Friar. Sir, go you in,--and, madam, go with him;-- And go, Sir Paris;--every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lower upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.]
1 Musician. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up; For well you know this is a pitiful case.
[Exit.]
1 Musician. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
[Enter Peter.]
Peter. Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease': O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.'
1 Musician. Why 'Heart's ease'?
Peter. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe': O, play me some merry dump to comfort me.
1 Musician. Not a dump we: 'tis no time to play now.
Peter. You will not then?
1 Musician. No.
Peter. I will then give it you soundly.
1 Musician. What will you give us?
Peter. No money, on my faith; but the gleek,--I will give you the minstrel.
1 Musician. Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Peter. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you: do you note me?
1 Musician. An you re us and fa us, you note us.
2 Musician. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Peter. Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger.--Answer me like men:
'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'--
why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'?-- What say you, Simon Catling?
1 Musician. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.
Peter. Pretty!--What say you, Hugh Rebeck?
2 Musician. I say 'silver sound' because musicians sound for silver.
Peter. Pretty too!--What say you, James Soundpost?
3 Musician. Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter. O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound' because musicians have no gold for sounding:--
'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.'
[Exit.]
1 Musician. What a pestilent knave is this same!
2 Musician. Hang him, Jack!--Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
[Exeunt.]
Act V.
Scene I. Mantua. A Street.
[Enter Romeo.]
Romeo. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand; My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!
[Enter Balthasar.]
News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar? Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill if she be well.
Balthasar. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Romeo. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!-- Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses. I will hence to-night.
Balthasar. I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.
Romeo. Tush, thou art deceiv'd: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Balthasar. No, my good lord.
Romeo. No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.
[Exit Balthasar.]
