Source
Oxford School | Roma Gill, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis’d 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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Thought Counts
Oxford School | 2001
Thoughts |TBD
Short: 6
Medium: 4
Long: 1
Total: 11
End-stopped: 7
Mid-line: 4
Periods: 7
Exclamations: 2
Questions: 2
Unfinished: 0
Helena needs the audience to
Beats
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis’d 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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Given Circumstances
Oxford School | 2001
Thoughts |TBD
Short: 6
Medium: 4
Long: 1
Total: 11
End-stopped: 7
Mid-line: 4
Periods: 7
Exclamations: 2
Questions: 2
Unfinished: 0
Helena needs the audience to
Thoughts
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
1. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis’d to return.
2. Perchance she cannot meet him: that’s not so.
3. O, she is lame! 4. Love’s heralds should be thoughts,
Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
5. 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.
6. Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me.
7. But old folks, many feign as they were dead,
Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead.
Enter Nurse with Peter
8. O God, she comes! 9. O honey Nurse, what news?
10. Hast thou met with him? 11. Send thy man away.
Line Analysis
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; 10R
In half an hour she promis’d to return. 10R
Perchance she cannot meet him: that’s not so. 10R
O, she is lame! Love‘s heralds should be thoughts, 10
Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams, 11
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills; 10
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love, 10
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 10R
Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 10
Of this day‘s journey, and from nine till twelve 10 | 10R
Is three long hoürs, yet she is not come. 10 | 10R
Had she affections and warm youthful blood, 10 | 11
She would be as swift in motion as a ball; 11
My words would bandy her to my sweet love, 10 | 10R
And his to me. 4
But old folks, many feign as they were dead, 10 | 10R
Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead. 10
Enter Nurse with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news? 10R
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. 10
Pacing and Tempo
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; slowly (mono)
In half an hour she promis’d to return. pause
Perchance she cannot meet him: ^ that’s not so. pause
O, she is lame! ^^ Love’s heralds should be thoughts, slowly |
Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love, slowly
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. slowly (htsf), pause
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. slowly (mostly mono, “hours” is drawn out)
Had she affections ^ and warm ^ youthful blood, slowly (htsf)
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me. PAUSE
But old folks, many feign as they were dead,
Unwieldy, ^ slow, ^ heavy, ^ and pale as lead. slowly (htsf)
Enter Nurse with Peter
O God, ^ she comes! ^^ O honey Nurse, ^ what news? pause
Hast thou met with him? ^^ Send thy man away.
Alliteration
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis’d 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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Assonance & Rhyme
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; slowly (mono)
In half an hour she promis’d to return. pause
Perchance she cannot meet him: ^ that’s not so. pause
O, she is lame! ^^ Love’s heralds should be thoughts, slowly |
Which ten times faster glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love, slowly
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. slowly (htsf), pause
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. slowly (mostly mono, “hours” is drawn out)
Had she affections ^ and warm ^ youthful blood, slowly (htsf)
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me. PAUSE
But old folks, many feign as they were dead,
Unwieldy, ^ slow, ^ heavy, ^ and pale as lead. slowly (htsf)
Enter Nurse with Peter
O God, ^ she comes! ^^ O honey Nurse, ^ what news? pause
Hast thou met with him? ^^ Send thy man away.
Consonance & Onomatopoeia
Oxford School | 2001
JULIET
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
In half an hour she promis’d 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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Rhetoric
Oxford School | 2001
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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Before and After
Oxford School | 2001
SCENE V. Capulet’s orchard.
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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over louring hills:
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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.
O God, she comes!
Enter Nurse and PETER
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 shamest the music of sweet news
By playing it to me with so sour a face.
Nurse
I am a-weary, 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 awhile?
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!
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 jaunting 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 to-day?
JULIET
I have.
Nurse
Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence’ 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
Definitions
Oxford School | 2001
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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Translation
Oxford School | 2001
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 glide than the sun’s beams,
Driving back shadows over low’ring hills;
Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw Love,
And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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 would 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 with Peter
O God, she comes! O honey Nurse, what news?
Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away.
Source
Arden 3 | Rene Weis. New York: Bloomsbury, 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Thought Counts
Arden 3 | 2012
Thoughts |TBD
Short: 1
Medium: 8
Long: 1
Total: 10
End-stopped: 6
Mid-line: 4
Periods: 10
Exclamations: 0
Questions: 0
Unfinished: 0
Juliet needs:
to voice their excitement for her
to join with her in urging night to come
Juliet needs:
Day to end
Night to come, bringing Romeo with it
Journey
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Juliet begins by exhorting day to end as quickly as possible. A thought that sends day to its lodging with all speed is followed by one that wishes Phaethon would be driving the sun chariot, since he would end day even more quickly by crashing and burning.
I’d argue the big break comes here: the focus shifts to night and stays on it in various manifestations. Romeo’s coming is also added into the mix.
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk’d of and unseen.
Juliet now exhorts night to fall so that, as planned, Romeo can arrive and they can see each other and have their nuptial night. Night is likened to a curtain that hides lovemaking from prying eyes.
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night.
Juliet seems to realize she’s made an error that needs to be fixed. She wants night to fall so that Romeo will be “unseen”, but if it’s so dark, how will they see each other? She playfully reasons it doesn’t matter if it’s pitch black: Romeo’s beauty and her own will light their lovemaking. Besides, Love is blind, so not being able to see each other is all good in the hood and in sympathy with Love’s condition.
Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
Juliet goes back to exhorting night to fall, this time endowing it with a metaphor of a matron, a teacher of sorts, who will show her how to make love properly.
Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle, till strange love grow bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
She exhorts the matron of night again, this time to give her her clock as a hood to covers her face so no one can see her blushing with embarrassment about the first time, and perhaps shame at getting married without her parents’ consent. That said, she sounds more blushing for propriety’s sake, unfamiliar with the sex act, and wanting to be proper. The boldness of her previous thought(s) might have embarrassed her, prompting this more proper one.
Come, night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back.
She exhorts night to come and Romeo to come, who is likened to a light in darkness; night is recognized as a winged entity, and compared to a raven. Simile and imagery is used here. She is possibly also the raven or her legs the raven’s wings. Romeo has gone from arriving to lying down, and next will probably reach ecstasy with her.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
She exhorts night, now a gentle and loving, dark complexioned being, to come and give her Romeo (there is a sexual level to this too) in exchange for which she will offer Romeo as a tribute that will brighten night so that everyone will love it more than day, because who wouldn’t fall in love with Romeo. It’s a playfully morbid imagery she works with that certainly evokes orgasm, implying she’s got a pretty good idea of what it would feel like, and possibly drawing on the myth of Isis and Osiris. Perhaps the black brow refers to the darker complexion of the Egyptian Africans.
Night has now taken on at least four metaphors or personae: a curtain, a matron, a winged being, a dark complexioned deity. Night has been many things to Juliet, twice concealing, once teaching, twice to be brightened by night.
The focus turns to the audience arguably, sharing her problem in metaphorical terms. She is married to Romeo, and now wants to make love to him as she properly can. She has not yet made things completely official. She masks the need in suggesting it’s to do with proper procedure, yet is still a bit naughty, speaking knowingly euphemistically. Mansion appears to have a sexual meaning, so this thought may follow from the previous due to the sex act being tied up in both: in the previous thought, she consummates with Romeo, now that the imaginary act is over, the reality sets in: Romeo is still not here, Juliet is still a virgin.
O, I have bought the mansion of a love
But not possess’d it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy’d.
This is possibly life experience she’s drawing from, either having been the child, or seen another in the situation or both. She retreats from wild fancy to something she can relate to more directly. Day is the focus again, although she relates her thoughts to the audience, and she compares it to night, suggesting days have always been what she’s yearned for, nights the thing she’s endured through. Now she’s a grown up, doing grown up things at night.
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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Given Circumstances
Arden 3 | 2012
Thoughts |TBD
Short: 4
Medium: 5
Long: 2
Total: 11
End-stopped: 9
Mid-line: 2
Periods: 5
Exclamations: 1
Questions: 4
Unfinished: 1
Helena needs the audience:
to show sympathy for her.
Helena needs Hermia:
to demonstrate satisfactory acknowledgement of her hurt
Thoughts
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
1. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. 2. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
3. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,
That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk’d of and unseen.
4. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,
It best agrees with night. 5. Come, civil night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,
And learn me how to lose a winning match,
Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods.
6. Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,
With thy black mantle, till strange love grow bold,
Think true love acted simple modesty.
7. Come, night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night,
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back.
8. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
9. O, I have bought the mansion of a love
But not possess’d it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy’d. 10. 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.
Enter Nurse
11. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Line Analysis
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 10R
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner 10R | 11 (towards)
As Phaethon would whip you to the west 10R
And bring in cloudy night immediately. 10R
Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, 10
That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo 10R | 11 | 12
Leap to these arms untalk’d of and unseen. 10
Lovers can see to do their amorous rites 10 | 11 (amorous)
By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, 10R | 10
It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, 10
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 10R
And learn me how to lose a winning match, 10R
Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. 10
Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks, 10
With thy black mantle, till strange love grow bold, 10
Think true love acted simple modesty. 10R
Come, night, come, Romeo, come, thou day in night, 10R | 11 (Romeo)
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night 10R
Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back. 10
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night, 10R | 10
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, 10R | 10 | 11 (Romeo)
Take him and cut him out in little stars, 10
And he will make the face of heaven so fine 10R | 11 (heaven)
That all the world will be in love with night, 10R
And pay no worship to the garish sun. 10R
O, I have bought the mansion of a love 10R | 10
But not possess’d it, and though I am sold, 10R | 10
Not yet enjoy’d. So tedious is this day 10R | 11 (tedious)
As is the night before some festival 10R
To an impatient child that hath new robes 10R | 10
And may not wear them. 5 (part of 10R)
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Phrasing and Tempo
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, ^ you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. ^^ Such a waggoner –>
As Phaethon ^ would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately. pause
Spread thy close curtain, ^ love-performing night,
That runaway’s eyes may wink, ^ and Romeo
Leap to these arms untalk’d of ^ and unseen. pause
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,
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, slowly (htsf)
With thy black mantle, ^ till strange love grow bold,
Think true love acted ^ simple modesty. slowly (htsf)
Come, night, ^ come, Romeo, ^ come, ^ thou day in night, slowly (mostly mono)
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night slowly (mono)
Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back. slowly
Come, ^ gentle night, ^ come, ^ loving, ^ black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; ^ and, ^ when he shall die, slowly (mostly mono)
Take him ^ and cut him out in little stars, slowly (mostly mono)
And he will make the face of heaven so fine slowly (mostly mono)
That all the world will be in love with night, slowly (mono)
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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Alliteration
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Assonance & Rhyme
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Consonance & Onomatopoeia
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Rhetoric
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Before and After
Arden 3 | 2012
LYSANDER
Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
Scorn and derision never come in tears:
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
HELENA
You do advance your cunning more and more.
When truth kills truth, O devilish-holy fray!
These vows are Hermia’s: will you give her o’er?
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh:
Your vows to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh, and both as light as tales.
LYSANDER
I had no judgment when to her I swore.
HELENA
Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o’er.
LYSANDER
Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you.
DEMETRIUS
[Awaking] O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine!
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!
That pure congealed white, high Taurus snow,
Fann’d with the eastern wind, turns to a crow
When thou hold’st up thy hand: O, let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss!
HELENA
O spite! O hell! I see you all are bent
To set against me for your merriment:
If you we re civil and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do,
But you must join in souls to mock me too?
If you were men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so;
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my parts,
When I am sure you hate me with your hearts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia;
And now both rivals, to mock Helena:
A trim exploit, a manly enterprise,
To conjure tears up in a poor maid’s eyes
With your derision! none of noble sort
Would so offend a virgin, and extort
A poor soul’s patience, all to make you sport.
LYSANDER
You are unkind, Demetrius; be not so;
For you love Hermia; this you know I know:
And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
In Hermia’s love I yield you up my part;
And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
Whom I do love and will do till my death.
HELENA
Never did mockers waste more idle breath.
DEMETRIUS
Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none:
If e’er I loved her, all that love is gone.
My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourn’d,
And now to Helen is it home return’d,
There to remain.
LYSANDER
Helen, it is not so.
DEMETRIUS
Disparage not the faith thou dost not know,
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear.
Look, where thy love comes; yonder is thy dear.
Re-enter HERMIA
HERMIA
Dark night, that from the eye his function takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes;
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense,
It pays the hearing double recompense.
Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found;
Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so?
LYSANDER
Why should he stay, whom love doth press to go?
HERMIA
What love could press Lysander from my side?
LYSANDER
Lysander’s love, that would not let him bide,
Fair Helena, who more engilds the night
Than all you fiery oes and eyes of light.
Why seek’st thou me? could not this make thee know,
The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so?
HERMIA
You speak not as you think: it cannot be.
HELENA
Lo, she is one of this confederacy!
Now I perceive they have conjoin’d all three
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia, most ungrateful maid,
Have you conspir’d, have you with these contriv’d
To bait me with this foul derision?
Is all the counsel that we two have shar’d,
The sister’s vows, the hours that we have spent
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us–O, is it all forgot?
All school-days’ friendship, childhood innocence?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods
Have with our needles created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song, both in one key,
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds
Had been incorporate. So we grow together
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition;
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So with two seeming bodies but one heart,
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one and crowned with one crest.
And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend?
It is not friendly, ’tis not maidenly.
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury.
HERMIA
I am amazed at your passionate words.
I scorn you not: it seems that you scorn me.
HELENA
Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me and praise my eyes and face?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,
To call me goddess, nymph, divine and rare,
Precious, celestial? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates? and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul,
And tender me, forsooth, affection,
But by your setting on, by your consent?
What thought I be not so in grace as you,
So hung upon with love, so fortunate,
But miserable most, to love unloved?
This you should pity rather than despise.
HERMIA
I understand not what you mean by this.
Definitions
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Translation
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a waggoner
As Phaethon 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,
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 on a raven’s back.
Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow’d night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he 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.
Enter Nurse
O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.
Source
Arden 2 | Gibbons, Brian. London: Methuen & Co., 1980
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Thought Counts
Arden 2 | 1980
Thoughts |TBD
Short: 8
Medium: 7
Long: 1
Total: 16
End-stopped: 12
Mid-line: 4
Periods: 11
Exclamations: 0
Questions: 5
Unfinished: 0
Juliet needs:
to voice their excitement for her
to join with her in urging night to come
Juliet needs:
Day to end
Night to come, bringing Romeo with it
Journey
Arden 2 | 1980
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Given Circumstances
Arden 2 | 1980
Thoughts |TBD
Short: 1
Medium: 8
Long: 1
Total: 10
End-stopped: 97
Mid-line: 3
Periods: 10
Exclamations: 0
Questions: 0
Unfinished: 0
Juliet needs:
to voice their excitement for her
to join with her in urging night to come
Juliet needs:
Day to end
Night to come, bringing Romeo with it
Thoughts
Arden 2 | 1980
JULIET
1. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
2. Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name
When I thy three-hours wife have mangled it?
3. But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
4. That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband.
5. Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring,
Your tributary drops belong to woe
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
6. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain,
And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband.
7. All this is comfort. 8. Wherefore weep I then?
9. Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death,
That murder’d me. 10. I would forget it fain,
But O, it presses to my memory
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.
11. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo–banished.
12. That ‘banished’, that one word ‘banished’,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt’s death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there.
13. 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 lamentations might have moved?
14. But with a rearward following Tybalt’s death,
‘Romeo is banished’: to speak that word
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All slain, all dead. 15. Romeo is banished,
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word’s death. 16. No words can that woe sound.
Line Analysis
Arden 2 | 1980
JULIET
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? 11w
Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name 10R | 10
When I thy three-hours wife have mangled it? 10R | 10
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? 11w
That villain cousin would have kill’d my husband. 11w
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring, 10
Your tributary drops belong to woe 10R
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 10R
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain, 10R
And Tybalt’s dead, that would have slain my husband. 11w
All this is comfort. Wherefore weep I then? 10R | 10
Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death, 10
That murder’d me. I would forget it fain, 10R
But O, it presses to my memory 10R
Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners’ minds. 10R
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo–banishèd. 10 | 11 (Romyo)
That ‘banishèd’, that one word ‘banishèd’, 10
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt’s death 10
Was woe enough, if it had ended there. 10R
Or if sour woe delights in fellowship 10 (sowr)
And needly will be rank’d with other griefs, 10R
Why follow’d not, when she said ‘Tybalt’s dead’, 10R | 10
Thy father or thy mother, nay or both, 10R
Which modern lamentations might have moved? 10R
But with a rearward following Tybalt’s death, 10R | 11 (foll’wing)
‘Romeo is banishèd‘: to speak that word 10 | 11 (Romyo)
Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 11w, 12w, 12, 13 (Romyo, Julyet)
All slain, all dead. Romeo is banishèd, 10 | 11 (Romyo, banish’d)
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 10R
In that word’s death. No words can that woe sound. 10R
Phrasing and Tempo
Arden 3 | 2012
JULIET
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? pause
Ah, ^ poor my lord, ^ what tongue shall smooth thy name
When I ^ thy three-hours wife ^ have mangled it? pause
But, ^ wherefore, ^ villain, ^ didst thou kill my cousin? pause
That villain cousin ^ would have kill’d my husband. pause
Back, ^ foolish tears, ^ back to your native spring,
Your tributary drops belong to woe
Which you, ^ mistaking, ^ offer up to joy. pause
My husband lives, ^ that Tybalt would have slain,
And Tybalt’s dead, ^ that would have slain my husband. pause
All this is comfort. ^^ Wherefore weep I then? pause
Some word there was, ^ worser than Tybalt’s death, pause
That murder’d me. ^^ I would forget it fain,
But O, ^ it presses to my memory (–>)
Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners’ minds. pause
Tybalt is dead, ^ and Romeo– ^^ banishèd. pause
That ‘banishèd’, ^ that one word ‘banishèd’,
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts: ^ Tybalt’s death (–>)
Was woe enough, ^ if it had ended there. pause
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 lamentations might have moved? pause
But with a rearward following Tybalt’s death,
‘Romeo is banishèd’: ^ to speak that word | slowly
Is father, ^ mother, ^ Tybalt, ^ Romeo, ^ Juliet,
All slain, ^ all dead. ^^ Romeo is banishèd, slowly |
There is no end, ^ no limit, ^ measure, ^ bound,
In that word’s death. ^^ No words can that woe sound. slowly (mono)
Alliteration
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Assonance & Rhyme
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Consonance & Onomatopoeia
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Rhetoric
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Before and After
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Definitions
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.
Translation
Arden 3 | 2012
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 lamentations might have moved?
But with a rearward 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.