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, insomuch 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.
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.
The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place where the lady stood;
and under favour 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. '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.'
'Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too?' said Romeo. 'Ay,' said the
lady, 'lips which they must use in prayer.' 'O then, my dear saint,'
said Romeo, 'hear my prayer, and grant it, lest I despair.' 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 gentleman
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
afflictions should settle there, where family considerations should
induce her chiefly to hate.
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 lustre 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:
'Ah me!' Romeo, enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard
by her: 'O 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.' 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.'
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
favour 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. '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.' 'How came
you into this place,' said Juliet, 'and by whose direction?' '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.' 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
behaviour 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.
Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to witness, that nothing was
farther from his thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonour to such
an honoured 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 honourable, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 dishonourable 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
endeavouring 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 old 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 eyewitness 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.
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.
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 counselled him that
he should go that night and secretly take his leave of Juliet, and
thence proceed straightways 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.
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.
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.
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.
In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly friar, always her
counsellor 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
phial 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 phial of the friar,
promising to observe his directions.
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.
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 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.
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 corset 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 corset 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.
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), '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.' 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.
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 villanous
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 favour
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.
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 the pickaxe 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.
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
hand, 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.
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 rumour 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.
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.
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 offences, 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.