Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,

And learn me how to lose a winning match,

Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.

Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,

With thy black mantle, till strange love, grow bold,

Think true love acted simple modesty.

Come, night, come Romeo; come, thou day in night;

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.

Come gentle night, come loving black-brow’d night,

Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night,

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

O, I have bought the mansion of a love,

But not possess’d it; and though I am sold,

Not yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day

As is the night before some festival

To an impatient child that hath new robes

And may not wear them. O, here comes my Nurse,

And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks

But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.


 Enter Nurse, with cords.


Now, Nurse, what news? What hast thou there?

The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?


NURSE.

Ay, ay, the cords.


 [Throws them down.]
JULIET.

Ay me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands?


NURSE.

Ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!

We are undone, lady, we are undone.

Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead.


JULIET.

Can heaven be so envious?


NURSE.

Romeo can,

Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo.

Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!


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.