LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

thee joint by joint,

       And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs:

       The time and my intents are savage-wild;

       More fierce and more inexorable far

       Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.

      BALTHASAR.

       I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

      ROMEO.

       So shalt thou show me friendship.—Take thou that:

       Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow.

      BALTHASAR.

       For all this same, I’ll hide me hereabout:

       His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

       [Retires.]

      ROMEO.

       Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,

       Gorg’d 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!

      PARIS.

       This is that banish’d haughty Montague

       That murder’d 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.]

      Stop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague!

       Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death?

       Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee;

       Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

      ROMEO.

       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,

       Put 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 arm’d against myself:

       Stay not, be gone;—live, and hereafter say,

       A madman’s mercy bid thee run away.

      PARIS.

       I do defy thy conjurations,

       And apprehend thee for a felon here.

      ROMEO.

       Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy!

       [They fight.]

      PAGE.

       O lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

       [Exit.]

      PARIS.

       O, I am slain! [Falls.] If thou be merciful,

       Open the tomb, lay me with JULIET.

       [Dies.]

      ROMEO.

       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 lanthorn, slaught’red youth,

       For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes

       This vault a feasting presence full of light.

       Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr’d.

       [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 I

       Call this a lightning?—O my love! my wife!

       Death, that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,

       Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:

       Thou art not conquer’d; 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 favour 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 still will 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, unsavoury guide!

       Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on

       The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark!

       Here’s to my love! [Drinks.]—O true apothecary!

       Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.

       [Dies.]

      [Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a lantern, crow, and spade.]

      FRIAR.

       Saint Francis be my speed! how oft tonight

       Have my old feet stumbled at graves!—Who’s there?

       Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?

      BALTHASAR.

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

      FRIAR.

       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.

      BALTHASAR.

       It doth so, holy sir; and there’s my master,

       One that you love.

      FRIAR.

       Who is it?

      BALTHASAR.

      

Скачать книгу