 موضوع: ROMIO - JULIET full long story الجمعة أبريل 19, 2013 4:32 pm | |
| The two chief families in Verona
were the rich Capulets and the Montagues. There had been an old quarrel
between these families, which was grown to such a height, and so deadly
was the enmity between them, that it extended to the remotest kindred,
to the followers and retainers of both sides, insomuch that a servant of
the house of Montague could not meet a servant of the house of Capulet,
nor a Capulet encounter with a Montague by chance, but fierce words and
sometimes bloodshed ensued; and frequent were the brawls from such
accidental meetings, which disturbed the happy quiet of Verona's
streets.
Old lord Capulet made a great
supper, to which many fair ladies and many noble guests were invited.
All the admired beauties of Verona were present, and all comers were
made welcome if they were not of the house of Montague. At this feast of
Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to the old lord Montague, was
present; and though it was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in this
assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, persuaded the young lord to
go to this assembly in the disguise of a mask, that he might see his
Rosaline, and seeing her compare her with some choice beauties of
Verona, who (he said) would make him think his swan a crow. Romeo had
small faith in Benvolio's words; nevertheless, for the love of Rosaline,
he was persuaded to go. For Romeo was a sincere and passionate lover,
and one that lost his sleep for love, and fled society to be alone,
thinking on Rosaline, who disdained him, and never required his love,
with the least show of courtesy or affection; and Benvolio wished to
cure his friend of this love by showing him diversity of ladies and
company. To this feast of Capulets then young Romeo with Benvolio and
their friend Mercutio went masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome, and
told them that ladies who had their toes unplagued with corns would
dance with them. And the old man was light hearted and merry, and said
that he had worn a mask when he was young, and could have told a
whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. And they fell to dancing, and
Romeo was suddenly struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who danced
there, who seemed to him to teach the torches to burn bright, and her
beauty to show by night like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; beauty
too rich for use, too dear for earth! like a snowy dove trooping with
crows (he said), so richly did her beauty and perfections shine above
the ladies her companions. While he uttered these praises, he was
overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of lord Capulet, who knew him by his voice
to be Romeo. And this Tybalt, being of a fiery and passionate temper,
could not endure that a Montague should come under cover of a mask, to
fleer and scorn (as he said) at their solemnities. And he stormed and
raged exceedingly, and would have struck young Romeo dead. But his
uncle, the old lord Capulet, would not suffer him to do any injury at
that time, both out of respect to his guests, and because Romeo had
borne himself like a gentleman, and all tongues in Verona bragged of him
to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. Tybalt, forced to be patient
against his will, restrained himself, but swore that this vile Montague
should at another time dearly pay for his intrusion.
The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place where the lady stood;
and under favour of his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in
part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the
hand, calling it a shrine, which if he profaned by touching it, he was a
blushing pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement. 'Good pilgrim,'
answered the lady, 'your devotion shows by far too mannerly and too
courtly: saints have hands, which pilgrims may touch, but kiss not.'
'Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too?' said Romeo. 'Ay,' said the
lady, 'lips which they must use in prayer.' 'O then, my dear saint,'
said Romeo, 'hear my prayer, and grant it, lest I despair.' In such like
allusions and loving conceits they were engaged, when the lady was
called away to her mother. And Romeo inquiring who her mother was,
discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he was so much struck
with, was young Juliet, daughter and heir to the lord Capulet, the great
enemy of the Montagues; and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart
to his foe. This troubled him, but it could not dissuade him from
loving. As little rest had Juliet, when she found that the gentleman
that she had been talking with was Romeo and a Montague, for she had
been suddenly smit with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for
Romeo, which he had conceived for her; and a prodigious birth of love it
seemed to her, that she must love her enemy, and that her affections
should settle there, where family considerations should induce her
chiefly to hate.
It being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed; but they soon
missed him, for, unable to stay away from the house where he had left
his heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard which was at the back of
Juliet's house. Here he had not been long, ruminating on his new love,
when Juliet appeared above at a window, through which her exceeding
beauty seemed to break like the light of the sun in the east; and the
moon, which shone in the orchard with a faint light, appeared to Romeo
as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre of this new sun.
And she, leaning her cheek upon her hand, he passionately wished himself
a glove upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek. She all this
while thinking herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed: 'Ah
me!' Romeo, enraptured to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by
her: 'O speak again, bright angel, for such you appear, being over my
head, like a winged messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to gaze
upon.' She, unconscious of being overheard, and full of the new passion
which that night's adventure had given birth to, called upon her lover
by name (whom she supposed absent): 'O Romeo, Romeo!' said she,
'wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, for my
sake; or if thou wilt not, be but my sworn love, and I no longer will be
a Capulet.' Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have spoken,
but he was desirous of hearing more; and the lady continued her
passionate discourse with herself (as she thought), still chiding Romeo
for being Romeo and a Montague, and wishing him some other name, or that
he would put away that hated name, and for that name which was no part
of himself, he should take all herself. At this loving word Romeo could
no longer refrain, but taking up the dialogue as if her words had been
addressed to him personally, and not merely in fancy, he bade her call
him Love, or by whatever other name she pleased, for he was no longer
Romeo, if that name was displeasing to her. Juliet, alarmed to hear a
man's voice in the garden, did not at first know who it was, that by
favour of the night and darkness had thus stumbled upon the discovery of
her secret; but when he spoke again, though her ears had not yet -drunk
a hundred words of that tongue's uttering, yet so nice is a lover's
hearing, that she immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and she
expostulated with him on the danger to which he had exposed himself by
climbing the orchard walls, for if any of her kinsmen should find him
there, it would be death to him, being a Montague. 'Alack,' said Romeo,
'there is more peril in your eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do you
but look kind upon me, lady, and I am proof against their enmity.
Better my life should be ended by their hate, than that hated life
should be prolonged, to live without your love.' 'How came you into this
place,' said Juliet, 'and by whose direction?' 'Love directed me,'
answered Romeo: 'I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far apart from me, as
that vast shore which is washed with the farthest sea, I should venture
for such merchandise.' A crimson blush came over Juliet's face, yet
unseen by Romeo by reason of the night, when she reflected upon the
discovery which she had made, yet not meaning to make it, of her love to
Romeo. She would fain have recalled her words, but that was impossible:
fain would she have stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a
distance, as the custom of discreet ladies is, to frown and be perverse,
and give their suitors harsh denials at first; to stand off, and affect
a coyness or indifference, where they most love, that their lovers may
not think them too lightly or too easily won; for the difficulty of
attainment increases the value of the object. But there was no room in
her case for denials, or puttings off, or any of the customary arts of
delay and protracted courtship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue,
when she did not dream that he was near her, a confession of her love.
So with an honest frankness, which the novelty of her situation excused,
she confirmed the truth of what he had before heard, and addressing him
by the name of fair Montague (love can sweeten a sour name), she begged
him not to impute her easy yielding to levity or an unworthy mind, but
that he must lay the fault of it (if it were a fault) upon the accident
of the night which had so strangely discovered her thoughts. And she
added, that though her behaviour to him might not be sufficiently
prudent, measured by the custom of her sex, yet that she would prove
more true than many whose prudence was dissembling, and their modesty
artificial cunning.
Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to witness, that nothing was
farther from his thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonour to such
an honoured lady, when she stopped him, begging him not to swear; for
although she joyed in him, yet she had no joy of that night's contract:
it was too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he being urgent with her
to exchange a vow of love with him that night, she said that she
already had given him hers before he requested it; meaning, when he
overheard her confession; but she would retract what she then bestowed,
for the pleasure of giving it again, for her bounty was as infinite as
the sea, and her love as deep. From this loving conference she was
called away by her nurse, who slept with her, and thought it time for
her to be in bed, for it was near to daybreak; but hastily returning,
she said three or four words more to Romeo, the purport of which was,
that if his love was indeed honourable, and his purpose marriage, she
would send a messenger to him tomorrow, to appoint a time for their
marriage, when she would lay all her fortunes at his feet, and follow
him as her lord through the world. While they were settling this point,
Juliet was repeatedly called for by her nurse, and went in and returned,
and went and returned again, for she seemed as jealous of Romeo going
from her, as a young girl of her bird, which she will let hop a little
from her hand, and pluck it back with a silken thread; and Romeo was as
loath to part as she; for the sweetest music to lovers is the sound of
each other's tongues at night. But at last they parted, wishing mutually
sweet sleep and rest for that night.
The day was breaking when they parted, and Romeo, who was too full of
thoughts of his mistress and that blessed meeting to allow him to sleep,
instead of going home, bent his course to a monastery hard by, to find
friar Lawrence. The good friar was already up at his devotions, but
seeing young Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured rightly that he had
not been abed that night, but that some distemper of youthful affection
had kept him waking. He was right in imputing the cause of Romeo's
wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong guess at the object, for he
thought that his love for Rosaline had kept him waking. But when Romeo
revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested the assistance of the
friar to marry them that day, the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands
in a sort of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo's affections, for he
had been privy to all Romeo's love for Rosaline, and his many complaints
of her disdain: and he said, that young men's love lay not truly in
their hearts, but in their eyes. But Romeo replying, that he himself had
often chidden him for doting on Rosaline, who could not love him again,
whereas Juliet both loved and was beloved by him, the friar assented in
some measure to his reasons; and thinking that a matrimonial alliance
between young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the means of making up
the long breach between the Capulets and the Montagues; which no one
more lamented than this good friar, who was a friend to both the
families and had often interposed his mediation to make up the quarrel
without effect; partly moved by policy, and partly by his fondness for
young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, the old man consented to
join their hands in marriage.
Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who knew his intent from a
messenger which she had despatched according to promise, did not fail to
be early at the cell of friar Lawrence, where their hands were joined
in holy marriage; the good friar praying the heavens to smile upon that
act, and in the union of this young Montague and young Capulet to bury
the old strife and long dissensions of their families.
The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home, where she stayed
impatient for the coming of night, at which time Romeo promised to come
and meet her in the orchard, where they had met the night before; and
the time between seemed as tedious to her, as the night before some
great festival seems to an impatient child, that has got new finery
which it may not put on till the morning.
That same day, about noon, Romeo's friends, Benvolio and Mercutio,
walking through the streets of Verona, were met by a party of the
Capulets with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. This was the same
angry Tybalt who would have fought with Romeo at old lord Capulet's
feast. He, seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly of associating with
Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio, who had as much fire and youthful blood in
him as Tybalt, replied to this accusation with some sharpness; and in
spite of all Benvolio could say to moderate their wrath, a quarrel was
beginning, when Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt turned
from Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgraceful appellation of
villain. Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel with Tybalt above all men,
because he was the kinsman of Juliet, and much beloved by her; besides,
this young Montague had never thoroughly entered into the family
quarrel, being by nature wise and gentle, and the name of a Capulet,
which was his dear lady's name, was now rather a charm to allay
resentment, than a watchword to excite fury. So he tried to reason with
Tybalt, whom he saluted mildly by the name of good Capulet, as if he,
though a Montague, had some secret pleasure in uttering that name: but
Tybalt, who hated all Montagues as he hated hell, would hear no reason,
but drew his weapon; and Mercutio, who knew not of Romeo's secret motive
for desiring peace with Tybalt, but looked upon his present forbearance
as a sort of calm dishonourable submission, with many disdainful words
provoked Tybalt to the prosecution of his first quarrel with him; and
Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio fell, receiving his death's
wound while Romeo and Benvolio were vainly endeavouring to part the
combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept his temper no longer, but
returned the scornful appellation of villain which Tybalt had given him;
and they fought till Tybalt was slain by Romeo. This deadly broil
failing out in the midst of Verona at noonday, the news of it quickly
brought a crowd of citizens to the spot, and among them the old lords
Capulet and Montague, with their wives; and soon after arrived the
prince himself, who being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt had slain,
and having had the peace of his government often disturbed by these
brawls of Montagues and Capulets, came determined to put the law in
strictest force against those who should be found to be offenders.
Benvolio, who had been eyewitness to the fray, was commanded by the
prince to relate the origin of it; which he did, keeping as near the
truth as he could without injury to Romeo, softening and excusing the
part which his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for
the loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in her revenge,
exhorted the prince to do strict justice upon his murderer, and to pay
no attention to Benvolio's representation, who, being Romeo's friend and
a Montague, spoke partially. Thus she pleaded against her new
son-in-law, but she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and Juliet's
husband. On the other hand was to be seen Lady Montague pleading for
her child's life, and arguing with some justice that Romeo had done
nothing worthy of punishment in taking the life of Tybalt, which was
already forfeited to the law by his having slain Mercutio. The prince,
unmoved by the passionate exclamations of these women, on a careful
examination of the facts, pronounced his sentence, and by that sentence
Romeo was banished from Verona.
Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few hours a bride, and
now by this decree seemed everlastingly divorced! When the tidings
reached her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo, who had slain
her dear cousin: she called him a beautiful tyrant, a fiend angelical, a
ravenous dove, a lamb with a wolf's nature, a serpent-heart hid with a
flowering face, and other like contradictory names, which denoted the
struggles in her mind between her love and her resentment: but in the
end love got the mastery, and the tears which she shed for grief that
Romeo had slain her cousin, turned to drops of joy that her husband
lived whom Tybalt would have slain. Then came fresh tears, and they were
altogether of grief for Romeo's banishment. That word was more terrible
to her than the death of many Tybalts.
Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in friar Lawrence's cell, where
he was first made acquainted with the prince's sentence, which seemed to
him far more terrible than death. To him it appeared there was no world
out of Verona's walls, no living out of the sight of Juliet. Heaven was
there where Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory, torture, hell.
The good friar would have applied the consolation of philosophy to his
griefs: but this frantic young man would hear of none, but like a madman
he tore his hair, and threw himself all along upon the ground, as he
said, to take the measure of his grave. From this unseemly state he was
roused by a message from his dear lady, which a little revived him; and
then the friar took the advantage to expostulate with him on the unmanly
weakness which he had shown. He had slain Tybalt, but would he also
slay himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but in his life? The noble
form of man, he said, was but a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage
which should keep it firm. The law had been lenient to him, that
instead of death, which he had incurred, had pronounced by the prince's
mouth only banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have slain
him: there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive, and
(beyond all hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most happy.
All these blessings, as the friar made them out to be, did Romeo put
from him like a sullen misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware,
for such as despaired, (he said) died miserable. Then when Romeo was a
little calmed, he counselled him that he should go that night and
secretly take his leave of Juliet, and thence proceed straitways to
Mantua, at which place he should sojourn, till the friar found fit
occasion to publish his marriage, which might be a joyful means of
reconciling their families; and then he did not doubt but the prince
would be moved to pardon him, and he would return with twenty times more
joy than he went forth with grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise
counsels of the friar, and took his leave to go and seek his lady,
proposing to stay with her that night, and by daybreak pursue his
journey alone to Mantua; to which place the good friar promised to send
him letters from time to time, acquainting him with the state of affairs
at home.
That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining secret admission to
her chamber, from the orchard in which he had heard her confession of
love the night before. That had been a night of unmixed joy and rapture;
but the pleasures of this night, and the delight which these lovers
took in each other's society, were sadly allayed with the prospect of
parting, and the fatal adventures of the past day. The unwelcome
daybreak seemed to come too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song
of the lark, she would have persuaded herself that it was the
nightingale, which sings by night; but it was too truly the lark which
sang, and a discordant and unpleasing note it seemed to her; and the
streaks of day in the east too certainly pointed out that it was time
for these lovers to part. Romeo took his leave of his dear wife with a
heavy heart, promising to write to her from Mantua every hour in the
day; and when he had descended from her chamber window, as he stood
below her on the ground, in that sad foreboding state of mind in which
she was, he appeared to her eyes as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.
Romeo's mind misgave him in like manner: but now he was forced hastily
to depart, for it was death for him to be found within the walls of
Verona after daybreak.
This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this pair of star-crossed
lovers. Romeo had not been gone many days, before the old lord Capulet
proposed a match for Juliet. The husband he had chosen for her, not
dreaming that she was married already, was count Paris, a gallant,
young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor to the young Juliet, if
she had never seen Romeo.
The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her father's offer. She
pleaded her youth unsuitable to marriage, the recent death of Tybalt,
which had left her spirits too weak to meet a husband with any face of
joy, and how indecorous it would show for the family of the Capulets to
be celebrating a nuptial feast, when his funeral solemnities were hardly
over: she pleaded every reason against the match, but the true one,
namely, that she was married already. But lord Capulet was deaf to all
her excuses, and in a peremptory manner ordered her to get ready, for by
the following Thursday she should be married to Paris: and having found
her a husband, rich, young, and noble, such as the proudest maid in
Verona might joyfully accept, he could not bear that out of an affected
coyness, as he construed her denial, she should oppose obstacles to her
own good fortune.
In this extremity Juliet applied to the friendly friar, always her
counsellor in distress, and he asking her if she had resolution to
undertake a desperate remedy, and she answering that she would go into
the grave alive rather than marry Paris, her own dear husband living; he
directed her to go home, and appear merry, and give her consent to
marry Paris, according to her father's desire, and on the next night,
which was the night before the marriage, to drink off the contents of a
phial which he then gave her, the effect of which would be that for
two-and-forty hours after drinking it she should appear cold and
lifeless; and when the bridegroom came to fetch her in the morning, he
would find her to appearance dead; that then she would be borne, as the
manner in that country was, uncovered on a bier, to be buried in the
family vault; that if she could put off womanish fear, and consent to
this terrible trial, in forty-two hours after swallowing the liquid
(such was its certain operation) she would be sure to awake, as from a
dream; and before she should awake, he would let her husband know their
drift, and he should come in the night, and bear her thence to Mantua.
Love, and the dread of marrying Paris, gave young Juliet strength to
undertake this horrible adventure; and she took the phial of the friar,
promising to observe his directions.
Going from the monastery, she met the young count Paris, and modestly
dissembling, promised to become his bride. This was joyful news to the
lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into the old man; and
Juliet, who had displeased him exceedingly, by her refusal of the count,
was his darling again, now she promised to be obedient. All things in
the house were in a bustle against the approaching nuptials. No cost was
spared to prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before
witnessed.
On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion. She had many
misgivings lest the friar, to avoid the blame which might be imputed to
him for marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison; but then he was
always known for a holy man: then lest she should awake before the time
that Romeo was to come for her; whether the terror of the place, a vault
of dead Capulets' bones, and where Tybalt, all bloody, lay festering in
his shroud, would not be enough to drive her distracted: again she
thought of all the stories she had heard of spirits haunting the places
where their bodies were bestowed. But then her love for Romeo, and her
aversion for Paris returned, and she desperately swallowed the draught,
and became insensible.
When young Paris came early in the morning with music to awaken his
bride, instead of a living Juliet, her chamber presented the dreary
spectacle of a lifeless corpse. What death to his hopes! What confusion
then reigned through the whole house! Poor Paris lamenting his bride,
whom most detestable death had beguiled him of, had divorced from him
even before their hands were joined. But still more piteous it was to
hear the mournings of the old lord and lady Capulet, who having but this
one, one poor living child to rejoice and solace in, cruel death had
snatched her from their sight, just as these careful parents were on the
point of seeing her advanced (as they thought) by a promising and
advantageous match. Now all things that were ordained for the festival
were turned from their properties to do the office of a black funeral.
The wedding cheer served for a sad burial feast, the bridal hymns were
changed for sullen dirges, the sprightly instruments to melancholy
bells, and the flowers that should have been strewed in the bride's
path, now served but to strew her corse. Now, instead of a priest to
marry her, a priest was needed to bury her; and she was borne to church
indeed, not to augment the cheerful hopes of the living, but to swell
the dreary numbers of the dead.
Bad news, which always travels faster than good, now brought the dismal
story of his Juliet's death to Romeo, at Mantua, before the messenger
could arrive, who was sent from friar Lawrence to apprise him that these
were mock funerals only, and but the shadow and representation of
death, and that his dear lady lay in the tomb but for a short while,
expecting when Romeo would come to release her from that dreary mansion.
Just before, Romeo had been unusually joyful and lighthearted. He had
dreamed in the night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave a dead
man leave to think), and that his lady came and found him dead, and
breathed such life with kisses in his lips, that he revived, and was an
emperor! And now that a messenger came from Verona, he thought surely it
was to confirm some good news which his dreams had presaged. But when
the contrary to this flattering vision appeared, and that it was his
lady who was dead in truth, whom he could not revive by any kisses, he
ordered horses to be gotready, for he determined that night to visit
Verona, and to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief is swift to
enter into the thoughts of desperate men, he called to mind a poor
apothecary, whose shop in Mantua he had lately passed, and from the
beggarly appearance of the man, who seemed famished, and the wretched
show in his show of empty boxes ranged on dirty shelves, and other
tokens of extreme wretchedness, he had said at the time (perhaps having
some misgivings that his own disastrous life might haply meet with a
conclusion so desperate),'If a man were to need poison, which by the law
of Mantua it is death to sell, here lives a poor wretch who would sell
it him. 'These words of his now came into his mind, and he sought out
the apothecary, who after some pretended scruples, Romeo offering him
gold, which his poverty could not resist, sold him a poison, which, if
he swallowed, he told him, if he had the strength of twenty men, would
quickly despatch him.
With this poison he set out for Verona, to have a sight of his dear lady
in her tomb, meaning, when he had satisfied his sight, to swallow the
poison, and be buried by her side. He reached Verona at midnight, and
found the churchyard, in the midst of which was situated the ancient
tomb of the Capulets. He had provided a light, and a spade, and
wrenching iron, and was proceeding to break open the monument, when he
was interrupted by a voice, which by the name of vile Montague, bade him
desist from his unlawful business. It was the young count Paris, who
had come to the tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable time of night, to
strew flowers and to weep over the grave of her that should have been
'his bride. He knew not what an interest Romeo had in the dead, but
knowing him to be a Montague, and (as he supposed) a sworn foe to all
the Capulets, he judged that he was come by night to do some villainous
shame to the dead bodies; therefore in an angry tone he bade him desist;
and as a criminal, condemned by the laws of Verona to die if he were
found within the walls of the city, he would have apprehended him. Romeo
urged Paris to leave him, and warned him by the fate of Tybalt, who lay
buried there, not to provoke his anger, or draw down another sin upon
his head, by forcing him to kill him. But the count in scorn refused his
warning, and laid hands on him as a felon, which Romeo resisting, they
fought, and Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a light, came to see
who it was that he had slain, that it was Paris, who (he learned in his
way from Mantua) should have married Juliet, he took the dead youth by
the hand, as one whom misfortune had made a companion, and said that he
would bury him in a triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet's grave, which he
now opened: and there lay his lady, as one whom death had no power upon
to change a feature or complexion, in her matchless beauty; or as if
Death were amorous, and the lean abhorred monster kept her there for his
delight; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to sleep
when she swallowed that benumbing potion; and near her lay Tybalt in
his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing, begged pardon of his lifeless
corpse, and for Juliet's sake called him cousin, and said that he was
about to do him a favour by putting his enemy to death. Here Romeo took
his last leave of his lady's lips, kissing them; and here he shook the
burden of his cross stars from his weary body, swallowing that poison
which the apothecary had sold him, whose operation was fatal and real,
not like that dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed, the effect
of which was now nearly expiring, and she about to awake to Complain
that Romeo had not kept his time, or that he had come too soon.
For now the hour was arrived at which the friar had promised that she
should awake; and he, having learned that his letters which he had sent
to Mantua, by some unlucky detention of the messenger, had never reached
Romeo, came himself, provided with the pickaxe and lantern, to deliver
the lady from her confinement; but he was surprised to find a light
already burning in the Capulets' monument, and to see swords and blood
near it, and Romeo and Paris lying breathless by the monument.
Before he could entertain a conjecture, to imagine how these fatal
accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of her trance, and seeing the
friar near her, she remembered the place where she was, and the
occasion of her being there, and asked for Romeo, but the friar, hearing
a noise, bade her come out of that place of death, and of unnatural
sleep, for a greater power than they could contradict had thwarted their
intents; and being frightened by the noise of people coming, he fled:
but when Juliet saw the cup closed in her true love's hand, she guessed
that poison had been the cause of his end, and she would have swallowed
the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his still warm lips to
try if any poison yet did hang upon them; then hearing a nearer noise of
people coming, she quickly unsheathed a dagger which she wore, and
stabbing herself, died by her true Romeo's side.
The watch by this time had come up to the place. A page belonging to
count Paris, who had witnessed the fight between his master and Romeo,
had given the alarm, which had spread among the citizens, who went up
and down the streets of Verona confusedly exclaiming, A Paris! a Romeo! a
Juliet! as the rumour had imperfectly reached them, till the uproar
brought lord Montague and lord Capulet out of their beds, with the
prince, to inquire into the causes of the disturbance. The friar had
been apprehended by some of the watch, coming from the churchyard,
trembling, sighing, and weeping, in a suspicious manner. A great
multitude being assembled at the Capulets' monument, the friar was
demanded by the prince to deliver what he knew of these strange and
disastrous accidents.
And there, in the presence of the old lords Montague and Capulet, he
faithfully related the story of their children's fatal love, the part he
took in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that union to end the
long quarrels between their families: how Romeo, there dead, was husband
to Juliet; and Juliet, there dead, was Romeo's faithful wife; how
before he could find a fit opportunity to divulge their marriage,
another match was projected for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime of a
second marriage, swallowed the sleeping draught (as he advised), and all
thought her dead; how meantime he wrote to Romeo, to come and take her
thence when the force of the potion should cease, and by what
unfortunate miscarriage of the messenger the letters never reached
Romeo; further than this the friar could not follow the story, nor knew
more than that coming himself, to deliver Juliet from that place of
death, he found the count Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of the
transactions was supplied by the narration of the page who had seen
Paris and Romeo fight, and by the servant who came with Romeo from
Verona, to whom this faithful lover had given letters to be delivered to
his father in the event of his death, which made good the friar's
words, confessing his marriage with Juliet, imploring the forgiveness of
his parents, acknowledging the buying of the poison of the poor
apothecary, and his intent in coming to the monument, to die, and lie
with Juliet. All these circumstances agreed together to clear the friar
from any hand he could be supposed to have in these complicated
slaughters, further than as the unintended consequences of his own well
meant, yet too artificial and subtle contrivances.
And the prince, turning to these old lords, Montague and Capulet,
rebuked them for their brutal and irrational enmities, and showed them
what a scourge Heaven had laid upon such offences, that it had found
means even through the love of their children to punish their unnatural
hate. And these old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury their long
strife in their children's graves; and lord Capulet requested lord
Montague to give him his hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if
in acknowledgement of the union of their families, by the marriage of
the young Capulet and Montague; and saying that lord Montague's hand (in
token of reconcilement) was all he demanded for his daughter's
jointure: but lord Montague said he would give him more, for he would
raise her a statue of pure gold, that while Verona kept its name, no
figure should be so esteemed for its richness and workmanship as that of
the true and faithful Juliet. And lord Capulet in return said that he
would raise another statue to Romeo. So did- these poor old lords, when
it was too late, strive to outdo each other in mutual courtesies: while
so deadly had been their rage and enmity in past times, that nothing but
the fearful overthrow of their children (poor sacrifices to their
quarrels and dissensions) could remove the rooted hates and jealousies
of the noble families ,
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منتدى دوشه نت
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