Why Juliet?
Why,
Juliet?
Why should I follow you in death?
What have you ever
done?
Not done, but spoke,
'I love thee, Romeo,'
and I love
thee too, fair Juliet.
Is true love enough?
It was, it
seems, for you.
But is it, as it stands, for me?
Should our
love, born of the body,
follow through in death?
Would it have
been better,
to live and love,
or to remain faithful in
death?
Why should I remain faithful?
Your love was more, I do
believe,
than any I have loved before,
Rosaline, of my own
house.
But maybe the paleness of comparison,
her shadow
wavering in your light,
was only because past pales before the
present.
Your beauty, it is true, far surpasses any of the
others'
but so did Rosaline's,
at that time.
If I leave you
here in eternal peace,
remembering your glory,
will I find
another, surpassing you?
For the future can bring anything.
What
of the others, sacrificed to our love,
who died to save our
bodies?
Sweet Mercutio, who I once loved in friendship,
as I
love you in love?
Tybalt, your feline cousin,
died for the
love of Mercutio.
Slat, both.
Paris, body still warm, and just
outside.
Do I owe them to live,
that something of their
sacrifice was worthwhile?
True love, one might say,
even in
death, is worthwhile.
But as I look at your face,
devoid of
the life and love I loved,
I wonder.
How can I be so
unfaithful?
However gone now,
you died of our love.
Would
it not be right of me,
having loved in return,
to follow
after?
But why, Juliet, should I follow in death?
I, being
possessed of the soul of your love,
should stay in this world for
but the reason to keep that alive.
In truth, Juliet,
I am
beloved of this body,
of the ability to laugh,
to cry,
to
love.
Why, Juliet,
do you leave me in this dilemma?
Did
love and life become too much to bear?
Why did our love fail,
turning in an instant from the essence of life,
to a bearer
of death?
Most loved Juliet; I would give myself in an instant,
to hell rather than the heaven in which you must reside,
to
give you back the breath of life.
A life, that I know now
for
me will be too painful to bear.
Reason enough for some,
to
take death over pain.
Oh, pain of the mind is more painful
than that of the body,
and pain of the heart defies all
else.
Juliet, for you I would defy everything.
I know you
already have for me.
There is no reason for me to
remain.
What use is there for me here?
To fight the house in
which my love once abided?
There has been to much fighting,
too
much death.
One more body will not matter.
And this body
will not die of hatred,
but of love.
Poison, some might
say,
is a woman's weapon,
and woe to any man who is so weak
to use it.
Run through with a sword is a more honorable death.
I
wonder how many men have stared as I do,
from the face of
despair,
to a small bottle,
the end.
funny, that a small
bottle is the end of so many,
who's lives were lived by the
large,
that a draught, clear as water,
could bring the end so
many seek in drink.
Forgetfulness, forever.
There is a dagger
at my side.
If honorable death is by steel,
would it be better
if I claimed my life by that?
But no,
I would do nothing that
could redden the robes worn by Juliet,
asleep forever at my
side.
What, Juliet, has been done,
so you would sadden
your true love so?
Why, Juliet, can I only be with you in the
heavens above?
Who, Juliet, am I but your love?
No one.
So I
will follow.
Willingly, faithfully, lovingly.
I am yours
forever,
and when I am with you again,
it shall be for
forever.
Why, Juliet?
Because I love.