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Friar Lawrence:
Peace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid.
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion,
For ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d,
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill
That you run mad, seeing that she is well.
She’s not well married that lives married long,
But she’s best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse, and, as the custom is,
And in her best array bear her to church;
For though fond nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
Capulet:
All things that we ordained festival
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Friar Lawrence:
Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,
And go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
The heavens do lower upon you for some ill;
Move them no more by crossing their high will.
(Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar.)
First Musician:
Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
Nurse:
Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,
For well you know this is a pitiful case.
First Musician:
Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
(Exit Nurse.)
Enter Peter.
Peter:
Musicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you will have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’
First Musician:
Why ‘Heart’s ease’?
Peter:
O musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play me some merry dump to comfort me.
First Musician:
Not a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.
Peter:
You will not then?
First Musician:
No.
Peter:
I will then give it you soundly.
First Musician:
What will you give us?
Peter:
No money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.