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five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention. He found her
as handsome as she had{414} been last year; as good-natured, and as
unaffected, though not quite so chatty. Jane was anxious that no
difference should be perceived in her at all, and was really persuaded
that she talked as much as ever; but her mind was so busily engaged,
that she did not always know when she was silent.
When the gentlemen rose to go away, Mrs. Bennet was mindful of her
intended civility, and they were invited and engaged to dine at
Longbourn in a few days’ time.
“You are quite a visit in my debt, Mr. Bingley,” she added; “for when
you went to town last winter, you promised to take a family dinner with
us as soon as you returned. I have not forgot, you see; and I assure you
I was very much disappointed that you did not come back and keep your
engagement.”
Bingley looked a little silly at this reflection, and said something of
his concern at having been prevented by business. They then went away.
Mrs. Bennet had been strongly inclined to ask them to stay and dine
there that day; but, though she always kept a very good table, she did
not think anything less than two courses could be good enough for a man
on whom she had such anxious designs, or satisfy the appetite and pride
of one who had ten thousand a year.{415}
[Image unavailable.]
“Jane happened to look round.”
CHAPTER LIV.
AS soon as they were gone, Elizabeth walked out to recover her spirits;
or, in other words, to dwell without interruption on those subjects
which must deaden them more. Mr. Darcy’s behaviour astonished and vexed
her.
“Why, if he came only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,” said she,
“did he come at all?”
She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.
“He could be still amiable, still pleasing to my uncle and aunt, when he
was in town; and why not to me?{416} If he fears me, why come hither? If he | 400 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
no longer cares for me, why silent? Teasing, teasing man! I will think
no more about him.”
Her resolution was for a short time involuntarily kept by the approach
of her sister, who joined her with a cheerful look which showed her
better satisfied with their visitors than Elizabeth.
“Now,” said she, “that this first meeting is over, I feel perfectly
easy. I know my own strength, and I shall never be embarrassed again by
his coming. I am glad he dines here on Tuesday. It will then be publicly
seen, that on both sides we meet only as common and indifferent
acquaintance.”
“Yes, very indifferent, indeed,” said Elizabeth, laughingly. “Oh, Jane!
take care.”
“My dear Lizzy, you cannot think me so weak as to be in danger now.”
“I think you are in very great danger of making him as much in love with
you as ever.”
They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday; and Mrs. Bennet, in
the meanwhile, was giving way to all the happy schemes which the
good-humour and common politeness of Bingley, in half an hour’s visit,
had revived.
On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two
who were most anxiously expected, to the credit of their punctuality as
sportsmen, were in very good time. When they repaired to the
dining-room, Elizabeth eagerly watched to see whether Bingley would take
the place which, in all their former parties, had belonged to him, by
her sister. Her prudent mother, occupied by the same ideas, forbore to
invite him to sit by herself. On entering the room, he{417} seemed to
hesitate; but Jane happened to look round, and happened to smile: it was
decided. He placed himself by her.
Elizabeth, with a triumphant sensation, looked towards his friend. He
bore it with noble indifference; and she would have imagined that
Bingley had received his sanction to be happy, had she not seen his eyes
likewise turned towards Mr. Darcy, with an expression of half-laughing
alarm. | 401 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
His behaviour to her sister was such during dinnertime as showed an
admiration of her, which, though more guarded than formerly, persuaded
Elizabeth, that, if left wholly to himself, Jane’s happiness, and his
own, would be speedily secured. Though she dared not depend upon the
consequence, she yet received pleasure from observing his behaviour. It
gave her all the animation that her spirits could boast; for she was in
no cheerful humour. Mr. Darcy was almost as far from her as the table
could divide them. He was on one side of her mother. She knew how little
such a situation would give pleasure to either, or make either appear to
advantage. She was not near enough to hear any of their discourse; but
she could see how seldom they spoke to each other, and how formal and
cold was their manner whenever they did. Her mother’s ungraciousness
made the sense of what they owed him more painful to Elizabeth’s mind;
and she would, at times, have given anything to be privileged to tell
him, that his kindness was neither unknown nor unfelt by the whole of
the family.
She was in hopes that the evening would afford some opportunity of
bringing them together; that the whole of the visit would not pass away
without enabling them{418} to enter into something more of conversation,
than the mere ceremonious salutation attending his entrance. Anxious and
uneasy, the period which passed in the drawing-room before the gentlemen
came, was wearisome and dull to a degree that almost made her uncivil.
She looked forward to their entrance as the point on which all her
chance of pleasure for the evening must depend.
“If he does not come to me, then,” said she, “I shall give him up for
ever.”
The gentlemen came; and she thought he looked as if he would have
answered her hopes; but, alas! the ladies had crowded round the table,
where Miss Bennet was making tea, and Elizabeth pouring out the coffee, | 402 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
in so close a confederacy, that there was not a single vacancy near her
which would admit of a chair. And on the gentlemen’s approaching, one of
the girls moved closer to her than ever, and said, in a whisper,—
“The men shan’t come and part us, I am determined. We want none of them;
do we?”
Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. She followed him with
her eyes, envied everyone to whom he spoke, had scarcely patience enough
to help anybody to coffee, and then was enraged against herself for
being so silly!
“A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to
expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex who would not
protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman?
There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings.”
She was a little revived, however, by his bringing back his coffee-cup
himself; and she seized the opportunity of saying,{419}—
“Is your sister at Pemberley still?”
“Yes; she will remain there till Christmas.”
“And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?”
“Mrs. Annesley is with her. The others have been gone on to Scarborough
these three weeks.”
She could think of nothing more to say; but if he wished to converse
with her, he might have better success. He stood by her, however, for
some minutes, in silence; and, at last, on the young lady’s whispering
to Elizabeth again, he walked away.
When the tea things were removed, and the card tables placed, the ladies
all rose; and Elizabeth was then hoping to be soon joined by him, when
all her views were overthrown, by seeing him fall a victim to her
mother’s rapacity for whist players, and in a few moments after seated
with the rest of the party. She now lost every expectation of pleasure.
They were confined for the evening at different tables; and she had
nothing to hope, but that his eyes were so often turned towards her side
of the room, as to make him play as unsuccessfully as herself. | 403 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
Mrs. Bennet had designed to keep the two Netherfield gentlemen to
supper; but their carriage was, unluckily, ordered before any of the
others, and she had no opportunity of detaining them.
“Well, girls,” said she, as soon as they were left to themselves, “what
say you to the day? I think everything has passed off uncommonly well, I
assure you. The dinner was as well dressed as any I ever saw. The
venison was roasted to a turn—and everybody said, they never saw so fat
a haunch. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the
Lucases’ last week; and even Mr. Darcy acknowledged that the partridges
were{420} remarkably well done; and I suppose he has two or three French
cooks at least. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater
beauty. Mrs. Long said so too, for I asked her whether you did not. And
what do you think she said besides? ‘Ah! Mrs. Bennet, we shall have her
at Netherfield at last!’ She did, indeed. I do think Mrs. Long is as
good a creature as ever lived—and her nieces are very pretty behaved
girls, and not at all handsome: I like them prodigiously.”
[Image unavailable.]
“Mrs. Long and her nieces.”
{421}
Mrs. Bennet, in short, was in very great spirits: she had seen enough of
Bingley’s behaviour to Jane to be convinced that she would get him at
last; and her expectations of advantage to her family, when in a happy
humour, were so far beyond reason, that she was quite disappointed at
not seeing him there again the next day, to make his proposals.
“It has been a very agreeable day,” said Miss Bennet to Elizabeth. “The
party seemed so well selected, so suitable one with the other. I hope we
may often meet again.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“Lizzy, you must not do so. You must not suspect me. It mortifies me. I
assure you that I have now learnt to enjoy his conversation as an
agreeable and sensible young man without having a wish beyond it. I am
perfectly satisfied, from what his manners now are, that he never had | 404 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
any design of engaging my affection. It is only that he is blessed with
greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally
pleasing, than any other man.”
“You are very cruel,” said her sister, “you will not let me smile, and
are provoking me to it every moment.”
“How hard it is in some cases to be believed! And how impossible in
others! But why should you wish to persuade me that I feel more than I
acknowledge?”
“That is a question which I hardly know how to answer. We all love to
instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing. Forgive
me; and if you persist in indifference, do not make me your
confidante.{422}”
[Image unavailable.]
“Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak to you.”
CHAPTER LV.
A FEW days after this visit, Mr. Bingley called again, and alone. His
friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in
ten days’ time. He sat with them above an hour, and was{423} in remarkably
good spirits. Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but, with many
expressions of concern, he confessed himself engaged elsewhere.
“Next time you call,” said she, “I hope we shall be more lucky.”
He should be particularly happy at any time, etc., etc.; and if she
would give him leave, would take an early opportunity of waiting on
them.
“Can you come to-morrow?”
Yes, he had no engagement at all for to-morrow; and her invitation was
accepted with alacrity.
He came, and in such very good time, that the ladies were none of them
dressed. In ran Mrs. Bennet to her daughters’ room, in her
dressing-gown, and with her hair half finished, crying out,—
“My dear Jane, make haste and hurry down. He is come—Mr. Bingley is
come. He is, indeed. Make haste, make haste. Here, Sarah, come to Miss
Bennet this moment, and help her on with her gown. Never mind Miss
Lizzy’s hair.”
“We will be down as soon as we can,” said Jane; “but I dare say Kitty is
forwarder than either of us, for she went upstairs half an hour ago.” | 405 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“Oh! hang Kitty! what has she to do with it? Come, be quick, be quick!
where is your sash, my dear?”
But when her mother was gone, Jane would not be prevailed on to go down
without one of her sisters.
The same anxiety to get them by themselves was visible again in the
evening. After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, as was his
custom, and Mary went upstairs to her instrument. Two obstacles of the
five being thus removed, Mrs. Bennet sat looking and winking at
Elizabeth and Catherine for a considerable time, without{424} making any
impression on them. Elizabeth would not observe her; and when at last
Kitty did, she very innocently said, “What is the matter, mamma? What do
you keep winking at me for? What am I to do?”
“Nothing, child, nothing. I did not wink at you.” She then sat still
five minutes longer; but unable to waste such a precious occasion, she
suddenly got up, and saying to Kitty,—
“Come here, my love, I want to speak to you,” took her out of the room.
Jane instantly gave a look at Elizabeth which spoke her distress at such
premeditation, and her entreaty that she would not give in to it. In a
few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half opened the door and called out,—
“Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.”
Elizabeth was forced to go.
“We may as well leave them by themselves, you know,” said her mother as
soon as she was in the hall. “Kitty and I are going upstairs to sit in
my dressing-room.”
Elizabeth made no attempt to reason with her mother, but remained
quietly in the hall till she and Kitty were out of sight, then returned
into the drawing-room.
Mrs. Bennet’s schemes for this day were ineffectual. Bingley was
everything that was charming, except the professed lover of her
daughter. His ease and cheerfulness rendered him a most agreeable
addition to their evening party; and he bore with the ill-judged
officiousness of the mother, and heard all her silly remarks with a | 406 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
forbearance and command of countenance particularly grateful to the
daughter.
He scarcely needed an invitation to stay supper; and before he went away
an engagement was formed, chiefly through his own and Mrs. Bennet’s
means, for his coming next morning to shoot with her husband.{425}
After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed
between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in the
happy belief that all must speedily be concluded, unless Mr. Darcy
returned within the stated time. Seriously, however, she felt tolerably
persuaded that all this must have taken place with that gentleman’s
concurrence.
Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the
morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more
agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption
or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into
silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the
other had ever seen him. Bingley of course returned with him to dinner;
and in the evening Mrs. Bennet’s invention was again at work to get
everybody away from him and her daughter. Elizabeth, who had a letter to
write, went into the breakfast-room for that purpose soon after tea; for
as the others were all going to sit down to cards, she could not be
wanted to counteract her mother’s schemes.
But on her returning to the drawing-room, when her letter was finished,
she saw, to her infinite surprise, there was reason to fear that her
mother had been too ingenious for her. On opening the door, she
perceived her sister and Bingley standing together over the hearth, as
if engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion,
the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each
other, would have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but
hers she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by | 407 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
either; and Elizabeth was on the point of going away again, when
Bingley, who as well as the other had sat{426} down, suddenly rose, and,
whispering a few words to her sister, ran out of the room.
Jane could have no reserves from Elizabeth, where confidence would give
pleasure; and, instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest
emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.
“’Tis too much!” she added, “by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh,
why is not everybody as happy?”
Elizabeth’s congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a
delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of
kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Jane. But she would not
allow herself to stay with her sister, or say half that remained to be
said, for the present.
“I must go instantly to my mother,” she cried. “I would not on any
account trifle with her affectionate solicitude, or allow her to hear it
from anyone but myself. He is gone to my father already. Oh, Lizzy, to
know that what I have to relate will give such pleasure to all my dear
family! how shall I bear so much happiness?”
She then hastened away to her mother, who had purposely broken up the
card-party, and was sitting upstairs with Kitty.
Elizabeth, who was left by herself, now smiled at the rapidity and ease
with which an affair was finally settled, that had given them so many
previous months of suspense and vexation.
“And this,” said she, “is the end of all his friend’s anxious
circumspection! of all his sister’s falsehood and contrivance! the
happiest, wisest, and most reasonable end!”
In a few minutes she was joined by Bingley, whose{427} conference with her
father had been short and to the purpose.
“Where is your sister?” said he hastily, as he opened the door.
“With my mother upstairs. She will be down in a moment, I dare say.”
He then shut the door, and, coming up to her, claimed the good wishes | 408 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
and affection of a sister. Elizabeth honestly and heartily expressed her
delight in the prospect of their relationship. They shook hands with
great cordiality; and then, till her sister came down, she had to listen
to all he had to say of his own happiness, and of Jane’s perfections;
and in spite of his being a lover, Elizabeth really believed all his
expectations of felicity to be rationally founded, because they had for
basis the excellent understanding and super-excellent disposition of
Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and
himself.
It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of
Miss Bennet’s mind gave such a glow of sweet animation to her face, as
made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped
her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent, or
speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings,
though she talked to Bingley of nothing else, for half an hour; and when
Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed
how really happy he was.
Not a word, however, passed his lips in allusion to it, till their
visitor took his leave for the night; but as soon as he was gone, he
turned to his daughter and said,—
“Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.{428}”
Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his
goodness.
“You are a good girl,” he replied, “and I have great pleasure in
thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your
doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are
each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so
easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will
always exceed your income.”
“I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be
unpardonable in me.”
“Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife, “what are you | 409 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely
more.” Then addressing her daughter, “Oh, my dear, dear Jane, I am so
happy! I am sure I shan’t get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it
would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not
be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when
he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was
that you should come together. Oh, he is the handsomest young man that
ever was seen!”
Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition her
favourite child. At that moment she cared for no other. Her younger
sisters soon began to make interest with her for objects of happiness
which she might in future be able to dispense.
Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty
begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.
Bingley, from this time, was of course a daily visitor at Longbourn;
coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after
supper; unless when some{429} barbarous neighbour, who could not be enough
detested, had given him an invitation to dinner, which he thought
himself obliged to accept.
Elizabeth had now but little time for conversation with her sister; for
while he was present Jane had no attention to bestow on anyone else: but
she found herself considerably useful to both of them, in those hours of
separation that must sometimes occur. In the absence of Jane, he always
attached himself to Elizabeth for the pleasure of talking of her; and
when Bingley was gone, Jane constantly sought the same means of relief.
“He has made me so happy,” said she, one evening, “by telling me that he
was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed
it possible.”
“I suspected as much,” replied Elizabeth. “But how did he account for
it?”
“It must have been his sisters’ doing. They were certainly no friends to | 410 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
his acquaintance with me, which I cannot wonder at, since he might have
chosen so much more advantageously in many respects. But when they see,
as I trust they will, that their brother is happy with me, they will
learn to be contented, and we shall be on good terms again: though we
can never be what we once were to each other.”
“That is the most unforgiving speech,” said Elizabeth, “that I ever
heard you utter. Good girl! It would vex me, indeed, to see you again
the dupe of Miss Bingley’s pretended regard.”
“Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November he
really loved me, and nothing but a persuasion of my being indifferent
would have prevented his coming down again?{430}”
“He made a little mistake, to be sure; but it is to the credit of his
modesty.”
This naturally introduced a panegyric from Jane on his diffidence, and
the little value he put on his own good qualities.
Elizabeth was pleased to find that he had not betrayed the interference
of his friend; for, though Jane had the most generous and forgiving
heart in the world, she knew it was a circumstance which must prejudice
her against him.
“I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!” cried
Jane. “Oh, Lizzy, why am I thus singled from my family, and blessed
above them all? If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such
another man for you!”
“If you were to give me forty such men I never could be so happy as you.
Till I have your disposition, your goodness, I never can have your
happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very
good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time.”
The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a
secret. Mrs. Bennet was privileged to whisper it to Mrs. Philips, and
she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her
neighbours in Meryton.
The Bennets were speedily pronounced to be the luckiest family in the | 411 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
world; though only a few weeks before, when Lydia had first run away,
they had been generally proved to be marked out for misfortune.{431}
CHAPTER LVI.
ONE morning, about a week after Bingley’s engagement with Jane had been
formed, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the
dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the
sound of a carriage; and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the
lawn. It was too early in the morning for visitors; and besides, the
equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses
were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who
preceded it, were familiar to them. As{432} it was certain, however, that
somebody was coming, Bingley instantly prevailed on Miss Bennet to avoid
the confinement of such an intrusion, and walk away with him into the
shrubbery. They both set off; and the conjectures of the remaining three
continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown
open, and their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
They were of course all intending to be surprised: but their
astonishment was beyond their expectation; and on the part of Mrs.
Bennet and Kitty, though she was perfectly unknown to them, even
inferior to what Elizabeth felt.
She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no
other reply to Elizabeth’s salutation than a slight inclination of the
head, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her
name to her mother on her Ladyship’s entrance, though no request of
introduction had been made.
Mrs. Bennet, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such
high importance, received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting
for a moment in silence, she said, very stiffly, to Elizabeth,—
“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your
mother?”
Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was. | 412 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“And that, I suppose, is one of your sisters?”
“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to a Lady Catherine.
“She is my youngest girl but one. My youngest of all is lately married,
and my eldest is somewhere about the ground, walking with a young man,
who, I believe, will soon become a part of the family.{433}”
“You have a very small park here,” returned Lady Catherine, after a
short silence.
“It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my Lady, I dare say; but, I
assure you, it is much larger than Sir William Lucas’s.”
“This must be a most inconvenient sitting-room for the evening in
summer: the windows are full west.”
Mrs. Bennet assured her that they never sat there after dinner; and then
added,—
“May I take the liberty of asking your Ladyship whether you left Mr. and
Mrs. Collins well?”
“Yes, very well. I saw them the night before last.”
Elizabeth now expected that she would produce a letter for her from
Charlotte, as it seemed the only probable motive for her calling. But no
letter appeared, and she was completely puzzled.
Mrs. Bennet, with great civility, begged her Ladyship to take some
refreshment: but Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely,
declined eating anything; and then, rising up, said to Elizabeth,—
“Miss Bennet, there seemed to be a prettyish kind of a little wilderness
on one side of your lawn. I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you
will favour me with your company.”
“Go, my dear,” cried her mother, “and show her Ladyship about the
different walks. I think she will be pleased with the hermitage.”
Elizabeth obeyed; and, running into her own room for her parasol,
attended her noble guest downstairs. As they passed through the hall,
Lady Catherine opened the doors into the dining-parlour and
drawing-room, and pronouncing them, after a short survey, to be
decent-looking rooms, walked on.{434}
Her carriage remained at the door, and Elizabeth saw that her | 413 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
waiting-woman was in it. They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk
that led to the copse; Elizabeth was determined to make no effort for
conversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and
disagreeable.
[Image unavailable.]
“After a short survey”
[Copyright 1894 by George Allen.]
{435}
“How could I ever think her like her nephew?” said she, as she looked in
her face.
As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following
manner:—
“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my
journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I
come.”
Elizabeth looked with unaffected astonishment.
“Indeed, you are mistaken, madam; I have not been at all able to account
for the honour of seeing you here.”
“Miss Bennet,” replied her Ladyship, in an angry tone, “you ought to
know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may
choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been
celebrated for its sincerity and frankness; and in a cause of such
moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it. A report of a most
alarming nature reached me two days ago. I was told, that not only your
sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that
you—that Miss Elizabeth Bennet would, in all likelihood, be soon
afterwards united to my nephew—my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. Though I
know it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him
so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on
setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to
you.”
“If you believed it impossible to be true,” said Elizabeth, colouring
with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming
so far. What could your Ladyship propose by it?”
“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.{436}”
“Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,” said Elizabeth | 414 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it—if, indeed, such a report
is in existence.”
“If! do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been
industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a
report is spread abroad?”
“I never heard that it was.”
“And can you likewise declare, that there is no foundation for it?”
“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your Ladyship. You
may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.”
“This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied. Has
he, has my nephew, made you an offer of marriage?”
“Your Ladyship has declared it to be impossible.”
“It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his
reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation,
have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You
may have drawn him in.”
“If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.”
“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such
language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world,
and am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”
“But you are not entitled to know mine; nor will such behaviour as
this ever induce me to be explicit.”
“Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the
presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is
engaged to my daughter. Now, what have you to say?{437}”
“Only this,—that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will
make an offer to me.”
Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied,—
“The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy,
they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of
his mother, as well as of hers. While in their cradles we planned the
union; and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be
accomplished, is their marriage to be prevented by a young woman of | 415 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to
the family? Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends—to his
tacit engagement with Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of
propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say, that from his
earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?”
“Yes; and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? If there is no
other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be
kept from it by knowing that his mother and aunt wished him to marry
Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the
marriage. Its completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by
honour nor inclination confined to his cousin, why is not he to make
another choice? And if I am that choice, why may not I accept him?”
“Because honour, decorum, prudence—nay, interest—forbid it. Yes, Miss
Bennet, interest; for do not expect to be noticed by his family or
friends, if you wilfully act against the inclinations of all. You will
be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with him.
Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned
by any of us.{438}”
“These are heavy misfortunes,” replied Elizabeth. “But the wife of Mr.
Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness necessarily
attached to her situation, that she could, upon the whole, have no cause
to repine.”
“Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude
for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that
score? Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came
here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I
be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s
whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.”
“That will make your Ladyship’s situation at present more pitiable;
but it will have no effect on me.” | 416 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“I will not be interrupted! Hear me in silence. My daughter and my
nephew are formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal
side, from the same noble line; and, on the father’s, from respectable,
honourable, and ancient, though untitled, families. Their fortune on
both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of
every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide
them?—the upstart pretensions of a young woman without family,
connections, or fortune! Is this to be endured? But it must not, shall
not be! If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to
quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.”
“In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that
sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter; so far we are
equal.”
“True. You are a gentleman’s daughter. But what was your mother? Who
are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their
condition.{439}”
“Whatever my connections may be,” said Elizabeth, “if your nephew does
not object to them, they can be nothing to you.”
“Tell me, once for all, are you engaged to him?”
Though Elizabeth would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lady
Catherine, have answered this question, she could not but say, after a
moment’s deliberation,—
“I am not.”
Lady Catherine seemed pleased.
“And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?”
“I will make no promise of the kind.”
“Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more
reasonable young woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I
will ever recede. I shall not go away till you have given me the
assurance I require.”
“And I certainly never shall give it. I am not to be intimidated into
anything so wholly unreasonable. Your Ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry
your daughter; but would my giving you the wished-for promise make
their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to | 417 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on
his cousin? Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with
which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as
frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my
character, if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these.
How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs,
I cannot tell; but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in
mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no further on the
subject.{440}”
“Not so hasty, if you please. I have by no means done. To all the
objections I have already urged I have still another to add. I am no
stranger to the particulars of your youngest sister’s infamous
elopement. I know it all; that the young man’s marrying her was a
patched-up business, at the expense of your father and uncle. And is
such a girl to be my nephew’s sister? Is her husband, who is the son
of his late father’s steward, to be his brother? Heaven and earth!—of
what are you thinking? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?”
“You can now have nothing further to say,” she resentfully answered.
“You have insulted me, in every possible method. I must beg to return to
the house.”
And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned
back. Her Ladyship was highly incensed.
“You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of my nephew!
Unfeeling, selfish girl! Do you not consider that a connection with you
must disgrace him in the eyes of everybody?”
“Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments.”
“You are then resolved to have him?”
“I have said no such thing. I am only resolved to act in that manner,
which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without
reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.”
“It is well. You refuse, then, to oblige me. You refuse to obey the | 418 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
claims of duty, honour, and gratitude. You are determined to ruin him in
the opinion of all his friends, and make him the contempt of the world.”
“Neither duty, nor honour, nor gratitude,” replied Elizabeth, “has any
possible claim on me, in the present instance. No principle of either
would be violated by my{441} marriage with Mr. Darcy. And with regard to the
resentment of his family, or the indignation of the world, if the former
were excited by his marrying me, it would not give me one moment’s
concern—and the world in general would have too much sense to join in
the scorn.”
“And this is your real opinion! This is your final resolve! Very well. I
shall now know how to act. Do not imagine, Miss Bennet, that your
ambition will ever be gratified. I came to try you. I hoped to find you
reasonable; but depend upon it I will carry my point.”
In this manner Lady Catherine talked on till they were at the door of
the carriage, when, turning hastily round, she added,—
“I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet. I send no compliments to your
mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”
Elizabeth made no answer; and without attempting to persuade her
Ladyship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She
heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded upstairs. Her mother
impatiently met her at the door of her dressing-room, to ask why Lady
Catherine would not come in again and rest herself.
“She did not choose it,” said her daughter; “she would go.”
“She is a very fine-looking woman! and her calling here was prodigiously
civil! for she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well.
She is on her road somewhere, I dare say; and so, passing through
Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had
nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth was forced to give in to a little falsehood here; for to
acknowledge the substance of their conversation was impossible.{442} | 419 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
[Image unavailable.]
“But now it comes out.”
CHAPTER LVII.
THE discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw
Elizabeth into could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many
hours learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lady Catherine, it
appeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Rosings
for the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Mr.
Darcy. It was a rational scheme, to be sure! but from what the report of
their engagement could originate, Elizabeth was at a loss to imagine;
till she recollected that his being the intimate friend of Bingley,
and her being the sister of Jane, was enough, at a time when the
expectation of one wedding made everybody eager for another, to supply
the idea. She had not herself forgotten to feel that the marriage of her
sister must bring them more frequently together. And her neighbours at
Lucas Lodge, therefore, (for through their{443} communication with the
Collinses, the report, she concluded, had reached Lady Catherine,) had
only set that down as almost certain and immediate which she had
looked forward to as possible at some future time.
In revolving Lady Catherine’s expressions, however, she could not help
feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of her persisting
in this interference. From what she had said of her resolution to
prevent the marriage, it occurred to Elizabeth that she must meditate an
application to her nephew; and how he might take a similar
representation of the evils attached to a connection with her she dared
not pronounce. She knew not the exact degree of his affection for his
aunt, or his dependence on her judgment, but it was natural to suppose
that he thought much higher of her Ladyship than she could do; and it
was certain, that in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with one
whose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his aunt would | 420 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
address him on his weakest side. With his notions of dignity, he would
probably feel that the arguments, which to Elizabeth had appeared weak
and ridiculous, contained much good sense and solid reasoning.
If he had been wavering before, as to what he should do, which had often
seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might
settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity
unblemished could make him. In that case he would return no more. Lady
Catherine might see him in her way through town; and his engagement to
Bingley of coming again to Netherfield must give way.
“If, therefore, an excuse for not keeping his promise should come to his
friend within a few days,” she added, “I shall know how to understand
it. I shall then give{444} over every expectation, every wish of his
constancy. If he is satisfied with only regretting me, when he might
have obtained my affections and hand, I shall soon cease to regret him
at all.”
The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had
been, was very great: but they obligingly satisfied it with the same
kind of supposition which had appeased Mrs. Bennet’s curiosity; and
Elizabeth was spared from much teasing on the subject.
The next morning, as she was going down stairs, she was met by her
father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.
“Lizzy,” said he, “I was going to look for you: come into my room.”
She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to tell
her was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner
connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might
be from Lady Catherine, and she anticipated with dismay all the
consequent explanations.
She followed her father to the fireplace, and they both sat down. He
then said,—
“I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me
exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its | 421 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
contents. I did not know before that I had two daughters on the brink
of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.”
The colour now rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks in the instantaneous
conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt;
and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained
himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to
herself, when her father continued,{445}—
“You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters
as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity to discover the
name of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins.”
“From Mr. Collins! and what can he have to say?”
“Something very much to the purpose, of course. He begins with
congratulations on the approaching nuptials of my eldest daughter, of
which, it seems, he has been told by some of the good-natured, gossiping
Lucases. I shall not sport with your impatience by reading what he says
on that point. What relates to yourself is as follows:—‘Having thus
offered you the sincere congratulations of Mrs. Collins and myself on
this happy event, let me now add a short hint on the subject of another,
of which we have been advertised by the same authority. Your daughter
Elizabeth, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Bennet, after
her eldest sister has resigned it; and the chosen partner of her fate
may be reasonably looked up to as one of the most illustrious personages
in this land.’ Can you possibly guess, Lizzy, who is meant by this?
‘This young gentleman is blessed, in a peculiar way, with everything the
heart of mortal can most desire,—splendid property, noble kindred, and
extensive patronage. Yet, in spite of all these temptations, let me warn
my cousin Elizabeth, and yourself, of what evils you may incur by a
precipitate closure with this gentleman’s proposals, which, of course, | 422 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
you will be inclined to take immediate advantage of.’ Have you any idea,
Lizzy, who this gentleman is? But now it comes out. ‘My motive for
cautioning you is as follows:—We have reason to imagine that his aunt,
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does not look on the match with a friendly
eye.’ Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think{446} I have
surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man, within
the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more
effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any
woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in
his life! It is admirable!”
Elizabeth tried to join in her father’s pleasantry, but could only force
one most reluctant smile. Never had his wit been directed in a manner so
little agreeable to her.
“Are you not diverted?”
“Oh, yes. Pray read on.”
“‘After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to her Ladyship last
night, she immediately, with her usual condescension, expressed what she
felt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that, on the score of
some family objections on the part of my cousin, she would never give
her consent to what she termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my
duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to my cousin, that she
and her noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run
hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.’ Mr.
Collins, moreover, adds, ‘I am truly rejoiced that my cousin Lydia’s sad
business has been so well hushed up, and am only concerned that their
living together before the marriage took place should be so generally
known. I must not, however, neglect the duties of my station, or refrain
from declaring my amazement, at hearing that you received the young
couple into your house as soon as they were married. It was an
encouragement of vice; and had I been the rector of Longbourn, I should | 423 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
very strenuously have opposed it. You ought certainly to forgive them as
a Christian, but never to admit them{447} in your sight, or allow their
names to be mentioned in your hearing.’ That is his notion of
Christian forgiveness! The rest of his letter is only about his dear
Charlotte’s situation, and his expectation of a young olive-branch. But,
Lizzy, you look as if you did not enjoy it. You are not going to be
missish, I hope, and pretend to be affronted at an idle report. For
what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them
in our turn?”
“Oh,” cried Elizabeth, “I am exceedingly diverted. But it is so
strange!”
“Yes, that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man
it would have been nothing; but his perfect indifference and your
pointed dislike make it so delightfully absurd! Much as I abominate
writing, I would not give up Mr. Collins’s correspondence for any
consideration. Nay, when I read a letter of his, I cannot help giving
him the preference even over Wickham, much as I value the impudence and
hypocrisy of my son-in-law. And pray, Lizzy, what said Lady Catherine
about this report? Did she call to refuse her consent?”
To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had
been asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by his
repeating it. Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her
feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh when she
would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her by
what he said of Mr. Darcy’s indifference; and she could do nothing but
wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that, perhaps, instead of
his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.{448}
[Image unavailable.]
“The efforts of his aunt.”
CHAPTER LVIII.
INSTEAD of receiving any such letter of excuse from his friend, as
Elizabeth half expected Mr. Bingley to do, he was able to bring Darcy | 424 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
with him to Longbourn before many days had passed after Lady Catherine’s
visit. The gentlemen{449} arrived early; and, before Mrs. Bennet had time to
tell him of their having seen his aunt, of which her daughter sat in
momentary dread, Bingley, who wanted to be alone with Jane, proposed
their all walking out. It was agreed to. Mrs. Bennet was not in the
habit of walking, Mary could never spare time, but the remaining five
set off together. Bingley and Jane, however, soon allowed the others to
outstrip them. They lagged behind, while Elizabeth, Kitty, and Darcy
were to entertain each other. Very little was said by either; Kitty was
too much afraid of him to talk; Elizabeth was secretly forming a
desperate resolution; and, perhaps, he might be doing the same.
They walked towards the Lucases’, because Kitty wished to call upon
Maria; and as Elizabeth saw no occasion for making it a general concern,
when Kitty left them she went boldly on with him alone. Now was the
moment for her resolution to be executed; and while her courage was
high, she immediately said,—
“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature, and for the sake of giving
relief to my own feelings care not how much I may be wounding yours. I
can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to my poor
sister. Ever since I have known it I have been most anxious to
acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. Were it known to the rest
of my family I should not have merely my own gratitude to express.”
“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise
and emotion, “that you have ever been informed of what may, in a
mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner
was so little to be trusted.”
“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessness{450} first betrayed to
me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could
not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, | 425 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced
you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the
sake of discovering them.”
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone.
That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other
inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your
family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought
only of you.”
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause,
her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your
feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My
affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence
me on this subject for ever.”
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of
his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not
very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone
so material a change since the period to which he alluded, as to make
her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The
happiness which this reply produced was such as he had probably never
felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as
warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth
been able to encounter his eyes, she might have seen how well the
expression of heartfelt delight diffused over his face became him: but
though she could not look she could listen; and he told her of{451} feelings
which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection
every moment more valuable.
They walked on without knowing in what direction. There was too much to
be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She
soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding
to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through | 426 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the
substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on
every expression of the latter, which, in her Ladyship’s apprehension,
peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance, in the belief that
such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from
her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her
Ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.
“It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself
to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that
had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have
acknowledged it to Lady Catherine frankly and openly.”
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of
my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so
abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all
your relations.”
“What did you say of me that I did not deserve? For though your
accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour
to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was
unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.”
“We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that
evening,” said Elizabeth. “The conduct{452} of neither, if strictly
examined, will be irreproachable; but since then we have both, I hope,
improved in civility.”
“I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I
then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of
it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your
reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘Had you behaved in a
more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can
scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; though it was some time, I
confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.” | 427 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an
impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such
a way.”
“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper
feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never
forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible
way that would induce you to accept me.”
“Oh, do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at
all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”
Darcy mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he,—“did it soon make you
think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its
contents?”
She explained what its effects on her had been, and how gradually all
her former prejudices had been removed.
“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was
necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part,
especially the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power
of{453} reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly
make you hate me.”
“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the
preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my
opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily
changed as that implies.”
“When I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself perfectly
calm and cool; but I am since convinced that it was written in a
dreadful bitterness of spirit.”
“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The
adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings
of the person who wrote and the person who received it are now so widely
different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance
attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my
philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you
pleasure.” | 428 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your
retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment
arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of
ignorance. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will
intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a
selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a
child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my
temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride
and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child),
I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves, (my father
particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged,
almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing, to care for none beyond
my{454} own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to
wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with
my own. Such I was, from eight to eight-and-twenty; and such I might
still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not
owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most
advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a
doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my
pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”
“Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?”
“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be
wishing, expecting my addresses.”
“My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure
you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me
wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening!”
“Hate you! I was angry, perhaps, at first, but my anger soon began to
take a proper direction.”
“I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me when we met at
Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”
“No, indeed, I felt nothing but surprise.” | 429 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you.
My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I
confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”
“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility
in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped
to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you
see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes
introduced themselves, I can hardly{455} tell, but I believe in about half
an hour after I had seen you.”
He then told her of Georgiana’s delight in her acquaintance, and of her
disappointment at its sudden interruption; which naturally leading to
the cause of that interruption, she soon learnt that his resolution of
following her from Derbyshire in quest of her sister had been formed
before he quitted the inn, and that his gravity and thoughtfulness there
had arisen from no other struggles than what such a purpose must
comprehend.
She expressed her gratitude again, but it was too painful a subject to
each to be dwelt on farther.
After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, and too busy to know
anything about it, they found at last, on examining their watches, that
it was time to be at home.
“What could have become of Mr. Bingley and Jane?” was a wonder which
introduced the discussion of their affairs. Darcy was delighted with
their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of
it.
“I must ask whether you were surprised?” said Elizabeth.
“Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen.”
“That is to say, you had given your permission. I guessed as much.” And
though he exclaimed at the term, she found that it had been pretty much
the case.
“On the evening before my going to London,” said he, “I made a
confession to him, which I believe I ought to have made long ago. I told | 430 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
him of all that had occurred to make my former interference in his
affairs absurd and impertinent. His surprise was great. He had never had
the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I{456} believed myself
mistaken in supposing, as I had done, that your sister was indifferent
to him; and as I could easily perceive that his attachment to her was
unabated, I felt no doubt of their happiness together.”
Elizabeth could not help smiling at his easy manner of directing his
friend.
“Did you speak from your own observation,” said she, “when you told him
that my sister loved him, or merely from my information last spring?”
“From the former. I had narrowly observed her, during the two visits
which I had lately made her here; and I was convinced of her affection.”
“And your assurance of it, I suppose, carried immediate conviction to
him.”
“It did. Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. His diffidence had
prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but
his reliance on mine made everything easy. I was obliged to confess one
thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not
allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months
last winter, that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. He was
angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained
in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments. He has heartily forgiven me
now.”
Elizabeth longed to observe that Mr. Bingley had been a most delightful
friend; so easily guided that his worth was invaluable; but she checked
herself. She remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and
it was rather too early to begin. In anticipating the happiness of
Bingley, which of course was to be inferior only to his own, he
continued the conversation till they reached the house. In the hall they
parted.{457}
[Image unavailable.]
“Unable to utter a syllable.”
CHAPTER LIX. | 431 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“MY dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?” was a question
which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room, and
from all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in
reply, that{458} they had wandered about till she was beyond her own
knowledge. She coloured as she spoke; but neither that, nor anything
else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.
The evening passed quietly, unmarked by anything extraordinary. The
acknowledged lovers talked and laughed; the unacknowledged were silent.
Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth;
and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knew that she was happy
than felt herself to be so; for, besides the immediate embarrassment,
there were other evils before her. She anticipated what would be felt in
the family when her situation became known: she was aware that no one
liked him but Jane; and even feared that with the others it was a
dislike which not all his fortune and consequence might do away.
At night she opened her heart to Jane. Though suspicion was very far
from Miss Bennet’s general habits, she was absolutely incredulous here.
“You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! Engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no,
you shall not deceive me: I know it to be impossible.”
“This is a wretched beginning, indeed! My sole dependence was on you;
and I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, I
am in earnest. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we
are engaged.”
Jane looked at her doubtingly. “Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much
you dislike him.”
“You know nothing of the matter. That is all to be forgot. Perhaps I
did not always love him so well as I do now; but in such cases as these
a good memory is unpardonable. This is the last time I shall ever
remember it myself.{459}”
Miss Bennet still looked all amazement. Elizabeth again, and more
seriously, assured her of its truth. | 432 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“Good heaven! can it be really so? Yet now I must believe you,” cried
Jane. “My dear, dear Lizzy, I would, I do congratulate you; but are you
certain—forgive the question—are you quite certain that you can be
happy with him?”
“There can be no doubt of that. It is settled between us already that we
are to be the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane?
Shall you like to have such a brother?”
“Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more
delight. But we considered it, we talked of it as impossible. And do you
really love him quite well enough? Oh, Lizzy! do anything rather than
marry without affection. Are you quite sure that you feel what you ought
to do?”
“Oh, yes! You will only think I feel more than I ought to do when I
tell you all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, I must confess that I love him better than I do Bingley. I am
afraid you will be angry.”
“My dearest sister, now be, be serious. I want to talk very seriously.
Let me know everything that I am to know without delay. Will you tell me
how long you have loved him?”
“It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began;
but I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds
at Pemberley.”
Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the
desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of
attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing
further to wish.{460}
“Now I am quite happy,” said she, “for you will be as happy as myself. I
always had a value for him. Were it for nothing but his love of you, I
must always have esteemed him; but now, as Bingley’s friend and your
husband, there can be only Bingley and yourself more dear to me. But,
Lizzy, you have been very sly, very reserved with me. How little did you
tell me of what passed at Pemberley and Lambton! I owe all that I know
of it to another, not to you.” | 433 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
Elizabeth told her the motives of her secrecy. She had been unwilling to
mention Bingley; and the unsettled state of her own feelings had made
her equally avoid the name of his friend: but now she would no longer
conceal from her his share in Lydia’s marriage. All was acknowledged,
and half the night spent in conversation.
“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Bennet, as she stood at a window the next
morning, “if that disagreeable Mr. Darcy is not coming here again with
our dear Bingley! What can he mean by being so tiresome as to be always
coming here? I had no notion but he would go a-shooting, or something or
other, and not disturb us with his company. What shall we do with him?
Lizzy, you must walk out with him again, that he may not be in Bingley’s
way.”
Elizabeth could hardly help laughing at so convenient a proposal; yet
was really vexed that her mother should be always giving him such an
epithet.
As soon as they entered, Bingley looked at her so expressively, and
shook hands with such warmth, as left no doubt of his good information;
and he soon afterwards said aloud, “Mrs. Bennet, have you no more lanes
hereabouts in which Lizzy may lose her way again to-day?”
“I advise Mr. Darcy, and Lizzy, and Kitty,” said Mrs.{461} Bennet, “to walk
to Oakham Mount this morning. It is a nice long walk, and Mr. Darcy has
never seen the view.”
“It may do very well for the others,” replied Mr. Bingley; “but I am
sure it will be too much for Kitty. Won’t it, Kitty?”
Kitty owned that she had rather stay at home. Darcy professed a great
curiosity to see the view from the Mount, and Elizabeth silently
consented. As she went upstairs to get ready, Mrs. Bennet followed her,
saying,—
“I am quite sorry, Lizzy, that you should be forced to have that
disagreeable man all to yourself; but I hope you will not mind it. It is
all for Jane’s sake, you know; and there is no occasion for talking to | 434 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
him except just now and then; so do not put yourself to inconvenience.”
During their walk, it was resolved that Mr. Bennet’s consent should be
asked in the course of the evening: Elizabeth reserved to herself the
application for her mother’s. She could not determine how her mother
would take it; sometimes doubting whether all his wealth and grandeur
would be enough to overcome her abhorrence of the man; but whether she
were violently set against the match, or violently delighted with it, it
was certain that her manner would be equally ill adapted to do credit to
her sense; and she could no more bear that Mr. Darcy should hear the
first raptures of her joy, than the first vehemence of her
disapprobation.
In the evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw
Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him, and her agitation on seeing it was
extreme. She did not fear her father’s opposition, but he was going to
be made unhappy, and that it should be through her means; that she,
his favourite child, should be distressing him by her choice, should be
filling him with fears and regrets in{462} disposing of her, was a wretched
reflection, and she sat in misery till Mr. Darcy appeared again, when,
looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes
he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while
pretending to admire her work, said in a whisper, “Go to your father; he
wants you in the library.” She was gone directly.
Her father was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious.
“Lizzy,” said he, “what are you doing? Are you out of your senses to be
accepting this man? Have not you always hated him?”
How earnestly did she then wish that her former opinions had been more
reasonable, her expressions more moderate! It would have spared her from
explanations and professions which it was exceedingly awkward to give;
but they were now necessary, and she assured him, with some confusion, | 435 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
of her attachment to Mr. Darcy.
“Or, in other words, you are determined to have him. He is rich, to be
sure, and you may have more fine clothes and fine carriages than Jane.
But will they make you happy?”
“Have you any other objection,” said Elizabeth, “than your belief of my
indifference?”
“None at all. We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but
this would be nothing if you really liked him.”
“I do, I do like him,” she replied, with tears in her eyes; “I love him.
Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not
know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in
such terms.”
“Lizzy,” said her father, “I have given him my consent. He is the kind
of man, indeed, to whom I{463} should never dare refuse anything, which he
condescended to ask. I now give it to you, if you are resolved on
having him. But let me advise you to think better of it. I know your
disposition, Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor
respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband, unless you looked
up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the
greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape
discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing
you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are
about.”
Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply;
and, at length, by repeated assurances that Mr. Darcy was really the
object of her choice, by explaining the gradual change which her
estimation of him had undergone, relating her absolute certainty that
his affection was not the work of a day, but had stood the test of many
months’ suspense, and enumerating with energy all his good qualities,
she did conquer her father’s incredulity, and reconcile him to the
match.
“Well, my dear,” said he, when she ceased speaking, “I have no more to | 436 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with
you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy.”
To complete the favourable impression, she then told him what Mr. Darcy
had voluntarily done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.
“This is an evening of wonders, indeed! And so, Darcy did everything;
made up the match, gave the money, paid the fellow’s debts, and got him
his commission! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble
and economy. Had it been your uncle’s doing, I must and would have
paid him; but these violent{464} young lovers carry everything their own
way. I shall offer to pay him to-morrow, he will rant and storm about
his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter.”
He then recollected her embarrassment a few days before on his reading
Mr. Collins’s letter; and after laughing at her some time, allowed her
at last to go, saying, as she quitted the room, “If any young men come
for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite at leisure.”
Elizabeth’s mind was now relieved from a very heavy weight; and, after
half an hour’s quiet reflection in her own room, she was able to join
the others with tolerable composure. Everything was too recent for
gaiety, but the evening passed tranquilly away; there was no longer
anything material to be dreaded, and the comfort of ease and familiarity
would come in time.
When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, she followed her,
and made the important communication. Its effect was most extraordinary;
for, on first hearing it, Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to
utter a syllable. Nor was it under many, many minutes, that she could
comprehend what she heard, though not in general backward to credit what
was for the advantage of her family, or that came in the shape of a
lover to any of them. She began at length to recover, to fidget about in
her chair, get up, sit down again, wonder, and bless herself. | 437 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
“Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would
have thought it? And is it really true? Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! how rich
and how great you will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages
you will have! Jane’s is nothing to it—nothing at all. I am so
pleased—so happy. Such a charming man! so handsome! so tall! Oh, my
dear{465} Lizzy! pray apologize for my having disliked him so much before. I
hope he will overlook it. Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Everything
that is charming! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh,
Lord! what will become of me? I shall go distracted.”
This was enough to prove that her approbation need not be doubted; and
Elizabeth, rejoicing that such an effusion was heard only by herself,
soon went away. But before she had been three minutes in her own room,
her mother followed her.
“My dearest child,” she cried, “I can think of nothing else. Ten
thousand a year, and very likely more! ‘Tis as good as a lord! And a
special licence—you must and shall be married by a special licence.
But, my dearest love, tell me what dish Mr. Darcy is particularly fond
of, that I may have it to-morrow.”
This was a sad omen of what her mother’s behaviour to the gentleman
himself might be; and Elizabeth found that, though in the certain
possession of his warmest affection, and secure of her relations’
consent, there was still something to be wished for. But the morrow
passed off much better than she expected; for Mrs. Bennet luckily stood
in such awe of her intended son-in-law, that she ventured not to speak
to him, unless it was in her power to offer him any attention, or mark
her deference for his opinion.
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing her father taking pains to get
acquainted with him; and Mr. Bennet soon assured her that he was rising
every hour in his esteem.
“I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,” said he. “Wickham, perhaps, | 438 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well
as Jane’s.{466}”
[Image unavailable.]
“The obsequious civility.”
CHAPTER LX.
ELIZABETH’S spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Mr.
Darcy to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. “How could
you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when
you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first
place?{467}”
“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which
laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I
knew that I had begun.”
“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behaviour
to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke
to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now, be
sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”
“For the liveliness of your mind I did.”
“You may as well call it impertinence at once. It was very little less.
The fact is, that you were sick of civility, of deference, of officious
attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking,
and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and
interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really
amiable you would have hated me for it: but in spite of the pains you
took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and
in your heart you thoroughly despised the persons who so assiduously
courted you. There—I have saved you the trouble of accounting for it;
and really, all things considered, I begin to think it perfectly
reasonable. To be sure you know no actual good of me—but nobody thinks
of that when they fall in love.”
“Was there no good in your affectionate behaviour to Jane, while she was
ill at Netherfield?”
“Dearest Jane! who could have done less for her? But make a virtue of it
by all means. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are | 439 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me
to find occasions for teasing and quarrelling with you as often as may
be; and I shall begin directly, by asking you what made you so unwilling
to come to the point at last?{468} What made you so shy of me, when you
first called, and afterwards dined here? Why, especially, when you
called, did you look as if you did not care about me?”
“Because you were grave and silent, and gave me no encouragement.”
“But I was embarrassed.”
“And so was I.”
“You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner.”
“A man who had felt less might.”
“How unlucky that you should have a reasonable answer to give, and that
I should be so reasonable as to admit it! But I wonder how long you
would have gone on, if you had been left to yourself. I wonder when
you would have spoken if I had not asked you! My resolution of
thanking you for your kindness to Lydia had certainly great effect. Too
much, I am afraid; for what becomes of the moral, if our comfort
springs from a breach of promise, for I ought not to have mentioned the
subject? This will never do.”
“You need not distress yourself. The moral will be perfectly fair. Lady
Catherine’s unjustifiable endeavours to separate us were the means of
removing all my doubts. I am not indebted for my present happiness to
your eager desire of expressing your gratitude. I was not in a humour to
wait for an opening of yours. My aunt’s intelligence had given me hope,
and I was determined at once to know everything.”
“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use, which ought to make her happy,
for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to
Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed?
or had you intended any more serious consequences?{469}”
“My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I
might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to | 440 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
myself, was to see whether your sister was still partial to Bingley, and
if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.”
“Shall you ever have courage to announce to Lady Catherine what is to
befall her?”
“I am more likely to want time than courage, Elizabeth. But it ought to
be done; and if you will give me a sheet of paper it shall be done
directly.”
“And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and
admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But
I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected.”
From an unwillingness to confess how much her intimacy with Mr. Darcy
had been overrated, Elizabeth had never yet answered Mrs. Gardiner’s
long letter; but now, having that to communicate which she knew would
be most welcome, she was almost ashamed to find that her uncle and aunt
had already lost three days of happiness, and immediately wrote as
follows:—
“I would have thanked you before, my dear aunt, as I ought to have done,
for your long, kind, satisfactory detail of particulars; but, to say the
truth, I was too cross to write. You supposed more than really existed.
But now suppose as much as you choose; give a loose to your fancy,
indulge your imagination in every possible flight which the subject will
afford, and unless you believe me actually married, you cannot greatly
err. You must write again very soon, and praise him a great deal more
than you did in your last. I thank you again and again, for not going to
the Lakes. How could I be so{470} silly as to wish it! Your idea of the
ponies is delightful. We will go round the park every day. I am the
happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so
before, but no one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she
only smiles, I laugh. Mr. Darcy sends you all the love in the world that
can be spared from me. You are all to come to Pemberley at Christmas.
Yours,” etc. | 441 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
Mr. Darcy’s letter to Lady Catherine was in a different style, and still
different from either was what Mr. Bennet sent to Mr. Collins, in return
for his last.
“Dear Sir,
“I must trouble you once more for congratulations. Elizabeth will
soon be the wife of Mr. Darcy. Console Lady Catherine as well as
you can. But, if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has
more to give.
“Yours sincerely,” etc.
Miss Bingley’s congratulations to her brother on his approaching
marriage were all that was affectionate and insincere. She wrote even to
Jane on the occasion, to express her delight, and repeat all her former
professions of regard. Jane was not deceived, but she was affected; and
though feeling no reliance on her, could not help writing her a much
kinder answer than she knew was deserved.
The joy which Miss Darcy expressed on receiving similar information was
as sincere as her brother’s in sending it. Four sides of paper were
insufficient to contain all her delight, and all her earnest desire of
being loved by her sister.
Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations
to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn family heard that the
Collinses were come themselves to Lucas Lodge. The reason of this
sudden{471} removal was soon evident. Lady Catherine had been rendered so
exceedingly angry by the contents of her nephew’s letter, that
Charlotte, really rejoicing in the match, was anxious to get away till
the storm was blown over. At such a moment, the arrival of her friend
was a sincere pleasure to Elizabeth, though in the course of their
meetings she must sometimes think the pleasure dearly bought, when she
saw Mr. Darcy exposed to all the parading and obsequious civility of her
husband. He bore it, however, with admirable calmness. He could even
listen to Sir William Lucas, when he complimented him on carrying away
the brightest jewel of the country, and expressed his hopes of their all | 442 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
meeting frequently at St. James’s, with very decent composure. If he did
shrug his shoulders, it was not till Sir William was out of sight.
Mrs. Philips’s vulgarity was another, and, perhaps, a greater tax on his
forbearance; and though Mrs. Philips, as well as her sister, stood in
too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley’s
good-humour encouraged; yet, whenever she did speak, she must be
vulgar. Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at
all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to
shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to
keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might
converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings
arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its
pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward
with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so
little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their
family party at Pemberley.{472}
CHAPTER LXI.
HAPPY for all her maternal feelings was the day on which Mrs. Bennet got
rid of her two most deserving daughters. With what delighted pride she
afterwards visited Mrs. Bingley, and talked of Mrs. Darcy, may be
guessed. I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the
accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of
her children produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible,
amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life; though, perhaps,
it was lucky for her husband, who might not have relished domestic
felicity in so unusual a form, that she still was occasionally nervous
and invariably silly.
Mr. Bennet missed his second daughter exceedingly; his affection for her
drew him oftener from home than anything else could do. He delighted in
going to Pemberley, especially when he was least expected.{473} | 443 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
Mr. Bingley and Jane remained at Netherfield only a twelvemonth. So near
a vicinity to her mother and Meryton relations was not desirable even to
his easy temper, or her affectionate heart. The darling wish of his
sisters was then gratified: he bought an estate in a neighbouring county
to Derbyshire; and Jane and Elizabeth, in addition to every other source
of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other.
Kitty, to her very material advantage, spent the chief of her time with
her two elder sisters. In society so superior to what she had generally
known, her improvement was great. She was not of so ungovernable a
temper as Lydia; and, removed from the influence of Lydia’s example, she
became, by proper attention and management, less irritable, less
ignorant, and less insipid. From the further disadvantage of Lydia’s
society she was of course carefully kept; and though Mrs. Wickham
frequently invited her to come and stay with her, with the promise of
balls and young men, her father would never consent to her going.
Mary was the only daughter who remained at home; and she was necessarily
drawn from the pursuit of accomplishments by Mrs. Bennet’s being quite
unable to sit alone. Mary was obliged to mix more with the world, but
she could still moralize over every morning visit; and as she was no
longer mortified by comparisons between her sisters’ beauty and her own,
it was suspected by her father that she submitted to the change without
much reluctance.
As for Wickham and Lydia, their characters suffered no revolution from
the marriage of her sisters. He bore with philosophy the conviction that
Elizabeth must now become acquainted with whatever of his ingratitude
and{474} falsehood had before been unknown to her; and, in spite of
everything, was not wholly without hope that Darcy might yet be
prevailed on to make his fortune. The congratulatory letter which
Elizabeth received from Lydia on her marriage explained to her that, by | 444 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
his wife at least, if not by himself, such a hope was cherished. The
letter was to this effect:—
“My dear Lizzy,
“I wish you joy. If you love Mr. Darcy half so well as I do my dear
Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you
so rich; and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will
think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very
much; and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live
upon without some help. Any place would do of about three or four
hundred a year; but, however, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it,
if you had rather not.
“Yours,” etc.
As it happened that Elizabeth had much rather not, she endeavoured in
her answer to put an end to every entreaty and expectation of the kind.
Such relief, however, as it was in her power to afford, by the practice
of what might be called economy in her own private expenses, she
frequently sent them. It had always been evident to her that such an
income as theirs, under the direction of two persons so extravagant in
their wants, and heedless of the future, must be very insufficient to
their support; and whenever they changed their quarters, either Jane or
herself were sure of being applied to for some little assistance towards
discharging their bills. Their manner of living, even when the
restoration of peace dismissed them to a home, was unsettled in the
extreme. They were always moving from place to place{475} in quest of a
cheap situation, and always spending more than they ought. His affection
for her soon sunk into indifference: hers lasted a little longer; and,
in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to
reputation which her marriage had given her. Though Darcy could never
receive him at Pemberley, yet, for Elizabeth’s sake, he assisted him
further in his profession. Lydia was occasionally a visitor there, when
her husband was gone to enjoy himself in London or Bath; and with the | 445 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
Bingleys they both of them frequently stayed so long, that even
Bingley’s good-humour was overcome, and he proceeded so far as to talk
of giving them a hint to be gone.
Miss Bingley was very deeply mortified by Darcy’s marriage; but as she
thought it advisable to retain the right of visiting at Pemberley, she
dropped all her resentment; was fonder than ever of Georgiana, almost as
attentive to Darcy as heretofore, and paid off every arrear of civility
to Elizabeth.
Pemberley was now Georgiana’s home; and the attachment of the sisters
was exactly what Darcy had hoped to see. They were able to love each
other, even as well as they intended. Georgiana had the highest opinion
in the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with an
astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive manner of
talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect
which almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open
pleasantry. Her mind received knowledge which had never before fallen in
her way. By Elizabeth’s instructions she began to comprehend that a
woman may take liberties with her husband, which a brother will not
always allow in a sister more than ten years younger than himself.{476}
Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew;
and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character, in
her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him
language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time
all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Elizabeth’s persuasion,
he was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation;
and, after a little further resistance on the part of his aunt, her
resentment gave way, either to her affection for him, or her curiosity
to see how his wife conducted herself; and she condescended to wait on
them at Pemberley, in spite of that pollution which its woods had | 446 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
received, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but the
visits of her uncle and aunt from the city.
With the Gardiners they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy,
as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever
sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing
her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.
[Image unavailable.]
CHISWICK PRESS:—CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. | 447 | Jane Austen | Pride and Prejudice | 1,342 |
cover
THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET
by William Shakespeare
Contents
THE PROLOGUE.
ACT I
Scene I. A public place.
Scene II. A Street.
Scene III. Room in Capulet’s House.
Scene IV. A Street.
Scene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.
ACT II
CHORUS.
Scene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.
Scene II. Capulet’s Garden.
Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Scene IV. A Street.
Scene V. Capulet’s Garden.
Scene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
ACT III
Scene I. A public Place.
Scene II. A Room in Capulet’s House.
Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
Scene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.
Scene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.
ACT IV
Scene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Scene II. Hall in Capulet’s House.
Scene III. Juliet’s Chamber.
Scene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.
Scene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.
ACT V
Scene I. Mantua. A Street.
Scene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Scene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.
Dramatis Personæ
ESCALUS, Prince of Verona.
MERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo.
PARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.
Page to Paris.
MONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets.
LADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.
ROMEO, son to Montague.
BENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.
ABRAM, servant to Montague.
BALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.
CAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues.
LADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.
JULIET, daughter to Capulet.
TYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.
CAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man.
NURSE to Juliet.
PETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse.
SAMPSON, servant to Capulet.
GREGORY, servant to Capulet.
Servants.
FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.
FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.
An Apothecary.
CHORUS.
Three Musicians. | 448 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
An Officer.
Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both
houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.
SCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in
the Fifth Act, at Mantua.
THE PROLOGUE
Enter Chorus.
CHORUS.
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur’d piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
[Exit.]
ACT I
SCENE I. A public place.
Enter Sampson and
Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.
SAMPSON.
Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.
GREGORY.
No, for then we should be colliers.
SAMPSON.
I mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.
GREGORY.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.
SAMPSON.
I strike quickly, being moved.
GREGORY.
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
SAMPSON.
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
GREGORY.
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand:
therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn’st away.
SAMPSON.
A dog of that house shall move me to stand.
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.
GREGORY.
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.
SAMPSON.
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men
from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
GREGORY.
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. | 449 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
SAMPSON.
’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought
with the men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.
GREGORY.
The heads of the maids?
SAMPSON.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense
thou wilt.
GREGORY.
They must take it in sense that feel it.
SAMPSON.
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand:
and ’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
GREGORY.
’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor
John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.
Enter Abram and
Balthasar.
SAMPSON.
My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
GREGORY.
How? Turn thy back and run?
SAMPSON.
Fear me not.
GREGORY.
No, marry; I fear thee!
SAMPSON.
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
GREGORY.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they
list.
SAMPSON.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is
disgrace to them if they bear it.
ABRAM.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON.
I do bite my thumb, sir.
ABRAM.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
SAMPSON.
Is the law of our side if I say ay?
GREGORY.
No.
SAMPSON.
No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my
thumb, sir.
GREGORY.
Do you quarrel, sir?
ABRAM.
Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
SAMPSON.
But if you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man as
you.
ABRAM.
No better.
SAMPSON.
Well, sir.
Enter Benvolio.
GREGORY.
Say better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.
SAMPSON.
Yes, better, sir.
ABRAM.
You lie.
SAMPSON.
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
[They fight.]
BENVOLIO.
Part, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.
[Beats down their swords.]
Enter Tybalt.
TYBALT.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? | 450 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.
BENVOLIO.
I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
TYBALT.
What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.
[They fight.]
Enter three or four Citizens
with clubs.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Clubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
Enter Capulet in his gown,
and Lady Capulet.
CAPULET.
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
LADY CAPULET.
A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
CAPULET.
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Enter Montague and his
Lady Montague.
MONTAGUE.
Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.
LADY MONTAGUE.
Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince Escalus, with
Attendants.
PRINCE.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—
Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistemper’d weapons to the ground
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona’s ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me,
And Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our farther pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgement-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. | 451 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
[Exeunt Prince and
Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt,
Citizens and Servants.]
MONTAGUE.
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
BENVOLIO.
Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
I drew to part them, in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,
Which, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
LADY MONTAGUE.
O where is Romeo, saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
BENVOLIO.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun
Peer’d forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from this city side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
Which then most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self,
Pursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.
MONTAGUE.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
BENVOLIO.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
MONTAGUE. | 452 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
I neither know it nor can learn of him.
BENVOLIO.
Have you importun’d him by any means?
MONTAGUE.
Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections’ counsellor,
Is to himself—I will not say how true—
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Enter Romeo.
BENVOLIO.
See, where he comes. So please you step aside;
I’ll know his grievance or be much denied.
MONTAGUE.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,
[Exeunt Montague and
Lady Montague.]
BENVOLIO.
Good morrow, cousin.
ROMEO.
Is the day so young?
BENVOLIO.
But new struck nine.
ROMEO.
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
BENVOLIO.
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
ROMEO.
Not having that which, having, makes them short.
BENVOLIO.
In love?
ROMEO.
Out.
BENVOLIO.
Of love?
ROMEO.
Out of her favour where I am in love.
BENVOLIO.
Alas that love so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.
ROMEO.
Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love:
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
BENVOLIO.
No coz, I rather weep.
ROMEO. | 453 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Good heart, at what?
BENVOLIO.
At thy good heart’s oppression.
ROMEO.
Why such is love’s transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;
Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
[Going.]
BENVOLIO.
Soft! I will go along:
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
ROMEO.
Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here.
This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.
BENVOLIO.
Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
ROMEO.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
BENVOLIO.
Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.
ROMEO.
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,
A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
BENVOLIO.
I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.
ROMEO.
A right good markman, and she’s fair I love.
BENVOLIO.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
ROMEO.
Well, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit
With Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;
And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,
From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms
Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O she’s rich in beauty, only poor
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
BENVOLIO.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
ROMEO.
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;
For beauty starv’d with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow | 454 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
BENVOLIO.
Be rul’d by me, forget to think of her.
ROMEO.
O teach me how I should forget to think.
BENVOLIO.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
ROMEO.
’Tis the way
To call hers, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass’d that passing fair?
Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.
BENVOLIO.
I’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. A Street.
Enter Capulet, Paris and
Servant.
CAPULET.
But Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; and ’tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.
PARIS.
Of honourable reckoning are you both,
And pity ’tis you liv’d at odds so long.
But now my lord, what say you to my suit?
CAPULET.
But saying o’er what I have said before.
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
PARIS.
Younger than she are happy mothers made.
CAPULET.
And too soon marr’d are those so early made.
The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she,
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
And she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom’d feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love, and you among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: | 455 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well apparell’d April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see,
And like her most whose merit most shall be:
Which, on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none.
Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, [gives a paper] and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
[Exeunt Capulet and
Paris.]
SERVANT.
Find them out whose names are written here!
It is written that the shoemaker should meddle with
his yard and the tailor with his last, the fisher with
his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am
sent to find those persons whose names are here writ,
and can never find what names the writing person
hath here writ. I must to the learned. In good time!
Enter Benvolio and
Romeo.
BENVOLIO.
Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning,
One pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish;
Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another’s languish:
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
ROMEO.
Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
BENVOLIO.
For what, I pray thee?
ROMEO.
For your broken shin.
BENVOLIO.
Why, Romeo, art thou mad?
ROMEO.
Not mad, but bound more than a madman is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow.
SERVANT.
God gi’ go-den. I pray, sir, can you read?
ROMEO.
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.
SERVANT.
Perhaps you have learned it without book.
But I pray, can you read anything you see?
ROMEO.
Ay, If I know the letters and the language.
SERVANT.
Ye say honestly, rest you merry!
ROMEO.
Stay, fellow; I can read. | 456 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
[He reads the letter.]
Signior Martino and his wife and daughters;
County Anselmo and his beauteous sisters;
The lady widow of Utruvio;
Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces;
Mercutio and his brother Valentine;
Mine uncle Capulet, his wife, and daughters;
My fair niece Rosaline and Livia;
Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt;
Lucio and the lively Helena.
A fair assembly. [Gives back the paper] Whither should they
come?
SERVANT.
Up.
ROMEO.
Whither to supper?
SERVANT.
To our house.
ROMEO.
Whose house?
SERVANT.
My master’s.
ROMEO.
Indeed I should have ask’d you that before.
SERVANT.
Now I’ll tell you without asking. My master is the great rich Capulet,
and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray come and crush a cup of
wine. Rest you merry.
[Exit.]
BENVOLIO.
At this same ancient feast of Capulet’s
Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lov’st;
With all the admired beauties of Verona.
Go thither and with unattainted eye,
Compare her face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
ROMEO.
When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;
And these who, often drown’d, could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars.
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun
Ne’er saw her match since first the world begun.
BENVOLIO.
Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself pois’d with herself in either eye:
But in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d
Your lady’s love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well that now shows best.
ROMEO.
I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendour of my own.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Room in Capulet’s House.
Enter Lady Capulet and
Nurse.
LADY CAPULET.
Nurse, where’s my daughter? Call her forth to me.
NURSE. | 457 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old,
I bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird!
God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, Juliet!
Enter Juliet.
JULIET.
How now, who calls?
NURSE.
Your mother.
JULIET.
Madam, I am here. What is your will?
LADY CAPULET.
This is the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back again,
I have remember’d me, thou’s hear our counsel.
Thou knowest my daughter’s of a pretty age.
NURSE.
Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour.
LADY CAPULET.
She’s not fourteen.
NURSE.
I’ll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,
She is not fourteen. How long is it now
To Lammas-tide?
LADY CAPULET.
A fortnight and odd days.
NURSE.
Even or odd, of all days in the year,
Come Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen.
Susan and she,—God rest all Christian souls!—
Were of an age. Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me. But as I said,
On Lammas Eve at night shall she be fourteen;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
’Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean’d,—I never shall forget it—,
Of all the days of the year, upon that day:
For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
Sitting in the sun under the dovehouse wall;
My lord and you were then at Mantua:
Nay, I do bear a brain. But as I said,
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool,
To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug!
Shake, quoth the dovehouse: ’twas no need, I trow,
To bid me trudge.
And since that time it is eleven years;
For then she could stand alone; nay, by th’rood
She could have run and waddled all about;
For even the day before she broke her brow,
And then my husband,—God be with his soul!
A was a merry man,—took up the child:
‘Yea,’ quoth he, ‘dost thou fall upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; | 458 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Wilt thou not, Jule?’ and, by my holidame,
The pretty wretch left crying, and said ‘Ay’.
To see now how a jest shall come about.
I warrant, and I should live a thousand years,
I never should forget it. ‘Wilt thou not, Jule?’ quoth he;
And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said ‘Ay.’
LADY CAPULET.
Enough of this; I pray thee hold thy peace.
NURSE.
Yes, madam, yet I cannot choose but laugh,
To think it should leave crying, and say ‘Ay’;
And yet I warrant it had upon it brow
A bump as big as a young cockerel’s stone;
A perilous knock, and it cried bitterly.
‘Yea,’ quoth my husband, ‘fall’st upon thy face?
Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age;
Wilt thou not, Jule?’ it stinted, and said ‘Ay’.
JULIET.
And stint thou too, I pray thee, Nurse, say I.
NURSE.
Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e’er I nurs’d:
And I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
LADY CAPULET.
Marry, that marry is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet,
How stands your disposition to be married?
JULIET.
It is an honour that I dream not of.
NURSE.
An honour! Were not I thine only nurse,
I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.
LADY CAPULET.
Well, think of marriage now: younger than you,
Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,
Are made already mothers. By my count
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now a maid. Thus, then, in brief;
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
NURSE.
A man, young lady! Lady, such a man
As all the world—why he’s a man of wax.
LADY CAPULET.
Verona’s summer hath not such a flower.
NURSE.
Nay, he’s a flower, in faith a very flower.
LADY CAPULET.
What say you, can you love the gentleman?
This night you shall behold him at our feast;
Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face,
And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. | 459 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Examine every married lineament,
And see how one another lends content;
And what obscur’d in this fair volume lies,
Find written in the margent of his eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify him, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea; and ’tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide.
That book in many’s eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all that he doth possess,
By having him, making yourself no less.
NURSE.
No less, nay bigger. Women grow by men.
LADY CAPULET.
Speak briefly, can you like of Paris’ love?
JULIET.
I’ll look to like, if looking liking move:
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you
called, my young lady asked for, the Nurse cursed
in the pantry, and everything in extremity. I must
hence to wait, I beseech you follow straight.
LADY CAPULET.
We follow thee.
[Exit Servant.]
Juliet, the County stays.
NURSE.
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. A Street.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio,
with five or six Maskers; Torch-bearers and others.
ROMEO.
What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
BENVOLIO.
The date is out of such prolixity:
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But let them measure us by what they will,
We’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.
ROMEO.
Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy I will bear the light.
MERCUTIO.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
ROMEO.
Not I, believe me, you have dancing shoes, | 460 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
With nimble soles, I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
MERCUTIO.
You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.
ROMEO.
I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.
MERCUTIO.
And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
ROMEO.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
MERCUTIO.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in: [Putting on a mask.]
A visor for a visor. What care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
BENVOLIO.
Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
ROMEO.
A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle-holder and look on,
The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.
MERCUTIO.
Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:
If thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire
Or save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.
ROMEO.
Nay, that’s not so.
MERCUTIO.
I mean sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
ROMEO.
And we mean well in going to this mask;
But ’tis no wit to go.
MERCUTIO.
Why, may one ask?
ROMEO.
I dreamt a dream tonight.
MERCUTIO.
And so did I.
ROMEO.
Well what was yours?
MERCUTIO.
That dreamers often lie.
ROMEO.
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
MERCUTIO. | 461 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider’s web;
The collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;
Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,
Tickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes;
And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two,
And sleeps again. This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night;
And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes:
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
That presses them, and learns them first to bear,
Making them women of good carriage:
This is she,—
ROMEO.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, | 462 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Thou talk’st of nothing.
MERCUTIO.
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
BENVOLIO.
This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
ROMEO.
I fear too early: for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night’s revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos’d in my breast
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!
BENVOLIO.
Strike, drum.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.
Musicians waiting. Enter Servants.
FIRST SERVANT.
Where’s Potpan, that he helps not to take away?
He shift a trencher! He scrape a trencher!
SECOND SERVANT.
When good manners shall lie all in one or two men’s
hands, and they unwash’d too, ’tis a foul thing.
FIRST SERVANT.
Away with the join-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look
to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and as
thou loves me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell.
Antony and Potpan!
SECOND SERVANT.
Ay, boy, ready.
FIRST SERVANT.
You are looked for and called for, asked for
and sought for, in the great chamber.
SECOND SERVANT.
We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys.
Be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Capulet, &c. with
the Guests and Gentlewomen to the Maskers.
CAPULET.
Welcome, gentlemen, ladies that have their toes
Unplagu’d with corns will have a bout with you.
Ah my mistresses, which of you all
Will now deny to dance? She that makes dainty,
She I’ll swear hath corns. Am I come near ye now? | 463 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day
That I have worn a visor, and could tell
A whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear,
Such as would please; ’tis gone, ’tis gone, ’tis gone,
You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.
A hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls.
[Music plays, and they dance.]
More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up,
And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot.
Ah sirrah, this unlook’d-for sport comes well.
Nay sit, nay sit, good cousin Capulet,
For you and I are past our dancing days;
How long is’t now since last yourself and I
Were in a mask?
CAPULET’S COUSIN.
By’r Lady, thirty years.
CAPULET.
What, man, ’tis not so much, ’tis not so much:
’Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio,
Come Pentecost as quickly as it will,
Some five and twenty years; and then we mask’d.
CAPULET’S COUSIN.
’Tis more, ’tis more, his son is elder, sir;
His son is thirty.
CAPULET.
Will you tell me that?
His son was but a ward two years ago.
ROMEO.
What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
SERVANT.
I know not, sir.
ROMEO.
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,
And touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
TYBALT.
This by his voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What, dares the slave
Come hither, cover’d with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
CAPULET.
Why how now, kinsman!
Wherefore storm you so?
TYBALT.
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe; | 464 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
A villain that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
CAPULET.
Young Romeo, is it?
TYBALT.
’Tis he, that villain Romeo.
CAPULET.
Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone,
A bears him like a portly gentleman;
And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
To be a virtuous and well-govern’d youth.
I would not for the wealth of all the town
Here in my house do him disparagement.
Therefore be patient, take no note of him,
It is my will; the which if thou respect,
Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,
An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.
TYBALT.
It fits when such a villain is a guest:
I’ll not endure him.
CAPULET.
He shall be endur’d.
What, goodman boy! I say he shall, go to;
Am I the master here, or you? Go to.
You’ll not endure him! God shall mend my soul,
You’ll make a mutiny among my guests!
You will set cock-a-hoop, you’ll be the man!
TYBALT.
Why, uncle, ’tis a shame.
CAPULET.
Go to, go to!
You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed?
This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what.
You must contrary me! Marry, ’tis time.
Well said, my hearts!—You are a princox; go:
Be quiet, or—More light, more light!—For shame!
I’ll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts.
TYBALT.
Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall,
Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall.
[Exit.]
ROMEO.
[To Juliet.] If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this,
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
JULIET.
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
ROMEO.
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
JULIET. | 465 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
ROMEO.
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do:
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
JULIET.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.
ROMEO.
Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.
Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg’d.
[Kissing her.]
JULIET.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
ROMEO.
Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d!
Give me my sin again.
JULIET.
You kiss by the book.
NURSE.
Madam, your mother craves a word with you.
ROMEO.
What is her mother?
NURSE.
Marry, bachelor,
Her mother is the lady of the house,
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nurs’d her daughter that you talk’d withal.
I tell you, he that can lay hold of her
Shall have the chinks.
ROMEO.
Is she a Capulet?
O dear account! My life is my foe’s debt.
BENVOLIO.
Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.
ROMEO.
Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest.
CAPULET.
Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone,
We have a trifling foolish banquet towards.
Is it e’en so? Why then, I thank you all;
I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night.
More torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed.
Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late,
I’ll to my rest.
[Exeunt all but Juliet and
Nurse.]
JULIET.
Come hither, Nurse. What is yond gentleman?
NURSE.
The son and heir of old Tiberio.
JULIET.
What’s he that now is going out of door?
NURSE.
Marry, that I think be young Petruchio.
JULIET.
What’s he that follows here, that would not dance?
NURSE.
I know not.
JULIET.
Go ask his name. If he be married,
My grave is like to be my wedding bed.
NURSE.
His name is Romeo, and a Montague,
The only son of your great enemy.
JULIET.
My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late! | 466 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Prodigious birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
NURSE.
What’s this? What’s this?
JULIET.
A rhyme I learn’d even now
Of one I danc’d withal.
[One calls within, ‘Juliet’.]
NURSE.
Anon, anon!
Come let’s away, the strangers all are gone.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II
Enter Chorus.
CHORUS.
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
And young affection gapes to be his heir;
That fair for which love groan’d for and would die,
With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair.
Now Romeo is belov’d, and loves again,
Alike bewitched by the charm of looks;
But to his foe suppos’d he must complain,
And she steal love’s sweet bait from fearful hooks:
Being held a foe, he may not have access
To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear;
And she as much in love, her means much less
To meet her new beloved anywhere.
But passion lends them power, time means, to meet,
Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.
[Exit.]
SCENE I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.
Enter Romeo.
ROMEO.
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
[He climbs the wall and leaps down within it.]
Enter Benvolio and
Mercutio.
BENVOLIO.
Romeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo!
MERCUTIO.
He is wise,
And on my life hath stol’n him home to bed.
BENVOLIO.
He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall:
Call, good Mercutio.
MERCUTIO.
Nay, I’ll conjure too.
Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh,
Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied;
Cry but ‘Ah me!’ Pronounce but Love and dove;
Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word,
One nickname for her purblind son and heir,
Young Abraham Cupid, he that shot so trim
When King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid.
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not;
The ape is dead, and I must conjure him.
I conjure thee by Rosaline’s bright eyes, | 467 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
By her high forehead and her scarlet lip,
By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh,
And the demesnes that there adjacent lie,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
BENVOLIO.
An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.
MERCUTIO.
This cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur’d it down;
That were some spite. My invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress’ name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.
BENVOLIO.
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees
To be consorted with the humorous night.
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.
MERCUTIO.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars when they laugh alone.
O Romeo, that she were, O that she were
An open-arse and thou a poperin pear!
Romeo, good night. I’ll to my truckle-bed.
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep.
Come, shall we go?
BENVOLIO.
Go then; for ’tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. Capulet’s Garden.
Enter Romeo.
ROMEO.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
Juliet appears above at a window.
But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my lady, O it is my love!
O, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses, I will answer it.
I am too bold, ’tis not to me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes | 468 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek.
JULIET.
Ay me.
ROMEO.
She speaks.
O speak again bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o’er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-puffing clouds
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
JULIET.
O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name.
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
ROMEO.
[Aside.] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?
JULIET.
’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O be some other name.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.
ROMEO.
I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptis’d;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
JULIET.
What man art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night
So stumblest on my counsel?
ROMEO.
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
JULIET.
My ears have yet not drunk a hundred words | 469 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Of thy tongue’s utterance, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
ROMEO.
Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
JULIET.
How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
And the place death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsmen find thee here.
ROMEO.
With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt:
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
JULIET.
If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
ROMEO.
Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
Than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
JULIET.
I would not for the world they saw thee here.
ROMEO.
I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes,
And but thou love me, let them find me here.
My life were better ended by their hate
Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
JULIET.
By whose direction found’st thou out this place?
ROMEO.
By love, that first did prompt me to enquire;
He lent me counsel, and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash’d with the farthest sea,
I should adventure for such merchandise.
JULIET.
Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face,
Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.
Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
What I have spoke; but farewell compliment.
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say Ay,
And I will take thy word. Yet, if thou swear’st,
Thou mayst prove false. At lovers’ perjuries,
They say Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.
Or if thou thinkest I am too quickly won,
I’ll frown and be perverse, and say thee nay,
So thou wilt woo. But else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; | 470 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
And therefore thou mayst think my ’haviour light:
But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
But that thou overheard’st, ere I was ’ware,
My true-love passion; therefore pardon me,
And not impute this yielding to light love,
Which the dark night hath so discovered.
ROMEO.
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,—
JULIET.
O swear not by the moon, th’inconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circled orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
ROMEO.
What shall I swear by?
JULIET.
Do not swear at all.
Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I’ll believe thee.
ROMEO.
If my heart’s dear love,—
JULIET.
Well, do not swear. Although I joy in thee,
I have no joy of this contract tonight;
It is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden,
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Ere one can say It lightens. Sweet, good night.
This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath,
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night. As sweet repose and rest
Come to thy heart as that within my breast.
ROMEO.
O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?
JULIET.
What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?
ROMEO.
Th’exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.
JULIET.
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it;
And yet I would it were to give again.
ROMEO.
Would’st thou withdraw it? For what purpose, love?
JULIET.
But to be frank and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have;
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
I hear some noise within. Dear love, adieu.
[Nurse calls within.]
Anon, good Nurse!—Sweet Montague be true. | 471 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Stay but a little, I will come again.
[Exit.]
ROMEO.
O blessed, blessed night. I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering sweet to be substantial.
Enter Juliet above.
JULIET.
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable,
Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow,
By one that I’ll procure to come to thee,
Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite,
And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
NURSE.
[Within.] Madam.
JULIET.
I come, anon.— But if thou meanest not well,
I do beseech thee,—
NURSE.
[Within.] Madam.
JULIET.
By and by I come—
To cease thy strife and leave me to my grief.
Tomorrow will I send.
ROMEO.
So thrive my soul,—
JULIET.
A thousand times good night.
[Exit.]
ROMEO.
A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,
But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.
[Retiring slowly.]
Re-enter Juliet, above.
JULIET.
Hist! Romeo, hist! O for a falconer’s voice
To lure this tassel-gentle back again.
Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud,
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine
With repetition of my Romeo’s name.
ROMEO.
It is my soul that calls upon my name.
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears.
JULIET.
Romeo.
ROMEO.
My nyas?
JULIET.
What o’clock tomorrow
Shall I send to thee?
ROMEO.
By the hour of nine.
JULIET.
I will not fail. ’Tis twenty years till then.
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
ROMEO.
Let me stand here till thou remember it.
JULIET.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.
ROMEO.
And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, | 472 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Forgetting any other home but this.
JULIET.
’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone,
And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,
That lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
ROMEO.
I would I were thy bird.
JULIET.
Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
[Exit.]
ROMEO.
Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.
The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels
From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels
Hence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,
His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.
[Exit.]
SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Enter Friar Lawrence
with a basket.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,
I must upfill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that’s nature’s mother, is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb:
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find.
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good but, strain’d from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied,
And vice sometime’s by action dignified.
Enter Romeo.
Within the infant rind of this weak flower
Poison hath residence, and medicine power: | 473 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will;
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
ROMEO.
Good morrow, father.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Benedicite!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distemper’d head
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,
And where care lodges sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art uprous’d with some distemperature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.
ROMEO.
That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
God pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?
ROMEO.
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.
I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
That’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?
ROMEO.
I’ll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy,
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me
That’s by me wounded. Both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies.
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
ROMEO.
Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin’d, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When, and where, and how
We met, we woo’d, and made exchange of vow,
I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us today.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here! | 474 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine
Hath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown away in waste,
To season love, that of it doth not taste.
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.
Lo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.
If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline,
And art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then,
Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.
ROMEO.
Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
ROMEO.
And bad’st me bury love.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Not in a grave
To lay one in, another out to have.
ROMEO.
I pray thee chide me not, her I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
The other did not so.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
O, she knew well
Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.
But come young waverer, come go with me,
In one respect I’ll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
ROMEO.
O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. A Street.
Enter Benvolio and
Mercutio.
MERCUTIO.
Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home tonight?
BENVOLIO.
Not to his father’s; I spoke with his man.
MERCUTIO.
Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he
will sure run mad.
BENVOLIO.
Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father’s
house.
MERCUTIO.
A challenge, on my life.
BENVOLIO.
Romeo will answer it.
MERCUTIO.
Any man that can write may answer a letter. | 475 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
BENVOLIO.
Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he
dares, being dared.
MERCUTIO.
Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench’s black
eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with
the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft. And is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
BENVOLIO.
Why, what is Tybalt?
MERCUTIO.
More than Prince of cats. O, he’s the courageous captain of compliments.
He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion. He
rests his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher
of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house,
of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado, the punto reverso, the
hay.
BENVOLIO.
The what?
MERCUTIO.
The pox of such antic lisping, affecting phantasies; these new tuners of
accent. By Jesu, a very good blade, a very tall man, a very good whore. Why, is
not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardon-me’s, who stand
so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O their
bones, their bones!
Enter Romeo.
BENVOLIO.
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!
MERCUTIO.
Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!
Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to his lady, was but
a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido a
dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey
eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour! There’s a
French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last
night.
ROMEO.
Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
MERCUTIO.
The slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
ROMEO. | 476 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine a man
may strain courtesy.
MERCUTIO.
That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in
the hams.
ROMEO.
Meaning, to curtsy.
MERCUTIO.
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
ROMEO.
A most courteous exposition.
MERCUTIO.
Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
ROMEO.
Pink for flower.
MERCUTIO.
Right.
ROMEO.
Why, then is my pump well flowered.
MERCUTIO.
Sure wit, follow me this jest now, till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when
the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing, solely
singular.
ROMEO.
O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness!
MERCUTIO.
Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.
ROMEO.
Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.
MERCUTIO.
Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am done. For thou hast more of the
wild-goose in one of thy wits, than I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I
with you there for the goose?
ROMEO.
Thou wast never with me for anything, when thou wast not there for the goose.
MERCUTIO.
I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
ROMEO.
Nay, good goose, bite not.
MERCUTIO.
Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting, it is a most sharp sauce.
ROMEO.
And is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?
MERCUTIO.
O here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell
broad.
ROMEO.
I stretch it out for that word broad, which added to the goose, proves thee far
and wide a broad goose.
MERCUTIO.
Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now
art thou Romeo; not art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature. For
this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to
hide his bauble in a hole.
BENVOLIO.
Stop there, stop there.
MERCUTIO. | 477 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
BENVOLIO.
Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
MERCUTIO.
O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short, for I was come to the whole
depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer.
Enter Nurse and
Peter.
ROMEO.
Here’s goodly gear!
A sail, a sail!
MERCUTIO.
Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
NURSE.
Peter!
PETER.
Anon.
NURSE.
My fan, Peter.
MERCUTIO.
Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.
NURSE.
God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
MERCUTIO.
God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
NURSE.
Is it good-den?
MERCUTIO.
’Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the
prick of noon.
NURSE.
Out upon you! What a man are you?
ROMEO.
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
NURSE.
By my troth, it is well said; for himself to mar, quoth a? Gentlemen, can any
of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?
ROMEO.
I can tell you: but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he
was when you sought him. I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.
NURSE.
You say well.
MERCUTIO.
Yea, is the worst well? Very well took, i’faith; wisely, wisely.
NURSE.
If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
BENVOLIO.
She will endite him to some supper.
MERCUTIO.
A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho!
ROMEO.
What hast thou found?
MERCUTIO.
No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale
and hoar ere it be spent.
[Sings.]
An old hare hoar,
And an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in Lent;
But a hare that is hoar
Is too much for a score
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, will you come to your father’s? We’ll to dinner thither.
ROMEO.
I will follow you.
MERCUTIO. | 478 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.
[Exeunt Mercutio and
Benvolio.]
NURSE.
I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was so full of his ropery?
ROMEO.
A gentleman, Nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a
minute than he will stand to in a month.
NURSE.
And a speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, and a were lustier
than he is, and twenty such Jacks. And if I cannot, I’ll find those that
shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his
skains-mates.—And thou must stand by too and suffer every knave to use me
at his pleasure!
PETER.
I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have
been out. I warrant you, I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion
in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
NURSE.
Now, afore God, I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave.
Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bid me enquire you out;
what she bade me say, I will keep to myself. But first let me tell ye, if ye
should lead her in a fool’s paradise, as they say, it were a very gross
kind of behaviour, as they say; for the gentlewoman is young. And therefore, if
you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to
any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
ROMEO.Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto
thee,—
NURSE.
Good heart, and i’faith I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord, she will be
a joyful woman.
ROMEO.
What wilt thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me.
NURSE.
I will tell her, sir, that you do protest, which, as I take it, is a
gentlemanlike offer.
ROMEO.
Bid her devise
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon,
And there she shall at Friar Lawrence’ cell
Be shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.
NURSE.
No truly, sir; not a penny.
ROMEO.
Go to; I say you shall.
NURSE. | 479 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
This afternoon, sir? Well, she shall be there.
ROMEO.
And stay, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.
Within this hour my man shall be with thee,
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair,
Which to the high topgallant of my joy
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell, be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains;
Farewell; commend me to thy mistress.
NURSE.
Now God in heaven bless thee. Hark you, sir.
ROMEO.
What say’st thou, my dear Nurse?
NURSE.
Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
ROMEO.
I warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.
NURSE.
Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady. Lord, Lord! When ’twas a
little prating thing,—O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that
would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very
toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the
properer man, but I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as
any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a
letter?
ROMEO.
Ay, Nurse; what of that? Both with an R.
NURSE.
Ah, mocker! That’s the dog’s name. R is for the—no, I know it
begins with some other letter, and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of
you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.
ROMEO.
Commend me to thy lady.
NURSE.
Ay, a thousand times. Peter!
[Exit Romeo.]
PETER.
Anon.
NURSE.
Before and apace.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Capulet’s Garden.
Enter Juliet.
JULIET.
The clock struck nine when I did send the Nurse,
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so.
O, she is lame. Love’s heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over lowering hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. | 480 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill
Of this day’s journey, and from nine till twelve
Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She’d be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me.
But old folks, many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse and
Peter.
O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
NURSE.
Peter, stay at the gate.
[Exit Peter.]
JULIET.
Now, good sweet Nurse,—O Lord, why look’st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily;
If good, thou sham’st the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
NURSE.
I am aweary, give me leave awhile;
Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had!
JULIET.
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news:
Nay come, I pray thee speak; good, good Nurse, speak.
NURSE.
Jesu, what haste? Can you not stay a while?
Do you not see that I am out of breath?
JULIET.
How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath
To say to me that thou art out of breath?
The excuse that thou dost make in this delay
Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse.
Is thy news good or bad? Answer to that;
Say either, and I’ll stay the circumstance.
Let me be satisfied, is’t good or bad?
NURSE.
Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man. Romeo?
No, not he. Though his face be better than any man’s, yet his leg excels
all men’s, and for a hand and a foot, and a body, though they be not to
be talked on, yet they are past compare. He is not the flower of courtesy, but
I’ll warrant him as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench, serve God.
What, have you dined at home?
JULIET.
No, no. But all this did I know before.
What says he of our marriage? What of that?
NURSE.
Lord, how my head aches! What a head have I! | 481 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces.
My back o’ t’other side,—O my back, my back!
Beshrew your heart for sending me about
To catch my death with jauncing up and down.
JULIET.
I’faith, I am sorry that thou art not well.
Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell me, what says my love?
NURSE.
Your love says like an honest gentleman,
And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome,
And I warrant a virtuous,—Where is your mother?
JULIET.
Where is my mother? Why, she is within.
Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest.
‘Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
‘Where is your mother?’
NURSE.
O God’s lady dear,
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow.
Is this the poultice for my aching bones?
Henceforward do your messages yourself.
JULIET.
Here’s such a coil. Come, what says Romeo?
NURSE.
Have you got leave to go to shrift today?
JULIET.
I have.
NURSE.
Then hie you hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell;
There stays a husband to make you a wife.
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks,
They’ll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church. I must another way,
To fetch a ladder by the which your love
Must climb a bird’s nest soon when it is dark.
I am the drudge, and toil in your delight;
But you shall bear the burden soon at night.
Go. I’ll to dinner; hie you to the cell.
JULIET.
Hie to high fortune! Honest Nurse, farewell.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Enter Friar Lawrence and
Romeo.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
So smile the heavens upon this holy act
That after-hours with sorrow chide us not.
ROMEO.
Amen, amen, but come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
That one short minute gives me in her sight.
Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare,
It is enough I may but call her mine.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
These violent delights have violent ends, | 482 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately: long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
Enter Juliet.
Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot
Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint.
A lover may bestride the gossamers
That idles in the wanton summer air
And yet not fall; so light is vanity.
JULIET.
Good even to my ghostly confessor.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.
JULIET.
As much to him, else is his thanks too much.
ROMEO.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap’d like mine, and that thy skill be more
To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music’s tongue
Unfold the imagin’d happiness that both
Receive in either by this dear encounter.
JULIET.
Conceit more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament.
They are but beggars that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Come, come with me, and we will make short work,
For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone
Till holy church incorporate two in one.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III
SCENE I. A public Place.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page and
Servants.
BENVOLIO.
I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire:
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl,
For now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
MERCUTIO.
Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a
tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no need
of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer,
when indeed there is no need.
BENVOLIO.
Am I like such a fellow?
MERCUTIO. | 483 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon
moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
BENVOLIO.
And what to?
MERCUTIO.
Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill
the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a
hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for
cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What
eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of
quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle
as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the
street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst
thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with
another for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me
from quarrelling!
BENVOLIO.
And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee simple of
my life for an hour and a quarter.
MERCUTIO.
The fee simple! O simple!
Enter Tybalt and others.
BENVOLIO.
By my head, here comes the Capulets.
MERCUTIO.
By my heel, I care not.
TYBALT.
Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.
MERCUTIO.
And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and
a blow.
TYBALT.
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion.
MERCUTIO.
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYBALT.
Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
MERCUTIO.
Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of us, look
to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s that
shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!
BENVOLIO.
We talk here in the public haunt of men.
Either withdraw unto some private place, | 484 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MERCUTIO.
Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.
Enter Romeo.
TYBALT.
Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.
MERCUTIO.
But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.
Marry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;
Your worship in that sense may call him man.
TYBALT.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this: Thou art a villain.
ROMEO.
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting. Villain am I none;
Therefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.
TYBALT.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.
ROMEO.
I do protest I never injur’d thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love.
And so good Capulet, which name I tender
As dearly as mine own, be satisfied.
MERCUTIO.
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
[Draws.] Alla stoccata carries it away.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
TYBALT.
What wouldst thou have with me?
MERCUTIO.
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold
withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight.
Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine
be about your ears ere it be out.
TYBALT.
[Drawing.] I am for you.
ROMEO.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
MERCUTIO.
Come, sir, your passado.
[They fight.]
ROMEO.
Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage,
Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath
Forbid this bandying in Verona streets.
Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!
[Exeunt Tybalt with his
Partizans.]
MERCUTIO.
I am hurt. | 485 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
A plague o’ both your houses. I am sped.
Is he gone, and hath nothing?
BENVOLIO.
What, art thou hurt?
MERCUTIO.
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough.
Where is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.
[Exit Page.]
ROMEO.
Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
MERCUTIO.
No, ’tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but
’tis enough, ’twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find
me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o’
both your houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to
death. A braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of
arithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
ROMEO.
I thought all for the best.
MERCUTIO.
Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint. A plague o’ both your houses.
They have made worms’ meat of me.
I have it, and soundly too. Your houses!
[Exeunt Mercutio and
Benvolio.]
ROMEO.
This gentleman, the Prince’s near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation stain’d
With Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
And in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.
Re-enter Benvolio.
BENVOLIO.
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead,
That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
ROMEO.
This day’s black fate on mo days doth depend;
This but begins the woe others must end.
Re-enter Tybalt.
BENVOLIO.
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
ROMEO.
Again in triumph, and Mercutio slain?
Away to heaven respective lenity,
And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again
That late thou gav’st me, for Mercutio’s soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company.
Either thou or I, or both, must go with him. | 486 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
TYBALT.
Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
ROMEO.
This shall determine that.
[They fight; Tybalt falls.]
BENVOLIO.
Romeo, away, be gone!
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
Stand not amaz’d. The Prince will doom thee death
If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!
ROMEO.
O, I am fortune’s fool!
BENVOLIO.
Why dost thou stay?
[Exit Romeo.]
Enter Citizens.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
BENVOLIO.
There lies that Tybalt.
FIRST CITIZEN.
Up, sir, go with me.
I charge thee in the Prince’s name obey.
Enter Prince, attended;
Montague, Capulet, their
Wives and others.
PRINCE.
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
BENVOLIO.
O noble Prince, I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
LADY CAPULET.
Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!
O Prince! O husband! O, the blood is spill’d
Of my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.
O cousin, cousin.
PRINCE.
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
BENVOLIO.
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal
Your high displeasure. All this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast,
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,
‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points, | 487 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
And ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled.
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain’d revenge,
And to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;
And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
LADY CAPULET.
He is a kinsman to the Montague.
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
PRINCE.
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio.
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
MONTAGUE.
Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend;
His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
PRINCE.
And for that offence
Immediately we do exile him hence.
I have an interest in your hate’s proceeding,
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.
But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.
Therefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he is found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will.
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House.
Enter Juliet.
JULIET.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties: or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, | 488 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
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. | 489 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
NURSE.
I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
God save the mark!—here on his manly breast.
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub’d in blood,
All in gore-blood. I swounded at the sight.
JULIET.
O, break, my heart. Poor bankrout, break at once.
To prison, eyes; ne’er look on liberty.
Vile earth to earth resign; end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.
NURSE.
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.
O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead.
JULIET.
What storm is this that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter’d and is Tybalt dead?
My dearest cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then dreadful trumpet sound the general doom,
For who is living, if those two are gone?
NURSE.
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished,
Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
JULIET.
O God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?
NURSE.
It did, it did; alas the day, it did.
JULIET.
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical,
Dove-feather’d raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.
NURSE.
There’s no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men. All perjur’d,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Ah, where’s my man? Give me some aqua vitae.
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo.
JULIET.
Blister’d be thy tongue
For such a wish! He was not born to shame.
Upon his brow shame is asham’d to sit;
For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d | 490 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
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. | 491 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Come cords, come Nurse, I’ll to my wedding bed,
And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead.
NURSE.
Hie to your chamber. I’ll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night.
I’ll to him, he is hid at Lawrence’ cell.
JULIET.
O find him, give this ring to my true knight,
And bid him come to take his last farewell.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
Enter Friar Lawrence.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man.
Affliction is enanmour’d of thy parts
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Enter Romeo.
ROMEO.
Father, what news? What is the Prince’s doom?
What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Too familiar
Is my dear son with such sour company.
I bring thee tidings of the Prince’s doom.
ROMEO.
What less than doomsday is the Prince’s doom?
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
A gentler judgment vanish’d from his lips,
Not body’s death, but body’s banishment.
ROMEO.
Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say death;
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death. Do not say banishment.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Hence from Verona art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
ROMEO.
There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished is banish’d from the world,
And world’s exile is death. Then banished
Is death misterm’d. Calling death banished,
Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden axe,
And smilest upon the stroke that murders me.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
O deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death, but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath brush’d aside the law,
And turn’d that black word death to banishment.
This is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not.
ROMEO.
’Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here
Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog,
And little mouse, every unworthy thing, | 492 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Live here in heaven and may look on her,
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies than Romeo. They may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet’s hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips,
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
But Romeo may not, he is banished.
This may flies do, when I from this must fly.
They are free men but I am banished.
And say’st thou yet that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, though ne’er so mean,
But banished to kill me? Banished?
O Friar, the damned use that word in hell.
Howlings attends it. How hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess’d,
To mangle me with that word banished?
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Thou fond mad man, hear me speak a little,
ROMEO.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
I’ll give thee armour to keep off that word,
Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
ROMEO.
Yet banished? Hang up philosophy.
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a Prince’s doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
O, then I see that mad men have no ears.
ROMEO.
How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
ROMEO.
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel.
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,
Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
[Knocking within.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself.
ROMEO.
Not I, unless the breath of heartsick groans | 493 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Mist-like infold me from the search of eyes.
[Knocking.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Hark, how they knock!—Who’s there?—Romeo, arise,
Thou wilt be taken.—Stay awhile.—Stand up.
[Knocking.]
Run to my study.—By-and-by.—God’s will,
What simpleness is this.—I come, I come.
[Knocking.]
Who knocks so hard? Whence come you, what’s your will?
NURSE.
[Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand.
I come from Lady Juliet.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Welcome then.
Enter Nurse.
NURSE.
O holy Friar, O, tell me, holy Friar,
Where is my lady’s lord, where’s Romeo?
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
NURSE.
O, he is even in my mistress’ case.
Just in her case! O woeful sympathy!
Piteous predicament. Even so lies she,
Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man.
For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand.
Why should you fall into so deep an O?
ROMEO.
Nurse.
NURSE.
Ah sir, ah sir, death’s the end of all.
ROMEO.
Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her?
Doth not she think me an old murderer,
Now I have stain’d the childhood of our joy
With blood remov’d but little from her own?
Where is she? And how doth she? And what says
My conceal’d lady to our cancell’d love?
NURSE.
O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps;
And now falls on her bed, and then starts up,
And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
And then down falls again.
ROMEO.
As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her, as that name’s cursed hand
Murder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy
Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[Drawing his sword.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast. | 494 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Unseemly woman in a seeming man,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper’d.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth?
Since birth, and heaven and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit,
Which, like a usurer, abound’st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask,
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember’d with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead.
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy.
The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy.
A pack of blessings light upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But like a misshaped and sullen wench,
Thou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love.
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her.
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went’st forth in lamentation.
Go before, Nurse. Commend me to thy lady, | 495 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
NURSE.
O Lord, I could have stay’d here all the night
To hear good counsel. O, what learning is!
My lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.
ROMEO.
Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
NURSE.
Here sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.
Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.
[Exit.]
ROMEO.
How well my comfort is reviv’d by this.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Go hence, good night, and here stands all your state:
Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis’d from hence.
Sojourn in Mantua. I’ll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you that chances here.
Give me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night.
ROMEO.
But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief so brief to part with thee.
Farewell.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.
Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and
Paris.
CAPULET.
Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily
That we have had no time to move our daughter.
Look you, she lov’d her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I. Well, we were born to die.
’Tis very late; she’ll not come down tonight.
I promise you, but for your company,
I would have been abed an hour ago.
PARIS.
These times of woe afford no tune to woo.
Madam, good night. Commend me to your daughter.
LADY CAPULET.
I will, and know her mind early tomorrow;
Tonight she’s mew’d up to her heaviness.
CAPULET.
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
Of my child’s love. I think she will be rul’d
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed,
Acquaint her here of my son Paris’ love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,
But, soft, what day is this?
PARIS.
Monday, my lord.
CAPULET.
Monday! Ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, | 496 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
A Thursday let it be; a Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl.
Will you be ready? Do you like this haste?
We’ll keep no great ado,—a friend or two,
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much.
Therefore we’ll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
PARIS.
My lord, I would that Thursday were tomorrow.
CAPULET.
Well, get you gone. A Thursday be it then.
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day.
Farewell, my lord.—Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me, it is so very very late that we
May call it early by and by. Good night.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the
Garden.
Enter Romeo and
Juliet.
JULIET.
Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
ROMEO.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
JULIET.
Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I.
It is some meteor that the sun exhales
To be to thee this night a torchbearer
And light thee on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.
ROMEO.
Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death,
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,
’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.
Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
I have more care to stay than will to go.
Come, death, and welcome. Juliet wills it so. | 497 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
How is’t, my soul? Let’s talk. It is not day.
JULIET.
It is, it is! Hie hence, be gone, away.
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us.
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes.
O, now I would they had chang’d voices too,
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day.
O now be gone, more light and light it grows.
ROMEO.
More light and light, more dark and dark our woes.
Enter Nurse.
NURSE.
Madam.
JULIET.
Nurse?
NURSE.
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke, be wary, look about.
[Exit.]
JULIET.
Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
ROMEO.
Farewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend.
[Descends.]
JULIET.
Art thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend,
I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
For in a minute there are many days.
O, by this count I shall be much in years
Ere I again behold my Romeo.
ROMEO.
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
JULIET.
O thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?
ROMEO.
I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.
JULIET.
O God! I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.
ROMEO.
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you.
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.
[Exit below.]
JULIET.
O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle,
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune;
For then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long
But send him back.
LADY CAPULET.
[Within.] Ho, daughter, are you up?
JULIET. | 498 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
Who is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom’d cause procures her hither?
Enter Lady Capulet.
LADY CAPULET.
Why, how now, Juliet?
JULIET.
Madam, I am not well.
LADY CAPULET.
Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live.
Therefore have done: some grief shows much of love,
But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
JULIET.
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
LADY CAPULET.
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you weep for.
JULIET.
Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
LADY CAPULET.
Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death
As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.
JULIET.
What villain, madam?
LADY CAPULET.
That same villain Romeo.
JULIET.
Villain and he be many miles asunder.
God pardon him. I do, with all my heart.
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
LADY CAPULET.
That is because the traitor murderer lives.
JULIET.
Ay madam, from the reach of these my hands.
Would none but I might venge my cousin’s death.
LADY CAPULET.
We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.
Then weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish’d runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom’d dram
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.
JULIET.
Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo till I behold him—dead—
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d.
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it,
That Romeo should upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,
To wreak the love I bore my cousin
Upon his body that hath slaughter’d him.
LADY CAPULET. | 499 | William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet | 1,513 |
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