<h2><SPAN name="chap17"></SPAN>ROMEO AND JULIET</h2>
<p>The two chief families in Verona were the rich Capulets and the Montagues.
There had been an old quarrel between these families, which was grown to
such a height, and so deadly was the enmity between them, that it extended
to the remotest kindred, to the followers and retainers of both sides, in
so much that a servant of the house of Montague could not meet a servant
of the house of Capulet, nor a Capulet encounter with a Montague by
chance, but fierce words and sometimes bloodshed ensued; and frequent were
the brawls from such accidental meetings, which disturbed the happy quiet
of Verona’s streets.</p>
<p>Old Lord Capulet made a great supper, to which many fair ladies and many
noble guests were invited. All the admired beauties of Verona were
present, and all comers were made welcome if they were not of the house of
Montague. At this feast of Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to
the old Lord Montague, was present; and though it was dangerous for a
Montague to be seen in this assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo,
persuaded the young lord to go to this assembly in the disguise of a mask,
that he might see his Rosaline, and, seeing her, compare her with some
choice beauties of Verona, who (he said) would make him think his swan a
crow. Romeo had small faith in Benvolio’s words; nevertheless, for
the love of Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. For Romeo was a sincere and
passionate lover, and one that lost his sleep for love and fled society to
be alone, thinking on Rosaline, who disdained him and never requited his
love with the least show of courtesy or affection; and Benvolio wished to
cure his friend of this love by showing him diversity of ladies and
company. To this feast of Capulets, then, young Romeo, with Benvolio and
their friend Mercutio, went masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome and told
them that ladies who had their toes unplagued with corns would dance with
them. And the old man was light-hearted and merry, and said that he had
worn a mask when he was young and could have told a whispering tale in a
fair lady’s ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was suddenly
struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who danced there, who seemed to
him to teach the torches to burn bright, and her beauty to show by night
like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; beauty too rich for use, too dear
for earth! like a snowy dove trooping with crows (he said), so richly did
her beauty and perfections shine above the ladies her companions. While he
uttered these praises he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of Lord
Capulet, who knew him by his voice to be Romeo. And this Tybalt, being of
a fiery and passionate temper, could not endure that a Montague should
come under cover of a mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at their
solemnities. And he stormed and raged exceedingly, and would have struck
young Romeo dead. But his uncle, the old Lord Capulet, would not suffer
him to do any injury at that time, both out of respect to his guests and
because Romeo had borne himself like a gentleman and all tongues in Verona
bragged of him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. Tybalt, forced to
be patient against his will, restrained himself, but swore that this vile
Montague should at another time dearly pay for his intrusion.</p>
<p>The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place where the lady stood; and
under favor of his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in part the
liberty, he presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the hand,
calling it a shrine, which if he profaned by touching it, he was a
blushing pilgrim and would kiss it for atonement.</p>
<p>“Good pilgrim,” answered the lady, “your devotion shows
by far too mannerly and too courtly. Saints have hands which pilgrims may
touch but kiss not.”</p>
<p>“Have not saints lips, and pilgrims, too?” said Romeo.</p>
<p>“Aye,” said the lady, “lips which they must use in
prayer.”</p>
<p>“Oh, then, my dear saint,” said Romeo, “hear my prayer,
and grant it, lest I despair.”</p>
<p>In such like allusions and loving conceits they were engaged when the lady
was called away to her mother. And Romeo, inquiring who her mother was,
discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he was so much struck with
was young Juliet, daughter and heir to the Lord Capulet, the great enemy
of the Montagues; and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart to his
foe. This troubled him, but it could not dissuade him from loving. As
little rest had Juliet when she found that the gentle man that she had
been talking with was Romeo and a Montague, for she had been suddenly smit
with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo which he had
conceived for her; and a prodigious birth of love it seemed to her, that
she must love her enemy and that her affections should settle there, where
family considerations should induce her chiefly to hate.</p>
<p>It being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed; but they soon
missed him, for, unable to stay away from the house where he had left his
heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard which was at the back of Juliet’s
house. Here he had not been long, ruminating on his new love, when Juliet
appeared above at a window, through which her exceeding beauty seemed to
break like the light of the sun in the east; and the moon, which shone in
the orchard with a faint light, appeared to Romeo as if sick and pale with
grief at the superior luster of this new sun. And she leaning her cheek
upon her hand, he passionately wished himself a glove upon that hand, that
he might touch her cheek. She all this while thinking herself alone,
fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed:</p>
<p>“Ah me!”</p>
<p>Romeo, enraptured to bear her speak, said, softly and unheard by her,
“Oh, speak again, bright angel, for such you appear, being over my
head, like a winged messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to gaze
upon.”</p>
<p>She, unconscious of being overheard, and full of the new passion which
that night’s adventure had given birth to, called upon her lover by
name (whom she supposed absent). “O Romeo, Romeo!” said she,
“wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, for
my sake; or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I no longer will
be a Capulet.”</p>
<p>Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have spoken, but he was
desirous of hearing more; and the lady continued her passionate discourse
with herself (as she thought), still chiding Romeo for being Romeo and a
Montague, and wishing him some other name, or that he would put away that
hated name, and for that name which was no part of himself he should take
all herself. At this loving word Romeo could no longer refrain, but,
taking up the dialogue as if her words had been addressed to him
personally, and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him Love, or by
whatever other name she pleased, for he was no longer Romeo, if that name
was displeasing to her. Juliet, alarmed to hear a man’s voice in the
garden, did not at first know who it was that by favor of the night and
darkness had thus stumbled upon the discovery of her secret; but when he
spoke again, though her ears had not yet drunk a hundred words of that
tongue’s uttering, yet so nice is a lover’s hearing that she
immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and she expostulated with him on
the danger to which he had exposed himself by climbing the orchard walls,
for if any of her kinsmen should find him there it would be death to him,
being a Montague.</p>
<p>“Alack!” said Romeo, “there is more peril in your eye
than in twenty of their swords. Do you but look kind upon me, lady, and I
am proof against their enmity. Better my life should be ended by their
hate than that hated life should be prolonged to live without your love.”</p>
<p>“How came you into this place,” said Juliet, “and by
whose direction?”</p>
<p>“Love directed me,” answered Romeo. “I am no pilot, yet
‘wert thou as far apart from me as that vast shore which is washed
with the farthest sea, I should venture for such merchandise.”</p>
<p>A crimson blush came over Juliet’s face, yet unseen by Romeo by
reason of the night, when she reflected upon the discovery which she had
made, yet not meaning to make it, of her love to Romeo. She would fain
have recalled her words, but that was impossible; fain would she have
stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a distance, as the custom of
discreet ladies is, to frown and be perverse and give their suitors harsh
denials at first; to stand off, and affect a coyness or indifference where
they most love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly or too
easily won; for the difficulty of attainment increases the value of the
object. But there was no room in her case for denials, or puttings off, or
any of the customary arts of delay and protracted courtship. Romeo had
heard from her own tongue, when she did not dream that he was near her, a
confession of her love. So with an honest frankness which the novelty of
her situation excused she confirmed the truth of what he had before heard,
and, addressing him by the name of FAIR MONTAGUE (love can sweeten a sour
name), she begged him not to impute her easy yielding to levity or an
unworthy mind, but that he must lay the fault of it (if it were a fault)
upon the accident of the night which had so strangely discovered her
thoughts. And she added, that though her behavior to him might not be
sufficiently prudent, measured by the custom of her sex, yet that she
would prove more true than many whose prudence was dissembling, and their
modesty artificial cunning.</p>
<p>Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to witness that nothing was
farther from his thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonor to such an
honored lady, when she stopped him, begging him not to swear; for although
she joyed in him, yet she had no joy of that night’s contract—it
was too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he being urgent with her to
exchange a vow of love with him that night, she said that she already had
given him hers before he requested it, meaning, when he overheard her
confession; but she would retract what she then bestowed, for the pleasure
of giving it again, for her bounty was as infinite as the sea, and her
love as deep. From this loving conference she was called away by her
nurse, who slept with her and thought it time for her to be in bed, for it
was near to daybreak; but, hastily returning, she said three or four words
more to Romeo the purport of which was, that if his love was indeed
honorable, and his purpose marriage, she would send a messenger to him
to-morrow to appoint a time for their marriage, when she would lay all her
fortunes at his feet and follow him as her lord through the world. While
they were settling this point Juliet was repeatedly called for by her
nurse, and went in and returned, and went and returned again, for she
seemed as jealous of Romeo going from her as a young girl of her bird,
which she will let hop a little from her hand and pluck it back with a
silken thread; and Romeo was as loath to part as she, for the sweetest
music to lovers is the sound of each other’s tongues at night. But
at last they parted, wishing mutually sweet sleep and rest for that night.</p>
<p>The day was breaking when they parted, and Romeo, who was too full of
thoughts of his mistress and that blessed meeting to allow him to sleep,
instead of going home, bent his course to a monastery hard by, to find
Friar Lawrence. The good friar was already up at his devotions, but,
seeing young Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured rightly that he had not
been abed that night, but that some distemper of youthful affection had
kept him waking. He was right in imputing the cause of Romeo’s
wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong guess at the object, for he
thought that his love for Rosaline had kept him waking. But when Romeo
revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested the assistance of the
friar to marry them that day, the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands in
a sort of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo’s affections, for he
had been privy to all Romeo’s love for Rosaline and his many
complaints of her disdain; and he said that young men’s love lay not
truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. But Romeo replying that he
himself had often chidden him for doting on Rosaline, who could not love
him again, whereas Juliet both loved and was beloved by him, the friar
assented in some measure to his reasons; and thinking that a matrimonial
alliance between young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the means of
making up the long breach between the Capulets and the Montagues, which no
one more lamented than this good friar who was a friend to both the
families and had often interposed his mediation to make up the quarrel
without effect; partly moved by policy, and partly by his fondness for
young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, the old man consented to join
their hands in marriage.</p>
<p>Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who knew his intent from a
messenger which she had despatched according to promise, did not fail to
be early at the cell of Friar Lawrence, where their hands were joined in
holy marriage, the good friar praying the heavens to smile upon that act,
and in the union of this young Montague and young Capulet, to bury the old
strife and long dissensions of their families.</p>
<p>The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home, where she stayed, impatient
for the coming of night, at which time Romeo promised to come and meet her
in the orchard, where they had met the night before; and the time between
seemed as tedious to her as the night before some great festival seems to
an impatient child that has got new finery which it may not put on till
the morning.</p>
<p>That same day, about noon, Romeo’s friends, Benvolio and Mercutio,
walking through the streets of Verona, were met by a party of the Capulets
with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. This was the same angry Tybalt
who would have fought with Romeo at old Lord Capulet’s feast. He,
seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly of associating with Romeo, a
Montague. Mercutio, who had as much fire and youthful blood in him as
Tybalt, replied to this accusation with some sharpness; and in spite of
all Benvolio could say to moderate their wrath a quarrel was beginning
when, Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt turned from
Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgraceful appellation of villain.
Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was
the kinsman of Juliet and much beloved by her; besides, this young
Montague had never thoroughly entered into the family quarrel, being by
nature wise and gentle, and the name of a Capulet, which was his dear lady’s
name, was now rather a charm to allay resentment than a watchword to
excite fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he saluted mildly by
the name of GOOD CAPULET, as if he, though a Montague, had some secret
pleasure in uttering that name; but Tybalt, who hated all Montagues as he
hated hell, would hear no reason, but drew his weapon; and Mercutio, who
knew not of Romeo’s secret motive for desiring peace with Tybalt,
but looked upon his present forbearance as a sort of calm dishonorable
submission, with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt to the prosecution
of his first quarrel with him; and Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till
Mercutio fell, receiving his death’s wound while Romeo and Benvolio
were vainly endeavoring to part the combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo
kept his temper no longer, but returned the scornful appellation of
villain which Tybalt had given him, and they fought till Tybalt was slain
by Romeo. This deadly broil falling out in the midst of Verona at noonday,
the news of it quickly brought a crowd of citizens to the spot and among
them the Lords Capulet and Montague, with their wives; and soon after
arrived the prince himself, who, being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt
had slain, and having had the peace of his government often disturbed by
these brawls of Montagues and Capulets, came determined to put the law in
strictest force against those who should be found to be offenders.
Benvolio, who had been eye-witness to the fray, was commanded by the
prince to relate the origin of it; which he did, keeping as near the truth
as he could without injury to Romeo, softening and excusing the part which
his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for the loss of
her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in her revenge, exhorted the
prince to do strict justice upon his murderer, and to,pay no attention to
Benvolio’s representation, who, being Romeo’s friend and a
Montague, spoke partially. Thus she pleaded against her new son-in-law,
but she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and Juliet’s
husband. On the other hand was to be seen Lady Montague pleading for her
child’s life, and arguing with some justice that Romeo had done
nothing worthy of punishment in taking the life of Tybalt, which was
already forfeited to the law by his having slain Mercutio. The prince,
unmoved by the passionate exclamations of these women, on a careful
examination of the facts pronounced his sentence, and by that sentence
Romeo was banished from Verona.</p>
<p>Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few hours a bride and now
by this decree seemed everlastingly divorced! When the tidings reached
her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo, who had slain her dear
cousin. She called him a beautiful tyrant, a fiend angelical, a ravenous
dove, a lamb with a wolf’s nature, a serpent-heart hid with a
flowering face, and other, like contradictory names, which denoted the
struggles in her mind between her love and her resentment. But in the end
love got the mastery, and the tears which she shed for grief that Romeo
had slain her cousin turned to drops of joy that her husband lived whom
Tybalt would have slain. Then came fresh tears, and they were altogether
of grief for Romeo’s banishment. That word was more terrible to her
than the death of many Tybalts.</p>
<p>Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in Friar Lawrence’s cell,
where he was first made acquainted with the prince’s sentence, which
seemed to him far more terrible than death. To him it appeared there was
no world out of Verona’s walls, no living out of the sight of
Juliet. Heaven was there where Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory,
torture, hell. The good friar would have applied the consolation of
philosophy to his griefs; but this frantic young man would hear of none,
but like a madman he tore his hair and threw himself all along upon the
ground, as he said, to take the measure of his grave. From this unseemly
state he was roused by a message from his dear lady which a little revived
him; and then the friar took the advantage to expostulate with him on the
unmanly weakness which he had shown. He had slain Tybalt, but would he
also slay himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but in his life? The
noble form of man, he said, was but a shape of wax when it wanted the
courage which should keep it firm. The law had been lenient to him that
instead of death, which he had incurred, had pronounced by the prince’s
mouth only banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have slain
him-there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive and (beyond
all hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most happy. All these
blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did Romeo put from him like a
sullen misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware, for such as
despaired (he said) died miserable. Then when Romeo was a little calmed he
counseled him that he should go that night and secretly take his leave of
Juliet, and thence proceed straightway to Mantua, at which place he should
sojourn till the friar found fit occasion to publish his marriage, which
might be a joyful means of reconciling their families; and then he did not
doubt but the prince would be moved to pardon him, and he would return
with twenty times more joy than he went forth with grief. Romeo was
convinced by these wise counsels of the friar, and took his leave to go
and seek his lady, proposing to stay with her that night, and by daybreak
pursue his journey alone to Mantua; to which place the good friar promised
to send him letters from time to time, acquainting him with the state of
affairs at home.</p>
<p>That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining secret admission to
her chamber from the orchard in which he had heard her confession of love
the night before. That had been a night of unmixed joy and rapture; but
the pleasures of this night and the delight which these lovers took in
each other’s society were sadly allayed with the prospect of parting
and the fatal adventures of the past day. The unwelcome daybreak seemed to
come too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song of the lark she
would have persuaded herself that it was the nightingale, which sings by
night; but it was too truly the lark which sang, and a discordant and
unpleasing note it seemed to her; and the streaks of day in the east too
certainly pointed out that it was time for these lovers to part. Romeo
took his leave of his dear wife with a heavy heart, promising to write to
her from Mantua every hour in the day; and when he had descended from her
chamber window, as he stood below her on the ground, in that sad
foreboding state of mind in which she was, he appeared to her eyes as one
dead in the bottom of a tomb. Romeo’s mind misgave him in like
manner. But now he was forced hastily to depart, for it was death for him
to be found within the walls of Verona after daybreak.</p>
<p>This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this pair of star- crossed
lovers. Romeo had not been gone many days before the old Lord Capulet
proposed a match for Juliet. The husband he had chosen for her, not
dreaming that she was married already, was Count Paris, a gallant, young,
and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor to the young Juliet if she had
never seen Romeo.</p>
<p>The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her father’s offer.
She pleaded her youth unsuitable to marriage, the recent death of Tybalt,
which had left her spirits too weak to meet a husband with any face of
joy, and how indecorous it would show for the family of the Capulets to be
celebrating a nuptial feast when his funeral solemnities were hardly over.
She pleaded every reason against the match but the true one, namely, that
she was married already. But Lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and
in a peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for by the following
Thursday she should be married to Paris. And having found her a husband,
rich, young, and noble, such as the proudest maid in Verona might joyfully
accept, he could not bear that out of an affected coyness, as he construed
her denial, she should oppose obstacles to her own good fortune.</p>
<p>In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly friar, always a counselor
in distress, and he asking her if she had resolution to undertake a
desperate remedy, and she answering that she would go into the grave alive
rather than marry Paris, her own dear husband living, he directed her to
go home, and appear merry, and give her consent to marry Paris, according
to her father’s desire, and on the next night, which was the night
before the marriage, to drink off the contents of a vial which he then
gave her, the effect of which would be that for two-and-forty hours after
drinking it she should appear cold and lifeless, and when the bridegroom
came to fetch her in the morning he would find her to appearance dead;
that then she would be borne, as the manner in that country was, uncovered
on a bier, to be buried in the family vault; that if she could put off
womanish fear, and consent to this terrible trial, in forty-two hours
after swallowing the liquid (such was its certain operation) she would be
sure to awake, as from a dream; and before she should awake he would let
her husband know their drift, and he should come in the night and bear her
thence to Mantua. Love, and the dread of marrying Paris, gave young Juliet
strength to undertake this horrible adventure; and she took the vial of
the friar, promising to observe his directions.</p>
<p>Going from the monastery, she met the young Count Paris, and, modestly
dissembling, promised to become his bride. This was joyful news to the
Lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into the old man; and
Juliet, who had displeased him exceedingly by her refusal of the count,
was his darling again, now she promised to be obedient. All things in the
house were in a bustle against the approaching nuptials. No cost was
spared to prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before
witnessed.</p>
<p>On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion. She had many
misgivings lest the friar, to avoid the blame which might be imputed to
him for marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison; but then he was
always known for a holy man. Then lest she should awake before the time
that Romeo was to come for her; whether the terror of the place, a vault
full of dead Capulets’ bones, and where Tybalt, all bloody, lay
festering in his shroud, would not be enough to drive her distracted.
Again she thought of all the stories she had heard of spirits haunting the
places where their bodies were bestowed. But then her love for Romeo and
her aversion for Paris returned, and she desperately swallowed the draught
and became insensible.</p>
<p>When young Paris came early in the morning with music to awaken his bride,
instead of a living Juliet her chamber presented the dreary spectacle of a
lifeless corse. What death to his hopes! What confusion then reigned
through the whole house! Poor Paris lamenting his bride, whom most
detestable death had beguiled him of, had divorced from him even before
their hands were joined. But still more piteous it was to hear the
mournings of the old Lord and Lady Capulet, who having but this one, one
poor loving child to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had snatched her
from their sight, just as these careful parents were on the point of
seeing her advanced (as they thought) by a promising and advantageous
match. Now all things that were ordained for the festival were turned from
their properties to do the office of a black funeral. The wedding cheer
served for a sad burial feast, the bridal hymns were changed for sullen
dirges, the sprightly instruments to melancholy.bells, and the flowers
that should have been strewed in the bride’s path now served but to
strew her corse. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was
needed to bury her, and she was borne to church indeed, not to augment the
cheerful hopes of the living, but to swell the dreary numbers of the dead.</p>
<p>Bad news, which always travels faster than good, now brought the dismal
story of his Juliet’s death to Romeo, at Mantua, before the
messenger could arrive who was sent from Friar Lawrence to apprise him
that these were mock funerals only, and but the shadow and representation
of death, and that his dear lady lay in the tomb but for a short while,
expecting when Romeo would come to release her from that dreary mansion.
Just before, Romeo had been unusually joyful and light-hearted. He had
dreamed in the night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave a dead
man leave to think) and that his lady came and found him dead, and
breathed such life with kisses in his lips that he revived and was an
emperor! And now that a messenger came from Verona, he thought surely it
was to confirm some good news which his dreams had presaged. But when the
contrary to this flattering vision appeared, and that it was his lady who
was dead in truth, whom he could not revive by any kisses, he ordered
horses to be got ready, for he determined that night to visit Verona and
to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief is swift to enter into the
thoughts of desperate men, he called to mind a poor apothecary, whose shop
in Mantua he had lately passed, and from the beggarly appearance of the
man, who seemed famished, and the wretched show in his show of empty boxes
ranged on dirty shelves, and other tokens of extreme wretchedness, he had
said at the time (perhaps having some misgivings that his own disastrous
life might haply meet with a conclusion so desperate):</p>
<p>“If a man were to need poison, which by the law of Mantua it is
death to sell, here lives a poor wretch who would sell it him.”</p>
<p>These words of his now came into his mind and he sought out the
apothecary, who after some pretended scruples, Romeo offering him gold,
which his poverty could not resist, sold him a poison which, if he
swallowed, he told him, if he had the strength of twenty men, would
quickly despatch him.</p>
<p>With this poison he set out for Verona, to have a sight of his dear lady
in her tomb, meaning, when he had satisfied his sight, to swallow the
poison and be buried by her side. He reached Verona at midnight, and found
the churchyard in the midst of which was situated the ancient tomb of the
Capulets. He had provided a light, and a spade, and wrenching-iron, and
was proceeding to break open the monument when he was interrupted by a
voice, which by the name of VILE MONTAGUE bade him desist from his
unlawful business. It was the young Count Paris, who had come to the tomb
of Juliet at that unseasonable time of night to strew flowers and to weep
over the grave of her that should have been his bride. He knew not what an
interest Romeo had in the dead, but, knowing him to be a Montague and (as
he supposed) a sworn foe to all the Capulets, he judged that he was come
by night to do some villainous shame to the dead bodies; therefore in an
angry tone he bade him desist; and as a criminal, condemned by the laws of
Verona to die if he were found within the walls of the city, he would have
apprehended him. Romeo urged Paris to leave him, and warned him by the
fate of Tybalt, who lay buried there, not to provoke his anger or draw
down another sin upon his head by forcing him to kill him. But the count
in scorn refused his warning, and laid hands on him as a felon, which,
Romeo resisting, they fought, and Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a
light, came to see who it was that he had slain, that it was Paris, who
(he learned in his way from Mantua) should have married Juliet, he took
the dead youth by the hand, as one whom misfortune had made a companion,
and said that he would bury him in a triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet’s
grave, which he now opened. And there lay his lady, as one whom death had
no power upon to change a feature or complexion, in her matchless beauty;
or as if death were amorous, and the lean, abhorred monster kept her there
for his delight; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to
sleep when she swallowed that benumbing potion; and near her lay Tybalt in
his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing, begged pardon of his lifeless corse,
and for Juliet’s sake called him COUSIN, and said that he was about
to do him a favor by putting his enemy to death. Here Romeo took his last
leave of his lady’s lips, kissing them; and here he shook the burden
of his cross stars from his weary body, swallowing that poison which the
apothecary had sold him, whose operation was fatal and real, not like that
dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed, the effect of which was now
nearly expiring, and she about to awake to complain that Romeo had not
kept his time, or that he had come too soon.</p>
<p>For now the hour was arrived at which the friar had promised that she
should awake; and he, having learned that his letters which he had sent to
Mantua, by some unlucky detention of the messenger, had never reached
Romeo, came himself, provided with a pickax and lantern, to deliver the
lady from her confinement; but he was surprised to find a light already
burning in the Capulets’ monument, and to see swords and blood near
it, and Romeo and Paris lying breathless by the monument,</p>
<p>Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine how these fatal
accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of her trance, and, seeing the
friar near her, she remembered the place where she was, and the occasion
of her being there, and asked for Romeo, but the friar, hearing a noise,
bade her come out of that place of death and of unnatural sleep, for a
greater power than they could contradict had thwarted their intents; and,
being frightened by the noise of people coming, he fled. But when Juliet
saw the cup closed in her true love’s hands, she guessed that poison
had been the cause of his end, and she would have swallowed the dregs if
any had been left, and she kissed his still warm lips to try if any poison
yet did hang upon them; then hearing a nearer noise of people coming, she
quickly unsheathed a dagger which she wore, and, stabbing herself, died by
her true Romeo’s side.</p>
<p>The watch by this time had come up to the place. A page belonging to Count
Paris, who had witnessed the fight between his master and Romeo, had given
the alarm, which had spread among the citizens, who went up and down the
streets of Verona confusedly exclaiming, “A Paris! a Romeo! a
Juliet!” as the rumor had imperfectly reached them, till the uproar
brought Lord Montague and Lord Capulet out of their beds, with the prince,
to inquire into the causes of the disturbance. The friar had been
apprehended by some of the watch, coming from the churchyard, trembling,
sighing, and weeping in a suspicious manner. A great multitude being
assembled at the Capulets’ monument, the friar was demanded by the
prince to deliver what he knew of these strange and disastrous accidents.</p>
<p>And there, in the presence of the old Lords Montague and Capulet, he
faithfully related the story of their children’s fatal love, the
part he took in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that union to end
the long quarrels between their families; how Romeo, there dead, was
husband to Juliet, and Juliet, there dead, was Romeo’s faithful
wife; how, before he could find a fit opportunity to divulge their
marriage, another match was projected for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime
of a second marriage, swallowed the sleeping-draught (as he advised), and
all thought her dead; how meantime he wrote to Romeo to come and take her
thence when the force of the potion should cease, and by what unfortunate
miscarriage of the messenger the letters never reached Romeo. Further than
this the friar could not follow the story, nor knew more than that, coming
himself to deliver Juliet from that place of death, he found the Count
Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of the transactions was supplied by
the narration of the page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by the
servant who came with Romeo from Verona, to whom this faithful lover had
given letters to be delivered to his father in the event of his death,
which made good the friar’s words, confessing his marriage with
Juliet, imploring the forgiveness of his parents, acknowledging the buying
of the poison of the poor apothecary and his intent in coming to the
monument to die and lie with Juliet. All these circumstances agreed
together to clear the friar from any hand he could be supposed to have in
these complicated slaughters, further than as the unintended consequences
of his own well-meant, yet too artificial and subtle contrivances.</p>
<p>And the prince, turning to these old lords, Montague and Capulet, rebuked
them for their brutal and irrational enmities, and showed them what a
scourge Heaven had laid upon such offenses, that it had found means even
through the love of their children to punish their unnatural hate. And
these old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury their long strife in
their children’s graves; and Lord Capulet requested Lord Montague to
give him his hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in
acknowledgment of the union of their families by the marriage of the young
Capulet and Montague; and saying that Lord Montague’s hand (in token
of reconcilement) was all he demanded for his daughter’s jointure.
But Lord Montague said he would give him more, for he would raise her a
statue of pure gold that, while Verona kept its name, no figure should be
so esteemed for its richness and workmanship as that of the true and
faithful Juliet. And Lord Capulet in return said that he would raise
another statue to Romeo. So did these poor old lords, when it was too
late, strive to outgo each other in mutual courtesies; while so deadly had
been their rage and enmity in past times that nothing but the fearful
overthrow of their children (poor sacrifices to their quarrels and
dissensions) could remove the rooted hates and jealousies of the noble
families.</p>
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