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Kent.

I am come To bid my king and master aye good night; Is he not here?

Alb.

Great thing of us forgot!Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?

awhile.

Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence (Edmund is borne off.) Enter LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Officers, and others.

Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl!-O, you are men
of stones;

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack :-O, she is gone
for ever!

I know, when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth:-Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.

See'st thou this object, Kent?
(The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.) That we present us to him.
Kent. Alack, why thus?
Edm.
Yet Edmund was belov'd:
The one the other poison'd for my sake,
And after slew herself.

Edg.

Kent.
Is this the promis'd end?
Edg. Or image of that horror?
Alb.
Fall, and cease!
Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.

Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!

What is't thou say'st?-Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman:-
I kill'd the slave, that was a hanging thee.
Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did.

(Kneeling.)

Kent. O my good master!
Lear. Pr'ythee, away.
Edg.
'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!-

Lear.
I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion
Did I not, fellow?
I would have made them skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me.-Who are you?
Mine eyes are none o'the best :-I'll tell you straight.
Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated,
One of them we behold.

Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent?
Kent.
The same;

Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?
Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;
He'll strike, and quickly too:-He's dead and

rotten.

Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man ;-
Lear. I'll see that straight.
[decay,
Kent. That, from your first of difference and
Have follow'd your sad steps.

Lear.
You are welcome hither.
Kent. Nor no man else; all's cheerless, dark,
and deadly.-
[selves,
Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd them-
And desperately are dead.
Lear.
Ay, so I think.
Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is,

--

Alb. Even so.-Cover their faces.

That's but a trifle here.

Edm. I pant for life :-Some good I mean to do, You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,- What comfort to this great decay may come, Be brief in it,-to the castle; for my writ Shall be applied: For us, we will resign, Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia :Nay, send in time.

During the life of this old majesty,

To him our absolute power:-You, to your rights;

Alb.

Run, run, O, run!

(To Edgar and Kent.)

Edg. To who, my lord?-Who has the office? send With boot, and such addition as your honours Thy token of reprieve. Have more than merited. All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!

Edm. Well thought on; take my sword, Give it the captain.

Alb.

Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit Edgar.
Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me
To bang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair,
That she fordid herself.

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life:
And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no
more,

Very bootless.

Enter an Officer.
Off. Edmund is dead, my lord.
Alb.

Pray you, undo this button: Thank you, sir.
Never, never, never, never, never!-
Do you see this? Look on her,-look,-her lips,
Look there, look there 1-
(He dies.)
Edg.
He faints!-My lord, my lord,-
Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break!
Edg.
Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost: O let him pass! he
hates him,
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.

Edg.

O, he is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life.

Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present
business

Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain
(To Kent and Edgar.)
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain.
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls, and I must not say, no.

Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young,
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
[Exeunt, with a dead march.

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ESCALUS, Prince of Verona.
PARIS, a young Nobleman, Kinsman to the Prince.
MONTAGUE, Heads of two Houses, at variance with
CAPULET, 3 each other.

PROLOGUE.

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. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

An old Man, Uncle to Capulet.
ROMEO, Son to Montague.

MERCUTIO, Kinsman to the Prince, and Friend to

Romeo.

BENVOLIO, Nephew to Montague, and Friend to

Romeo.

TYBALT, Nephew to Lady Capulet.
FRIAR LAURENCE, a Franciscan.
FRIAR JOHN, of the same order.
BALTHAZAR, Servant to Romeo.
SAMPSON,

Citizens of Verona; several Men and Womes,
lations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen
and Attendants.

Servants to Capulet.

GREGORY,

SCENE,-During the greater Part of the Play, in Verona; once, in the Fifth Act, at Mantua.

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could re

move,

Is now the two hours' traffick of our stage;
To which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
ACT I.

SCENE I.-A public Place.

Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with swords and bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals.
Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of
the collar.

ABRAM, Servant to Montague.
An Apothecary.
Three Musicians.
Chorus.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves

me.

Act V. Scene 3

Boy.

Page to Paris.
PETER.

An Officer.

LADY MONTAGUE, Wife to Montague.
LADY CAPULET, Wife to Capulet.

JULIET, Daughter to Capulet.
Nurse to Juliet.

Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is -to stand to it: therefore, if thou art mov'd, then run'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

Gre. That shews thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:-therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will shew myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids?

maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.
Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their

Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. "Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues. Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

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Enter MONTAGUE, and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go.

[foe.

La. Mon. Thon shalt not stir one foot to seek a
Enter Prince, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-
Will they not hear?-What, ho! you men, you
beasts,-
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.-
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:

You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; Capulet,
Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens, and
Servants.

Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?-Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them; in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him to-day?

Right glad I am, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where,-underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from the city's side,-
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:

I, measuring his affections by my own,-
That most are busied when they are most alone,-
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Is

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?' Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you impórtun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends": But he, his own affections' counsellor, But to himself so secret and so close, himself-I will not say, how trueSo far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know.

Enter ROMEO, at a distance.

Ben. See where he comes: So please you, step aside;

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom.

Is the day so young?

Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? [them short. Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes Ben. In love? Rom. OutBen. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?

SCENE II-A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and Servant.

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:-
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapeu chaos of well-seeming forms!

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you lived at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before:

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick My child is yet a stranger in the world,

health!

She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!--
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?

No, coz, I rather weep.

Ben.

Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben.

At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.-
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast

shewn,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke, rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire, sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea, nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Ben.
Soft, I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

(Going.)

Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you love.
Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee?
Ben.
Groan? why, no;

:

But sadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:-
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!-
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marksman !-And she's fair
I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O, she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live
chaste?
[waste;
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She bath forsworn to love; and, in that vow,
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Rom. O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.

Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget. Ren. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. [Exeunt

Rom.
"Tis the way
To call her's, exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost :
Shew me a mistress, that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pass'd that posing fair?

made.

The earth bath swallow'd all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number mort.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house; bear all, all see,
And like her most, whose merit most shall be:
Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me ;-Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whose names are written there, (gives a paper.)
and to them say,

My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

Serv. Find them out, whose names are writte here? It is written-that the shoemaker shoold meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with m nets; but I am sent to find those persons, whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned:-In good time.

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Go thither; and, with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall shew,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.

Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires!
And these,-who, often drown'd, could never die,-
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars!
One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match, since first the world begun.
Ben. Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois'd with herself in either eye :
But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh'd
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will shew you, shining at this feast,
And she shall scant shew well, that now shews

best.

Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn, But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [Exeunt.

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Enter JULIET. who calls?

? La. Cap.

f

Jul. How now,

Nurse. Jul.

Your mother.
Madam, I am here.
[awhile,

What is your will?
La. Cap. This is the matter :-Nurse, give leave
We must talk in secret.-Nurse, come back again;
I have remember'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel.
Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age.
Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
La. Cap. She's not fourteen.
Nurse.
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,-
She is not fourteen; how long is it now
To Lammas-tide?

A fortnight, and odd days. Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: But, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget it,Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I bad then laid wormwood to my dug,

--

Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall,
My lord and you were then at Mantua :-
Nay, I do bear a brain :-but, as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool!
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug.
Shake, quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I
To bid me trudge.
[trow,

Aud since that time it is eleven years:
For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood,
She could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow:
And then my husband-God be with his soul!
'A was a merry man ;-took up the child:
Yea, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou will fall backwards, when thou hast more wit;
Wilt thou not, Jule? and, by my holy-dam,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said—Ay:
To see now, how a jest shall come about!
I warrant, an I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, Jule?
quoth he:

And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said--Ay.
La. Cap. Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy
peace.
[laugh,
Nurse. Yes, madam; yet I cannot choose but
To think it should leave crying, and say-Ay:
And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow
A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone;
A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly.
Yea, quoth my husband, fall st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward, when thou com'st to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule? it stinted, and said—Ay.
Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I.
Nurse. Peace, I have done. God mark thee to
his grace!

Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nurs'd:
An I might live to see thee married once,
I have my wish.

La. Cap. Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of:-Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

Jul. It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse. An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I'd say, thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat, La. Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief;The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

Nurse. A man, young lady! lady, such a man, As all the world-Why, he's a man of wax.

La. Cap. Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse. Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. La. Cap. What say you? can you love the gentleman ?

This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;

And what obscar'd in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margin of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; and 'tis much pride,
For fair without the fair within to hide :
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
Nurse. No less? nay, bigger; women grow by
[love?

men.

La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye, Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

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