Unit 4: The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, Acts 4–5

Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous
That she do give her sorrow so much sway;
And in his wisdom hastes our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her tears

That is no slander, sir, which is a truth,
And what I spake, I spake it to my face.

If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help,
Do thou but call my resolution wise,
And with this knife I’ll help it presently.

A peevish self-will’d harlotry it is.

Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking—what with loathsome smells,
And shrikes like mandrakes’ torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad

Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

This is that banish’d haughty Montague,
That murd’red my love’s cousin

O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh.

What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? As I discern,
It burneth in the Capels’ monument.

Then comes she to me,
And with wild looks bid me devise some mean
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill herself.