.
A thousand times the worse, to miss your light.
- Romeo. - My love.
(SIGHS)
What time tomorrow shall I send to you?
- At 9:00. - I will not fail.
'Tis 20 years till then.
I have forgotten why I called you back.
Let me stand here till you remember it.
I should forget to have thee still stand there,
remembering how I love thy company.
And I'll still stay to have thee still forget,
forgetting any other home but this.
(SIGHS)
Good night, good night.
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Let us just say good night till it be morrow.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.
Oh! Lady, come in. You will catch a chill.
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
The earth is nature's mother and her tomb.
Within the petal trim of this small flower,
poison has residence and medicine power.
Boiled and mixed, the smell will bring us health.
- And swallowed? - The result is instant death.
(CLEARS THROAT)
Good morning, Father.
Romeo!
Up and about in early morn.
I do not look to see the young at dawn.
Care keeps the old awake and wakes them soon,
but young men sleep a golden sleep till noon.
Or if they don't, and here I'll guess it right,
our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.
That last is true, but a sweet rest was mine.
God pardon sin.
Were you with Rosaline?
(LAUGHS)
Ah, I pray you were not playing Satan's game.
Who is Rosaline? I have forgot the name.
That's good, my son. Where then have you been?
I'll tell you, 'ere you ask it me again.
Oh, Father, know my heart's desire
is set on the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As mine on hers, so hers is set as well.
And how we met and woo'd,
and how I fell I'll say as we walk back.
But this I pray: you consent to marry us today.
(GASPS)
Holy St. Francis!
What a change is here.
Why is she cast off, that you did love so dear?
Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine
has washed your sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
You scolded me for loving Rosaline.
I scolded you for moping like a child.
I'd not believe you'd tasted true love's joy.
Then scold no more, for God has taught me now to know true love,
and Juliet has her face.
Speak you so, though she be a Capulet?
What care I for the quarrels of the past?
Or rivalries now buried in the tomb?
Well, well.
If this could carry all before...
I think I see a chance to end the city's strife.
If, as I pray, your marriage should prove sweet,
you'll turn your families' rancor to pure love.
Come... you waverer, and go along with me.
I'll grant your wish...
and be your wedding priest.
MERCUTIO: Where then is our Romeo?
Did he come home last night?
Not to this house.
I've spoken with his man.
Mercutio, there's news.
Tybalt has sent a letter here, addressed to him.
A challenge on my life.
Which Romeo will meet.
Alas, poor Romeo, he's already dead.
Why? Who and what is Tybalt,
that he should be so sure of victory?
More than a prince of cats, I tell you now.
He fights like a music player, all precision,
and keeps his time and distance perfect play.
With one and two and three, and in your chest.
He's a gentleman and duelist,
and none who fight him live to tell the tale.
Ah, gentlemen. I hope you've helped to cover my tracks.
Where did you vanish to last night?
You gave us both the slip most prettily.
Pardon, Mercutio, I was much taken up.
At such a time a man may lose his grace.
And more besides.
Nay, we forgive you, for you are Romeo again.
Is this not better now than groaning still for love?
Now you are sociable.
Great love will make us only into fools.
Stop there.
Romeo, there's a letter come for you.
I fear it is a challenge from Count Tybalt,
which will not brook delay in your reply.
- You could soothe his rage... - Excuse me, both, I prithee.
Cousin? Where are you going?
Romeo! This heavy matter cannot be ignored!
Good sir, I desire some talk with you.
What tired old bawd is this?
And who is he that wears the hated coat of Capulet?
Go to. I would walk a while with her.
Will we see you at your father's dinner?
Of course. I'll be there.
(MERCUTIO GROWLS)
(LAUGHS)
NURSE: Why was the man so rude?
That liked to use his tongue to flay
and wound a poor old woman?
He is much enamored by the sound of his own voice.
And you stand by and suffer such a knave
to use me at his pleasure?
If I knew any man to use you for his pleasure,
my weapon will be quickly out, I swear.
Now, before God, I'm so vexed every part about me quivers.
So, to the business.
- My young lady, Juliet... - What of her?
She bade me seek you out and say...
First, if you should do double with her,
you will have me to answer to.
- Nurse, I do protest. - I'll tell her.
Just listen.
She must gain her mother's word
to make confession later on today.
Let her but come to Father Laurence's cell.
There she will be absolved and married, too.
This afternoon, a bride?
Farewell, be trusty and commend me to your mistress.
I... There's one thing more.
What is it?
There is a nobleman in town, one Paris,
who plans to marry and lie with her.
- And does she like him? - Never!
She would as soon have lain with a stinking toad.
Her thoughts are all with you, as I have taunted her.
- But you should know of him. - And so I do.
- And now commend me to my lady. - I will.
A thousand times.
Why, my darling Nurse, what news?
- Tell me you found him. - NURSE: Oh...
Oh! Oh...
Good, sweet Nurse...
- (WEARY SIGH) - Oh, Lord, you look so sad.
Whatever news your bring, cast off your gloom,
and if your tale be glad, then do not punish me
by wearing such a mask of tragedy.
I'm so weary, let me rest awhile.
Oh, my bones ache after the day I've had.
I would exchange my bones for all your news.
Please speak, I pray you.
Dear sweet Nurse, do tell.
What's the rush? A minute's patience, please!
Can you not see I'm out of breath?
Are you out of breath when you have breath to say to me
that you are out of breath? Is your news good or bad?
Just answer that. Say either and I'll wait to hear the rest.
Let me just know if it is good or bad.
(SIGHS) Well...
I must say
you have good taste in men.
That Romeo's face is handsome as the dawn.
His body...
figure, leg, foot excel against the finest.
His manners might improve, but there is time.
Now... have you dined already?
Not yet.
But Nurse, I knew all this before.
What says he of our marriage? What of that?
Lord, how my head aches. Oh, what a head I have.
It throbs as it would break in 20 bits.
And my back, my back is killing me!
It's all your fault for sending me to town.
In future, take your messages yourself.
In mercy, pity me! What says my Romeo?
Can you have leave today, to make confession?
I could.
Then, go you from here to Father Laurence's cell...
you'll find a husband...
keen to make you wife.
(KISSES)
- But not until you've had a bath. - (BOTH LAUGH)
I pray the heavens smile upon this act,
and do not punish us with later sorrow.
Amen.
But come what sorrow can,
it cannot countervail the exchange of joy
that one short minute gives me in her sight.
Do thou but close our hands with holy words...
then love, devouring death, do what he dare,
it is enough that I can call her mine.
These violent passions can have violent ends.
And blaze up like gunpowder, in their fiery glory,
consuming themselves and others.
The sweetest honey sickens when over-ate,
defeating its own delight.
Therefore, be moderate. Long-lasting love must be.
Love too fast can prove falser than love too slow.
Good evening to my dearest confessor.
Romeo gives thanks to see you here.
I owe those thanks to him with all my heart.
Oh, Juliet, if your heart, like mine, is full
and you have greater skill than I to speak,
then tell the joy that waits us both this night.
I cannot tell of what is limitless.
They are but beggars who can count their worth.
Enough of love talk. Come along with me.
For we will make short work of binding oaths,
and holy church shall join two into one.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo...
(SPEAKS LATIN)
(RESPONDS IN LATIN)
Juliet...
(SPEAKS LATIN)
(RESPONDS IN LATIN)
(CONTINUES IN LATIN)
(SNIFFLING)
Amen.
- Amen. - Amen.
(HORSE NEIGHS)
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
(GRUNTS)
NURSE: Juliet.
My lady Juliet.
Scarcely were you both gone and on your way,
a messenger from Lord Capulet arrived.
Your cousin Tybalt has set forth in such a rage.
There's trouble in the offing.
Your father bids you hurry back.
I will.
Nurse, you go with her. See her safely home.
Till tonight.
Which is a year away.
Only a year?
(CHUCKLES) You do not love me, then?
I pray you, good Mercutio, let's go. The Capulets are out.
You are like the man who snatches off his sword,
on a tavern's table, lays it down forthwith
and vows to have no need of it.
Till, with the second beer, he takes it up
and runs his host right through.
Am I like such a fellow?
You know you are as hot a Jack today
as any to be found in Italy.
Your mood as moody as a bitch on heat.
Is it so?
Why, you'd quarrel with a man for cracking nuts,
for the insult given to your hazel eyes.
I've seen you quarrel with a man
for coughing in the street because he woke your dog.
And if I did, I'm still less quick to find a fight than you.
(DISTANT WHISTLING)
By heaven, here come the Capulets.
And do I care?
Wait over here, and I will speak with them.
Good morrow, gentlemen. A word with one of you.
MERCUTIO: A single word with one of us?
Let's couple it with something. Maybe a word and a blow?
You'll find me good at that, Mercutio,
if you'll give me the chance.
Can you not take the chance, or must it be given?
I've sent a letter writ to Romeo, whom you consort with.
Consort with? (LAUGHS)
What? Do you imagine us a pair of minstrels?
For if you do, expect the sharpest notes.
Here's my baton that shall make you dance.
"Consorts," indeed.
Mercutio, Tybalt, this is a public place.
Either withdraw into some private place
and there dispute your grievance,
or else, and better yet, go home.
Men's eyes were made to look and let them gaze.
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Whoa...
- (GRUNTS) - Peace be with you, sir.
- Here comes my man. - MERCUTIO: Your man?
I do not see him in your livery.
How dare you call a Montague your man!
Benvolio!
- Is something here amiss? - TYBALT: Romeo!
The hate I bear thee can afford no better term than this:
Thou art a villain.
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
does much excuse the appertaining rage
to such a greeting.
Villain am I none.
Therefore, farewell. I see you know me not.
Boy! This will not temper the injuries you have done me.
Therefore, turn and fight.
I do insist I never injured you, but loved you
better than you'll understand, till you do know the reason.
So, good Capulet,
a name I love as dearly as my own, be satisfied.
A smooth, dishonorable, vile submission!
Tybalt. (SPITS)
You rat catcher.
Will you walk this way?
What do you want from me?
Good king of cats, just one of your nine lives.
You have it to spare, with eight to use hereafter.
What, do you dither now to draw your sword?
Make haste or I will pluck you ere it's out.
- I am for you. - No, Mercutio, I beg you,
- put your sword down. - MERCUTIO: Come, sir.
Are you ready? Let's begin.
ROMEO: Mercutio, stop! Benvolio, help me hold them back!
We must stop! Please!
Mercutio! Tybalt!
(GRUNTING)
Gentlemen, for shame!
Stop this brawl now!
You know the prince has made his wishes clear:
an end to fighting in Verona's streets!
Tybalt, good Mercutio, hold!
It is time for peace!
(GROANS)
Let's away.
I am dead.
Is Tybalt gone with no wound to bear?
ROMEO: You, sir, run to my father's house! Fetch a surgeon!
Tybalt!
Romeo!
Villain! Dog!
If thou art brave, come settle with me, boy.
Have courage, man. The wound cannot be much.
No.
'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door,
but 'tis enough.
'Twill serve.
Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.
Why the devil came you between us?
He stabbed me under your arm.
I thought all for the best.
Our best intentions pave the way to hell.
To hell with the Montagues and Capulets...
whose angry war has stolen all my days.
Plague on both your houses.
(MERCUTIO GASPING)
He's dead.
His gallant spirit is among the clouds.
Stay here, Benvolio. Be what help you may.
I have some business with a new relation.
No! But, Romeo, stay!
ROMEO: Tybalt!
Let him pass.
What, Romeo? Is it cowardice that holds you back?
(GASPS)
(GROANS)
Many have died in this place, Montague.
Befriend their spirits while you still have time.
They wait to welcome you with open arms.
They wait for one of us. That much is sure.
(GRUNTS)
(GRUNTING)
Cousin!
- We're here, Tybalt. - We're here for you, sir.
Leave us!
(GRUNTING)
- (TYBALT GROANS) - No!
MAN: My Lord! My Lord?
(GASPING)
(WHEEZING EXHALE)
BENVOLIO: Romeo, away!
The gods themselves are angry. Tybalt's killed!
- MAN: Tybalt is slain! - Don't stand there dazed. Go!
The prince will have your head if you are taken. Go!
Oh, I am fortune's fool.
MAN: Romeo, begone. Away you now!
(CROWD CLAMORING)
(CLAMORING CONTINUES)
LADY CAPULET: Tybalt, my nephew.
He was my brother's child.
See how the blood is spilled of my dear kinsmen.
Prince, as you are true,
for blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
Benvolio, who began this bloody fight?
Tybalt, here slain, and I was witness how.
Romeo did beg him to desist.
Alas, nothing could stay the rage of angry Tybalt,
whose ears were deaf to peace.
But what of the second act?
Mercutio lies dead,
and in his grief does blinded Romeo entertain revenge.
He is a cousin of the Montagues.
Affection makes him false.
Romeo killed Tybalt.
Romeo must not live.
Romeo killed him. He killed Mercutio.
Who is the guilty man in all this grief?
MONTAGUE: Not Romeo, Prince.
He was Mercutio's friend,
and killed his murderer.
The very end the law would have exacted.
(SIGHS)
This offense means we do now, at once, exile him hence.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuse.
Therefore, use none.
Let Romeo leave in haste.
For if he's found, that hour will be his last.
(CRYING)
Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
It did.
I weep to say it, but it did.
And now the prince has exiled Tybalt's murderer.
- No. - Shame on your Romeo.
Blister your tongue!
Oh, what a beast I've been to chide him.
Did Tybalt not first stab Mercutio?
Will you speak well of him that killed your cousin?
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
How stupid I have been to rail,
when now your news of him is worse than Tybalt's death.
Worse than your cousin's death?
Indeed. You told me Romeo is banished.
And that one word is greater grief to me than Father, Mother,
Tybalt and myself all dead and buried.
Stay in your room, and I'll find Romeo.
I promise you a husband for tonight.
Give this ring to my true knight
and bid him come to take his last farewell.
I will.
(SOBBING)
What have I done but murdered my tomorrow?
In killing him whom she most truly loved,
I have tried and sentenced my own heart to death.
But if she can pity me my suffering,
then were it worth a thousand torments more.
Disasters follow you like trusty dogs.
You must be married to calamity.
Tell me the prince's verdict. Am I to die so young?
Not yet at least.
His judgment has more pity than you dread.
He seeks to have you banished and not dead.
Not banishment.
Be merciful, say "death,"
for exile has more terror in its look, much more than death.
Do not say "banishment."
All he asks is that you leave Verona.
It's not so much. The world is broad and wide.
There is no world beyond the city's walls.
Just purgatory, torture, hell itself.
And exile is another word for "death."
The prince's kindness is a golden axe
that cuts my head off.
Rude, unthankful boy.
The prince, in gentleness, overturns the law!
This is sweet mercy, and you see it not!
'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 honorable state,
more courtship lives in carrion flies than Romeo.
And they may seize on the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand.
I mean, flies may do this, but I from this must fly.
They are free men, but I am banished.
Cease, Romeo, in your ingratitude.
You cannot talk of what you do not feel.
If you were young like me and full of love,
married an hour, red with Tybalt's blood,
hungry for Juliet but banished from her side,
then you could speak and I would listen.
NURSE: Where is my lady's lord?
Where is Romeo?
Behold him now, with his own tears made drunk.
So is my lady Juliet just the same,
blubbering and weeping,
weeping and blubbering.
Good nurse, you speak of Juliet?
Say quick: Does she now think I am a murderer?
She weeps and weeps.
And lies upon her bed, and...
and then jumps up and cries out, "Tybalt," and then, "Romeo."
My name was fatal to her from the start.
It kills her, as it killed her noble kinsman.
Oh, tell me in what part of my anatomy does lodge my name,
- and I will hack it off! - What?
Wouldst kill yourself and all the lady's hopes?
Look to your wits!
Your Juliet is alive.
There you are happy.
Tybalt would kill you, but you instead killed Tybalt.
Take heart.
The prince has altered death to simple exile.
Another stroke of luck to make you smile.
Have done with pouting. Go to your love.
Climb to her chamber, kiss and comfort her!
But leave before the watch begins to walk,
to make the journey safe to Mantua,
where you will live till we can find a way
to blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
beg pardon of the prince and call you back.
Oh, what it is to hear good counsel.
You must return to my lady Juliet.
Say Romeo is coming.
My Lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
Say I am prepared to be chastised.
Here, sir, a ring she did bid me give you.
How well my comfort is revived by this.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Be sure you leave before the dawn.
Then make your home in Mantua and wait.
I will send you messages with all our news.
ROMEO: If I were not to gain a joy past joy,
I would be sad to leave you.
So farewell.
LADY CAPULET: Why the race to drag her to the church?
Give her time to mourn her cousin.
No. We have no time to waste in sterile tears,
with Paris restive in the slips and soon to be rid of her
if he be not persuaded she is his.
I do not think he is so changeable.
Let us not take a chance with lovers' vows
when Jove does laugh at their fragility.
Do you want legal offspring from our loins?
With Tybalt dead and all our line at risk,
young Juliet is the only living course
through which our blood can flow.
You know I do.
Well, then we shall take action when we may
and strike while the iron is hot.
MAN: This way, sir.
Paris, welcome.
How does my lady in this sorrowful hour?
I would that I might be some comfort to her.
Tonight, she is imprisoned in her grief,
but in the morning, I will know her mind.
Wife... when dawn breaks,
bid her make ready for her wedding day.
You will tell her on Thursday she will wed the noble count.
What say you to Thursday?
My Lord, I wish Thursday were tomorrow.
Thursday it is, then.
JULIET: Come, gentle night.
Come loving, black-brewed night.
Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die,
take him and cut him out in little stars.
He will make the face of Heaven so fine
that all the world will be in love with night
and pay no worship to the garish sun.
(SIGHS)
My husband.
My wife.
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
(BIRDS CONTINUE CHIRPING)
Must you be gone?
It's nowhere near the dawn.
You heard the nightingale and not a lark, I promise.
She sings each night sitting in yonder tree.
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn.
No nightingale.
Look, love,
what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds
in yonder east.
Night's candles are burnt out,
and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
I do not think the light is daylight yet.
I am content if you would have it so.
I have more heart to stay than will to go.
Come, death, and welcome.
Juliet wills it so.
I will lie with you and say it is not day.
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
It is. It is. Go now. Begone. Away!
Oh, it is the lark that sings so out of tune
with horrid discords and unpleasant sharps.
Oh, hurry now. More light and light it grows!
More light and light, more dark and dark our woes.
(RUNNING FOOTSTEPS)
- Madam! - What is it?
Your mother is soon coming to your chamber.
The day is here. Be careful and make haste.
I shall be gone. Your parents cannot know
that I have been part of this deceit.
Farewell, my love.
One more kiss, and I'll descend.
No. Come this way.
I'll teach Benvolio to learn your news each day.
No, more than that. Each hour in each day.
Each minute in each hour is a day for pining lovers.
And amen to that.
Do you believe we'll ever meet again?
I do not doubt it.
Nor that we shall smile to think of all these troubles in the past.
If God would only free me of foreboding.
I think I see you, now you are below,
as dim and pale as dead men in their tombs.
So are you dim, love, in dawn's drab light.
Our worries make us pale.
So adieu.
Oh, fortune, fortune,
all men call you fickle because no fortune ever constant be.
If that is so, then change again, oh, fortune.
Be fickle now and send him back to me.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
Please, Benvolio, be a guardian angel to my love.
Watch her firmly and gently as it would do the eye of God.
I will. I promise you.
Farewell, cousin.
(HORSE WHINNIES)
What is the rush?
I pray you tell, My Lord, I will not marry yet,
and when I do, I swear it shall be Romeo, whom I hate,
rather than Paris, whom I despise!
LADY CAPULET: Here comes your father.
You can tell him so yourself.
(SOBBING)
My girl is like a channel.
What, more tears?
The level of the sea will start to lift
if much more water flows from your sweet eyes.
Wife, have you told her of her marriage plans?
I have, and she will have none of it, I swear.
Soft. Soft.
Take me with you, take me with you, wife.
How? Will she none?
Does she not give us thanks?
Is she not proud?
Does she not think her blessed, unworthy as she is,
that we have brought so worthy a gentleman to be her groom?
Thankful I am, and grateful for your love,
but proud I cannot be of what I hate.
How... how-how-how, chopped logic.
What is this?
"Proud" and "I thank you," but "I thank you not."
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds!
Be ready, lady, Thursday morning next,
to go with Paris to St. Peter's Church
- or I will drag thee thither on a rail! - Are you mad?
Good father, I beseech you on my knees.
Will you not give me leave to plead my cause?
- (PANTING) - You...
- (GASPING) - I tell you what.
Be there, Thursday church,
or never after look me in the face.
- I... - Speak not.
Reply not, do not answer me. My fingers itch!
My lord, you're in the wrong, my lord, to punish her.
Is that my lady wisdom's view? Take care.
You dice with your place in talking thus.
May not one speak?
Oh, will you be quiet, you fool!
- Now... - No, husband, you are too hot.
God's blood, it does make me mad!
- (SOBS) - Day, night, month, year!
My constant care...
has been to have my only child worthily matched.
And here I find an educated man
of equal birth with honorable parts,
with fine estates and handsome to behold,
and what is my reward?
A puking fool, who answers, "I'll not wed. I cannot love.
I am too young. I pray you pardon me."
Now think on this. Thursday is near.
If you will play the bride,
then are you my daughter and all is forgot.
If you will not, then you are mine no more.
Graze where you will. You shall not house with me.
Beg, starve or hang,
I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
nor pass to you the slightest thing that's mine.
I swear to this, my word, so help me God!
(GASPS)
How can Father speak so to a child
who loves him better than she loves herself?
(SOBBING) Oh, oh, God.
Oh, Nurse, how shall this be prevented?
I have a living husband here on earth.
What, should I take a second in a lie
and cast myself forever into hell?
(SOBBING)
Well, here it is.
Romeo is...
gone, and cannot come back,
except in stealth at risk to life and limb.
Given that case, which will not alter soon...
I think it best you marry with the count.
Speakest thou from thy heart?
And from my soul.
Or the devil take us all.
Amen.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Oh, Juliet, I understand your grief.
I strive and strain to think howl may help.
I know your father's will is absolute
that Thursday next you marry with the count.
Why talk of what must be which cannot be?
(BELL TOLLING)
If you have no solution to my plight,
then this knife shall be my deliverer.
Ah, Jesu Maria.
God joined our hearts in bliss, you joined our hands,
and death is better than the ruin of all.
So bless this blade, unless you have a remedy,
and I'll exchange my honor for my life.
Daughter...
I do spy a kind of hope,
but it requires a desperate execution.
You have the strength of will to kill yourself rather than marry Paris.
Very well.
You'll need that strength,
and I do know a way.
Rather then marry Paris, I would jump
from off the battlements of yonder tower.
Spend the long, dark night walled in a tomb,
with rotting limbs and hollow, grinning skulls.
(GRUNTS)
Or order me to lie in a fresh grave,
and hide myself inside the corpse's shroud.
Things most hideous will I gladly do
to keep myself unscarred for Romeo's love.
Then go home, be merry...
and agree to marry Paris.
Oh, I am in earnest, Juliet.
For I have knowledge to concoct a mix
that will unlock you from your present cell.
If you but find the nerve to swallow it.
Tomorrow's Thursday.
Now tonight, make sure you sleep alone.
And send your prying nurse out of the room.
Lie down upon your bed, then take this phial...
and drink the clouded juice to the last drop.
Soon, soft drowsiness will close your eyes.
Your pulse will cease,
and there will be no sign of life within you.
Neither warmth, nor breath,
nor roses in your cheeks nor on your lips,
but stiff and stark and every sign of death.
And in this borrowed likeness of a corpse,
you will continue for six and 20 hours,
and then awake as from a pleasant dream.
So Paris, on his wedding morn,
will come to find his bride is dead and ripe for burial
in the great vault where Capulets do lie.
While I will write with news to Romeo.
He and I will be there
when he will wake you with a kiss.
And he will carry you to some far distant place,
where all your anguish shall become pure joy.
Give me the phial and talk no more of fear.
Then go. At dawn tomorrow,
a novice will set out for Mantua with letters for your lord.
Farewell, dear Friar.
And now, love...
give me strength.
You said it was a modest group of friends.
And so it will be.
Peter, what's the news?
Well, we've hired ten cooks and 20 serving men.
A quiet marriage leads to speculation.
My daughter has the virtue of a saint, and I would rather none
- had leave to doubt. - (SIGHS)
Come here, Nurse.
My lord?
Is Juliet gone to Friar Laurence's cell?
She is, to make confession of her sins.
Well, let's hope he may have found some good in her.
She's here.
NURSE: And merrier than when she left.
And where have you been, my headstrong gadabout?
The holy friar sends me home to kneel
and ask forgiveness for my mutiny.
(SIGHS)
Pardon me, dear Father, I beseech you.
Henceforward, I will live beneath your rule.
Well said, my daughter.
If you should find Romeo in morbid grief or feverish,
these herbs will make him well.
Be sure he's strong to take the journey home.
But do not fear. My letter will revive him.
Give me your blessing, and I will be gone.
God speed your path and keep you safe from harm.
(HORSE WHINNYING)
Nurse, here is the key to fetch more spices.
The cook wants dates and quinces for the pies.
We must a-move on. Paris will be here.
Get anything we need, spare not the cost.
My lady and my lord, get you some rest
or you will not survive the wedding feast.
What nonsense! I've been up all night before
for lesser cause than this.
And I know why.
And look to have no repetition now.
A wife still jealous after all these years?
Why, 'tis compliment enough to give me cheer.
- (CLICKING TONGUE) - Hmm? Hmm?
(LAUGHS)
(NURSE TALKING QUIETLY)
Wife!
Nurse!
- Will nobody obey me?! - Oh, peace, peace!
Go waken Juliet. Dress her and trim her.
Pray, bring her down
to compliment the bridegroom in his choice.
Hmm.
Mistress.
My Juliet?
Oh, still fast asleep?
Come, lady. Come, lamb. It's time to wake.
Well, you'll profit from a few hours dreams.
Tonight, Count Paris will have other plans.
But if your marriage will not let you rest,
just wait ten years.
You'll sleep all you want.
Heavens, how sound you slumber.
I must needs wake you.
Lady.
Lady!
(SCREAMING)
Oh, no!
(SCREAMING CONTINUES)
(SOBBING)
(DOOR OPENS)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
(LAUGHTER)
Come, is my bride ready to go to church?
Ready to go, but never to return.
My son...
the night before your wedding day,
your wife was stolen from you.
What?
Are you saying she is dead?
Flower as she was...
Death is now my heir.
My daughter he has married.
I will die and leave him all.
Life, living, all is Death's.
This day had promised all my happiness...
and now it shows me such a sight as this?
Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
The worst that ever dawned.
(SOBBING)
Most woeful day. Never was so black a day as this.
I am divorced...
wronged...
hated...
killed by Death, but Death is my future.
He holds all I love.
Death that has killed my daughter,
ties my tongue and drains my eyes
and will not let me grieve.
Oh, child. My soul more than my child.
Dead are you now.
Alack. My child is dead...
and with my child, all my joys are buried.
Oh, come, sir, for shame.
And think of her poor soul, freed now from care
and safe in heaven's bliss.
Give up your grief and bring sweet-smelling flowers
to lay upon her corpse with gentle tears.
Then take her to church,
where she may sleep among her kin for all eternity.
The plans we made for joyful celebration
must turn instead to mark our sorrowing woe.
Our merry hymns to sullen dirges change.
Sir, madam, make ready for our march,
to take this lovely child to her grave.
(LADY CAPULET SOBBING)
We cannot know why it is heaven's will.
But we must trust in him who orders all.
Stop! I beseech you, sir. In heaven's name.
Say now, are you a holy man of God?
I am a novice, but I serve God, yes.
Have you made study in the art of herbs?
- I have. - My son is sick.
I have an errand to perform in Mantua.
- By when? - Before tonight.
Mantua is but two leagues away. I'll take you there myself.
(SIGHS) Then show me your child.
(DRUM BEATING STEADILY)
MAN: Will there be anything else, sir?
ROMEO: No, thank you, Jack.
- Cousin. - Benvolio!
Welcome.
And with Verona's news?
I do bring news. It's true.
Then spit it out. How does my lady?
Is my father well?
How does my Juliet?
See, I ask it twice.
Then I must answer once...
to say the worst.
Her body sleeps among the Capulets...
in the great monument that marks their fame.
Juliet is dead?
Only her mortal part.
Her soul lives on in heaven's blessed care.
You know this or you heard a story told?
I saw her laid inside her kindred's vault.
That done, I came as quick as I could find a horse to bring me.
Pardon me, cousin...
that I come with a tale so full of grief.
And it is so?
Then I must hurry. Jack!
I beg you give yourself some time.
You must be riven with a savage grief
and need a while to calm your raging thoughts.
Cousin, you're deceived. I know my mind.
Are there no letters to me from the friar?
No, my good lord.
No matter.
Go with Jack.
Get fresh water for your horse.
I'll meet you by the city gates.
Go.
(CRYING)
(DOOR CLOSES)
Well, Juliet...
I will lie with you tonight.
As to the means, I will not wonder long.
I do remember an apothecary who lives not far from here...
if it is life...
where there is neither gold...
nor food...
nor rest.
Hey, there!
Apothecary!
MAN: Who calls so loud?
Come over here.
I see that you're poor.
(SCOFFS) There is no crime in that.
Nor pleasure, neither.
Now, listen, I seek a kind of poison
so powerful that swallowed in one dram,
it stops a man and drops him in his tracks
before he may but mark the consequence.
If this be murder, the answer's no.
The victim's one I have right to kill.
I have such mortal drugs.
But Mantua's law brings death to any man who issues them.
Are you so thin and full of wretchedness, yet scared to die?
Famine is in your cheeks. The world is not your friend.
You will not find that cherishing the law makes you rich,
be not poor, and break the law for this.
My poverty, not my will, consents.
I pay your poverty and not your will.
(HORSE WHINNYING)
I'm looking for Lord Romeo.
JACK: He is gone.
Gone?
And in great haste. Back to Verona.
What purpose had you with him?
Nothing now.
You've had a wasted journey.
Who can say?
I saved a child, but failed in my delivery.
God's ways are hard for us to penetrate.
Benvolio, you can come no further.
Now take this letter early in the morn
and see you deliver it to my lord and father.
Farewell, Benvolio.
Let us say good night.
No.
But... but why descend into this bed of death?
Partly, I must behold my lady's face.
Chiefly, I'd return this precious ring to her fair hand
which gave it me.
And now be gone.
I go, and do not seek to question you.
By which you show your love.
Goodbye, dear friend.
(HORSE WHINNIES)
PARIS: Banished Romeo Montague,
who murdered Juliet's cousin, noble Tybalt...
causing her the grief that took her to the grave.
And now he comes to desecrate the dead.
Leave them to heaven and attend to me.
We needs must fight, for you are bound to die.
The very reason why you find me here.
I am Count Paris,
and I here defend the grave of she who should have been my bride.
Oh, good, gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.
Put not another sin upon my head by urging me to fury.
Oh, fly hence. Be gone, survive.
What?
Should I buy this proof of your concern?
Or is a Montague afraid to fight?
(GRUNTS)
(GROANS)
(GROANING CONTINUES)
May God bless you, Paris.
Friar! Friar Laurence!
- Friar Laurence! - FRIAR LAURENCE: Who's there?
Benvolio? What brings you here to me at dead of night?
My care for one you love.
The good lord Romeo, he waits by Juliet's tomb,
all full of woe.
Why talk of woe? Say rather joy.
How joy, when all his love and life are in the grave?
Did he not receive my letter?
- What letter's that? - (GASPS)
Is that you, Tybalt, in that mortal sleep?
Forgive me, cousin, for the harm I did.
There is no reparation more than this,
that I shall kill the man who once killed you.
Leaving this sweet corpse is trial enough.
Oh, my love.
My wife.
It is time to join you in all eternity.
Juliet, why are you still so fair?
Death that has sucked the honey of your breath
has had no power as yet to spoil your beauty.
Shall I believe he has a plan in this?
That insubstantial Death is amorous,
keeping you perfect for his paramour?
(CRYING)
For fear of that, I will still stay with thee.
And never from this palace of dim night depart again.
Eyes... look your last.
Arms... take your last embrace.
And lips... the doors of breath,
be forever sealed with a righteous kiss.
Come, bitter conduct.
Come, unsavory guide.
(SIGHS)
Here's to my love.
Oh, true apothecary, thy drugs are quick.
(WHISPERS) Juliet.
JULIET: Romeo.
(PANTING)
Oh, no.
(PANTING)
Thus, with a kiss, I die.
(CRYING): No. No.
No.
(CRYING CONTINUES)
(PANTING)
Oh, no.
So pale?
My best beloved husband lies here dead.
Not Romeo.
My child.
Not him of all.
Oh, what unkind hour has brought to pass
this miserable deed.
Alas, my lady, we are overturned.
(CRYING) No.
A greater power than we can contradict
has thwarted all our plans.
Come away from death, contagion and unnatural sleep.
Leaving my husband to face this alone?
(THUMP IN DISTANCE)
The watchman.
My lady, come away.
(SOBBING)
Unkind!
To drink it all and leave no drop so I could follow after.
- Nay, good my lady. - (GLASS SHATTERS)
Listen now and come.
I will hide you in a sisterhood of nuns.
Stop, stop, not to question why.
- We must away. - You go.
I must bid farewell to Romeo.
(THUMP IN DISTANCE)
Stay then, until you are at peace.
But linger not. I'll hold back the watchman.
I'd kiss my love for one last time.
Then follow you at once.
Do not be late.
WATCHMAN: Who's there?
- (DOOR OPENS) - Who's there? Who's within?
Just one kiss,
in case some venom lingers on your lips.
(SIGHS)
Your mouth is warm.
FRIAR LAURENCE: I will explain.
The boy has come here at my bidding.
Somebody's coming.
Then I'll be brief.
Oh, happy dagger.
This is thy sheath.
(GROANS)
There rust...
and let me die.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Patience now.
We should not disturb this holy quiet.
- Show me the way! - Very well, very well.
If you insist. (PANTING)
(GASPS)
We know now how this sorrow came about,
and pardon all the players in their end.
Their own forbidden love did murder them.
Yet can we take a lesson from their deaths.
Capulet, Montague.
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
that heaven finds means to kill your joy with love.
Oh, dearest Montague.
Give me your hand.
(CRYING)
PRINCE: The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.
And join with all in grieving for the dead.
For never was a story of more woe than this,
of Juliet and her Romeo.
(INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYS)
(MUSIC CONTINUES)
(MUSIC ENDS)
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