Sole monarch of the universal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide at him!


NURSE.

Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?


JULIET.

Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,

When I thy three-hours’ wife have mangled it?

But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?

That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.

Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring,

Your tributary drops belong to woe,

Which you mistaking offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,

And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.

All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?

Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,

That murder’d me. I would forget it fain,

But O, it presses to my memory

Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.

Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished.

That ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’

Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death

Was woe enough, if it had ended there.

Or if sour woe delights in fellowship,

And needly will be rank’d with other griefs,

Why follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead,

Thy father or thy mother, nay or both,

Which modern lamentation might have mov’d?

But with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death,

‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word

Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,

All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished,

There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,

In that word’s death, no words can that woe sound.

Where is my father and my mother, Nurse?


NURSE.

Weeping and wailing over Tybalt’s corse.

Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.


JULIET.

Wash they his wounds with tears. Mine shall be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.

Take up those cords. Poor ropes, you are beguil’d,

Both you and I; for Romeo is exil’d.

He made you for a highway to my bed,

But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed.