Act 3 — Scene 2The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet

Page 39 of 72

Page 39

Juliet: What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar’d in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but Ay, And that bare vowel I shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. I am not I if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut that make thee answer Ay. If he be slain, say Ay; or if not, No. Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse: I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes, God save the mark!—here on his manly breast. A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood, All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight. Juliet: O, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once. To prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty. Vile earth to earth resign; end motion here, And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier. Nurse: O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had. O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead. Juliet: What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead? My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord? Then dreadful trumpet sound the general doom, For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse: Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished, Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished. Juliet: O God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood? Nurse: It did, it did; alas the day, it did. Juliet: O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical, Dove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace. Nurse: There’s no trust, No faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae. These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo.
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