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Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. They fight; TYBALT falls BENVOLIO Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Enter ROMEO TYBALT Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. Servant Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Adieu, adieu! Exit JULIET O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
Scene II. PETER Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Exit PETER JULIET Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. JULIET Amen! Nurse What? JULIET Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. A room in Capulet's house. It's a cultural icon, but one should take the time to actually read the play to form one's opinion. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET Ay me! ROMEO She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. MERCUTIO No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
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by Vandynay on 2016-06-03 09:41:37
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