There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.
There, on the ground, drunk on his own tears.
Oh, 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, an you be a man. For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand. Why should you fall into so deep an O?
He’s acting like Juliet, exactly like her. Oh awful sympathy! What a dreadful predicament! She’s lying on the ground just like him, blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up. Stand up. Stand up if you’re a man. For Juliet’s sake, for her sake, rise and stand. Why do you moan so terribly?
Ah sir, ah sir. Death’s the end of all.
Well, sir, well. Death comes for everybody.
Spakest thou of Juliet? How is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stained the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? And how doth she? And what says My concealed lady to our canceled love?
What of Juliet? How is she? Does she think that I’m a cold-blooded murderer because I corrupted our newfound love by killing her relative? Where is she? How is she? What does my wife say about our love?
Oh, 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.
Oh, she says nothing, sir. Instead she weeps and weeps. She falls on her bed, then starts to get up, then calls out Tybalt’s name and then your name, and then she falls back down on the bed.
As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her, as that name’s cursed hand Murdered 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. [He draws his dagger]
She calls out my name as if it were a bullet that had been shot from a gun and murdered her, just as I murdered her cousin. Tell me, Friar, in what vile part of my body does my name rest? Tell me, so I can cut it out of myself. [He draws his dagger]
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. Unseemly woman in a seeming man, And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better tempered. Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself, And slay thy lady that in thy life lives By doing damnèd 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 shamest 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 valor of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vowed to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skill-less soldier’s flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance; And thou dismembered 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 threatened 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 misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout’st upon 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, And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto. Romeo is coming.
Stop! Don’t do anything out of desperation. Are you a man? You look like a man. But your tears are womanly . Your wildness is like the irrational fury of a beast. You’re like an inappropriate woman hiding within a man, or, even worse, a shameful beast hiding within a half-man, half-woman! You amaze me. By my holy order, I swear I thought you were stronger and more stable than this. Have you killed Tybalt? Will you kill yourself, and in performing such a sin also kill your wife, who shares your life? Why are you ranting about your birth, the heavens, and the earth? You are made of the joining of all three, and now want nothing to do with them? You bring shame to your body, your love, and your mind. You are blessed with all three, but like a moneylender you do not use your body, love, or mind for their true purpose. Without honor or nobility, your body is just a wax figure. The love that you swore is just a hollow lie, since you now threaten to kill the love that you vowed to cherish. Your mind, that key to both your body and your love, has failed to handle both of them. You’re like an unskilled soldier who accidentally explodes his own gunpowder because he does not know how to use it: you end up killing yourself with the very thing meant to protect you. Now get a hold of yourself, man! Your Juliet is alive (for whose sake you were just threatening to kill yourself). That is something to be happy about. Tybalt tried to kill you, but you killed Tybalt. That is something to be happy about. The law that promised death for you was mercifully changed into exile—another thing to be happy about. You have been blessed multiple times, and are surrounded by brightest happiness. But like a misbehaved and sullen girl, you’re pouting about your bad luck and thwarted love. Now listen to me: those who act the way you are acting now die miserable. Go, be with your love, as we planned. Climb up to her bedroom and comfort her. But make sure to leave before the watchmen take their positions, because they will stop you before you can escape to Mantua. You’ll live in Mantua until we can announce your marriage publicly, make peace between your families, and beg the Prince to pardon you. Then we’ll welcome you back with twenty thousand times more joy than you’ll feel when leaving. Nurse, go to Juliet before Romeo follows. Give my regards to your lady, and tell her to hurry everybody in her house to bed. It's likely that their sorrow will make them want to go to sleep, anyway. Romeo is coming.
O Lord, I could have stayed here all the night To hear good counsel. Oh, what learning is! My lord, I’ll tell my lady you will come.