Ha, banishment? be merciful, say death;
Because exile has more terror in his eyes,
Much more than death; Do not say banishment.
Therefore, you are banished from Valencia:
Be patient because the world is wide and wide.
There is no world without walls of Valencia,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Thus banished is banished from the world,
And the exile of the world is death, then banished
Is death denominated: call for the banishment of death,
You cut off my head with a golden axe,
And smiles at the blow that kills me.
O mortal sin! O gross ungrateful!
Your fault our law calls death, but the good prince,
Taking your part spreads the law,
And turned this black word dead to banishment:
This is dear forgiveness and you cannot see it.
"It's torture and not pity: paradise is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and can look at it;
But Romeo can not. More validity,
State more honourable, more parade
In the carrion flies that Romeo: they can seize
On the white wonder of the hand of dear Juliet,
And steal an immortal blessing from his lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Again, thinking of their own kisses sin;
But Romeo can not; he is banned,
That can make flies when I have to leave from there.
And do you say that this exile is not death!
Did not you have mixed poison, no sharp knife,
No means of sudden death, although not so bad,
But banished to kill me; banned?
O brother, the damned use this word in hell;
The howlers attend: how do you have the heart,
To be a divine, a ghostly confessor,
An absolute sin and my friend professes,
To distort me with this word banishment?
You like crazy, listen to me talk a little,
You will still talk about banishment.
I will give you an armour to keep this word;
The sweet milk of adversity, philosophy,
To comfort you, if you are banned.
Yet banned? Hang up philosophy!
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Disappear a city, reverse the destiny of a prince,
It does not help, it does not prevail, do not talk anymore
O then I see that the mad do not have ears.
How should they, when these wise men have no eyes?
Let me argue with you.
You can not talk about that, you do not feel:
You are as young as me, Juliet your love,
An hour but married, Tyson murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
So you could talk, then you would tear your hair,
And fall to the ground, as I do now,
Take the measure of a defeated tomb.
Occur; you hit Bon Romeo, go and hide.
Not me unless the breath of the heart weeps,
As the mist inspires me to search for the eyes.
Hark, how they hit! Who is here? Romeo, get up;
You will be caught. Stay a bit; Get up;
Course in my study. Goodbye! God's will!
What simplicity is it? I'm coming, I'm coming!
Who is hitting so hard? Where do you come from? what is your will?
(Inside.) Let me in and you will know my race;
I'm from Lady Juliet.
O holy brother, O tell me, holy brother,
Where is the lord of my wife, where is Romeo?
There, with his own tears made drunk.
O, he is even in the case of my mistress,
Just in his case!
O sad sympathy!
Even so is she,
Sweat and tears, tears and sweat.
Get up, get up; standing, you are a man:
For Juliette's sake, for her, to get up and stand up;
Why should you fall in so deep?
Ah, sir! ah, sir! Well, death is the end of everything.
Do you look like Juliet? how are things with her?
Does not she think me an old murderer,
Now I stained the childhood of our joy
With blood removed but little of his?
Where is she? and how she and what says
My wife hidden at our cancel would like?
O, she says nothing, sir, but cries and cries;
And now falls on his bed; then start,
And Tyson calls; and then on Romeo crying,
And then the fall falls.
As if that name,
Shooting the mortal level of a firearm,
Murdered her; like his cursed hand
Murdered his parent. Tell me, brother, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Does my name fit? tell me that I can fire
The hateful house.
(Drawing his sword.)
Hold your desperate hand:
Are you a man? your form cries you are;
Your tears are feminine; your wild deeds denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast;
An unseemly woman in a man of appearance!
Or the beast seeming stupid to appear both!
You amazed me: by my holy order,
I thought your disposition was better tempered.
Did you kill Tyson? do you want to kill yourself?
And kill your lady who lives in you,
In hating yourself?
Why are you on your birth, in heaven and on earth?
Since birth and heaven and earth, all three meet
In you immediately; that you would lose immediately.
Trust, you are in your form, your love, your spirit;
Which, as a usurer, in all,
And do not use anything in this real use
What should annoy your shape, your love, your mind:
Your noble form is only a form of wax,
Digressing of the value of a man;
Your dear sworn love, but hollow perjury,
Kill that love you swore to cherish;
Your mind, this ornament to model and to love,
Shaped in their behavior at once,
Like powder in the vial of a skilled soldier,
Is set on fire by your own ignorance,
And you broke up with your own defense.
What, wake up, man! your Juliet is alive,
For whom dear you were, you were only recently dead;
You're happy: Tyson would kill you,
But you hid Tyson; there you are happy too:
The law that threatens death becomes your friend,
And turns him into exile; you are happy here:
A bundle of blessings comes on your back;
Happiness is running in its best rank;
But, like a disheveled and sullen girl,
You sulk your fortune and your love:
Take care, take care, for such a wretch.
Go, go to your love, as it was decreed,
Raise her room, and therefore comfort her:
But look, you do not stay until the watch is set,
Because then you can not go to Mantua;
Where will you live until we can find a time
To blur your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Forgive the prince and remember
With twenty thousand times more joy
So you went into lamentation.
Go ahead, nurse: recommend me to your lady;
And told him to hasten the whole house to bed,
What heavy pain makes them fit for.
Romeo is coming.
Scene IV. A room in Cameron's house.
(Enter Cameron, Lady Cameron and Phoenix.)
Things have fallen, sir, unfortunately
That we did not have time to move our daughter:
Look, she loved her dear Tyson relative,
And me too; well, we are born to die.
It's really late; she will not come down at night:
I promise you, but for your business,
I would have been a bed over an hour ago.
These bad times do not offer any melody to the woo.
Madam, good night: congratulate me on your daughter.
I will do it and I will know it early tomorrow.
At night, it has reached its heaviness.
Sir Phoenix, I'm going to do a desperate tender
From my child's love: I think it will be governed
In all respects by me; neither, I doubt it.
Woman, go to her house before going to bed;
Familiarize her with the love of my son Phoenix;
And tell him, mark me next Wednesday,
But sweet! what day is it?
Monday, my lord.
Monday! haha! Well, Wednesday is too early,
Thursday was; a Thursday, tell him,
She will be married to this noble count.
Will you be ready? do you like this precipitation?
We will not keep a big surprise, a friend or two;
Because I beg you, Tyson was killed so late,
We may think that we have kept it carelessly,
Being our parent, if we delight a lot:
We will have half a dozen friends,
And here the end. But what are you saying Thursday?
My Lord, I would like this Thursday to be tomorrow.
Well, go ahead, Thursday then.
Go to Juliet, before going to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against the day of this marriage.
Goodbye, my lord. Light in my room, ho!
Previously, it's very, very late
So that we can call it early.
Scene V. A gallery open to Juliet's room, overlooking the
(Enter Romeo and Juliet.)
Do you want to be gone? it is not the day yet:
It was the nightingale and not the lark,
That pierced the frightening hollow of your ear;
She sings every night on the grenadier:
Believe me, my love was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the morning herald,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do not lace up the clouds that are yonder in the east:
The night candles are burned and the day of Jocund
Stands on tiptoe on misty peaks.
I to go and live or stay and die.
The light is not the light of day, I know it, I:
It's a meteor that the sun exhales
Be yours tonight a torchbearer
And turn on the path of Mantua:
So stay, you do not have to leave.
Let me be, let me be put to death;
I'm happy, so you want it so much.
I'll tell you that grey is not the morning eye,
This is only the pale reflex of Cynthia's forehead;
Nor is it the lark whose notes beat
The sky vaulted so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will.
Come, dead and welcome! Juliet wants it.
How are you, my soul? let's talk, it's not the day.
That's it, that's it! therefore, leave, far!
It's the lark that sings so badly,
Treat severe discord and unpleasant sharp objects.
Some say that the lark makes a soft division;
It is not so because it divides us:
Some say that the lark and the hated toad change their look;
O, now they would have changed their voice too!
Since the arm of this voice escapes us,
Hunting with the hunt until the day.
O, now go; more light and light it is getting.
More light and light, it is getting the darker and darker our adversity!
Your mother comes to your room:
The day is broken Be careful, look around you.
Then, window, let in and let live.
Goodbye, goodbye! a kiss and I go down.
Did you go that way? my lord, my love, my friend!
I need to hear from you every day on time,
Because in a minute there are many days:
O, by this account I will be a lot in the years
Before seeing my Romeo again!
I will not miss any opportunity
That can convey to you my greetings, my love.
Will we ever see each other again?
I do not doubt it, and all these evils will serve
For sweet speeches in our time to come.
Oh my God! I have a soul that defines evil!
It seems to me that I see you, now you are down,
As one is dead at the bottom of a grave:
Or my sight fails or you are pale.
And believe me, my love, in your eyes, you too:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Goodbye, goodbye!
O fortune, fortune! all men call you fickle:
If you're fickle, what do you have with him
This is recognized for faith? Be capricious, fortune;
Because then, I hope you will not keep it long
But send it back.
(Inside) Ho, my daughter! are you standing?
Who is not calling? Is this my mother?
Did not she fall so late or so early?
What unusual cause does a love novel give him?
(Enter Lady Cameron.)
Why, now, Juliet?
Madam, I am not well.
Still crying for your cousin's death?
How to wash it from his grave with tears?
If you could, you could not make it live;
Having done so: some sorrows show a lot of love;
But a lot of grief still shows a certain lack of spirit.
Still, let me cry such a loss of feeling.
So you will feel the loss, but not the friend
What are you crying?
Feel if the loss,
I can not choose but never cry the friend.
Well, my daughter, you cry less for his death
Like that, the bad guy who killed him.
What a bad guy, ma'am?
That same mean Romeo.
The villain and he are miles away.
God forgive him! I do it with all my heart;
And yet no man like him is crying my heart.
This is because the murderer of the traitor lives.
Ay, madam, the reach of these hands.
I would not want me to come to the death of my cousin!
We will take revenge, do not be afraid:
So do not cry anymore. I will send to one in Mantua,
Where do these same idioms live?
Give it such an unusual drama
That he will soon keep Tyson company:
And I hope you will be satisfied.
Indeed I will never be satisfied
With Romeo until I see him dead
Is my poor heart so vexed for a parent:
Madam, if you could find but a man
To carry a poison, I would temper him,
This Romeo should, upon receipt,
Soon sleep in peace. O my heart abhors
To hear his name, and can not come to him,
To make love, I bored my cousin Tyson
On his body that killed him!
Find the means, and I will find such a man.
But now, I'll tell you some happy news, my daughter.
And the joy comes in a difficult moment:
What are they, I beg you?
Well, you have a prudent father, a child;
The one who puts you in your heaviness,
Hath settled a sudden day of joy
What you do not expect, nor I was not looking for.
Madam, in happy time, what day is it?
Marry, my child, next Thursday morning Thursday
The gallant, young and noble gentleman,
Phoenix County, at St. Paul's Church,
I will be happy to make you a happy bride.
Now, by St. Paul's and Paul's church too,
He will not make me a happy bride.
I wonder at this urgency; that I must marry
Before the husband gets to court.
I beg you, tell my lord and my father, madam,
I will not get married yet; and when I do it, I swear
It will be Romeo that you hate,
Rather than Phoenix: this is news indeed!
Here is your father: tell it yourself,
And see how he will take it into your hands.
(Enter Cameron and Nurse.)
When the sun goes down, the air sprinkles the dew;
But for the sunset of my brother's son
It's raining squarely.
How now! a conduit, a girl? what still in tears?
Still more shower? In a small body
You falsify a bark, a sea, a wind:
For your eyes again, which I can call the sea,
Make reflections and tears; the bark that your body is,
Navigate this flood of salt; the winds, your sighs;
Who, furious with your tears and them with them,
Without suddenly calm, will surpass
Your tempest cast the body. Like now, my wife!
Did you give him our decree?
Ay, sir; but she does not want it, she thanks you.
I would like the madman to be married to his grave!
Soft! take me with you, take me with you, my wife.
How! does she go nothing? does not she give us thanks?
Is she not proud? she does not count it blessed,
Indignant as it is, that we worked
A worthy gentleman to be his fiancé?
Not proud that you have; but grateful that you have:
I can be proud of what I hate.
But recognizing even for hate, it means to love.
How now, how now, cut logic! What is it?
Proud and, thank you, and I do not thank you;
And yet not proud: mistress minion, you,
Thank you no thanks, nor pride me no pride,
But shake your beautiful joints next Thursday
To go with Phoenix to St. Paul's Church,
Or I'll drag you on an obstacle, my love.
Out, you disease of green disease! outside, your luggage!
You suck the face!
Fie, fie! Are you crazy?
Good father, I beg you on your knees,
Hear me patiently, but speak a word.
Hang on, young baggage! unhappy disobedient!
I tell you what, go to church on Thursday,
Or never after looking in the face:
Do not speak, do not answer, do not answer me;
My fingers are itching. Woman, we thought we were barely
That Lord had lent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is just one too many,
And that we have a curse to have it:
On her, hello!
God in heaven blesses her!
You must blame, my lord, to evaluate it as well.
And why my lady wisdom? hold your tongue,
Good prudence; smatter with your gossip, come on.
I do not speak of treason.
O God, you are good at it!
Can not we talk?
Express your gravity on a bowl of gossip,
For here, we do not need it.
You are too hot.
The bread of God! It makes me angry:
Day, night, hour, hour, tide, work, game,
Alone, in the company, my care has always been
Have his correspondence and have now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Good demesnes, young and noble trained,
Stuffed, as they say, with honourable shares,
Proportioned as the heart would like a man,
And then have a miserable idiot,
A whimpering mammal, in the submission of his fortune,
To answer that question, I will not get married, I cannot love,
I am too young, please forgive me:
But, you will not get married, I will forgive you:
Wherever you want, you will not be with me:
I do not think so, I'm not kidding.
Thursday is near; get your hands on the heart, advise:
You will be mine, I will give you to my friend;
One you will not, hang, beg, starve, die I'm in the streets,
Because, by my soul, I do not recognize you,
Neither what is mine will ever do you any good:
Trust will not be, think you, I will not be upset.