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Chapter 4

Friar Laurence looked at the young count before him, "On Thursday, sir? The time is very short."

"My father Capulet will have it so. And I am nothing slow to slack his haste." Paris said.

"You say you do not know the lady's mind. Uneven is the course, I like it not."

"Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, and therefore have I little talked of love. For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous that she doth give her sorrow so much sway, and in his wisdom hastes our marriage, to stop the inundation of her tears. Which, too much minded by herself alone, may be put from her by society, now do you know the reason of this haste."

Friar Laurence thought to himself, "I would I knew not why it should be slowed." Then he said to Paris, "Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell."

Juliet came in with a look of desperate need for council. She looked at Paris and cringed slightly. It was not a face she wanted to see...ever.

Paris smiled, not noticing her cringe, and said, "Happily met, my lady and my wife!"

"That may be, sir, when I may be a wife."

"That may be must be, love, on Thursday next."

"What must be shall be."

Friar Laurence looked at her and said, "That's a certain text."

"Come you to make confession to this father?" Paris asked her.

"To answer that, I should confess to you."

"Do not deny to him that you love me."

"I will confess to you that I love him."

"So will ye, I am sure, that you love me."

"If I do so, it will be of more price, being spoke behind your back, than to your face."

"Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears."

"The tears have got small victory by that. For it was bad enough before their spite."

"Thou wrongest it, more than tears, with that report."

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

"Thy face is mine, and thou hast slandered it."

"It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; or shall I come to you at evening mass?"

"My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone." Friar Laurence said, signaling for Paris to go.

"God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye, till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss." Paris said and kissed her cheek.

"O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!" She cried, flinging herself to the ground.

"Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief. It strains me past the compass of my wits, I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, on Thursday next be married to this county."

"Tell me not, friar, that thou hearest of this, unless thou tell me how I may prevent it. 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. God joined my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands. And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo sealed, Shall be the label to another deed, or my true heart with treacherous revolt turn to another, this shall slay them both, therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife shall play the umpire, arbitrating that which the commission of thy years and art could to no issue of true honor bring. Be not so long to speak. I long to die, if what thou speakest speak not of remedy."

"Hold, daughter, I do spy a kind of hope, which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, then is it likely thou wilt undertake a thing like death to chide away this shame, that copest with death himself to scape from it, and, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy."

"O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris. I will take thy remedy."

"Then take this vial home with thee. Bid your nurse to let you sleep on your own Wednesday night. Drink it. You shall fall into a sleep, but appear to be dead to the world. It shall be like this for two and forty hours. In that time, I shall write to Romeo, tell him of our plan, he will come and then he and I will go to where thy lie. We will wait for thee to awaken and when thou dost, he will bear thee away to Mantua. I have no other remedy for your predicament, so if thou fearest this plan, you are on your own."

"Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!"

"Hold. Get you gone, be strong and prosperous in this resolve, I'll send a friar with speed to Mantua, with my letters to thy lord."

"Love give me strength! And strength help afford. Farewell, dear father!"

Two young boys scrambled out of way and in to the shadows, so that they would not be seen.

Juliet left the friar's cell looking in better spirits.

The two young boys followed her to her home. They jumped the orchard wall and made their way to the oak tree that grew close to the Capulet home.

Lord Capulet gave a list to one of the two servants in his study, "Go to and invite these guests to my home for my daughter's marriage."

The servant bowed and left.

Lord Capulet looked at the other servant, "Go and hire me twenty cunning cooks."

"You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers."

"How canst thou try them so?"

"Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers, therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me."

Lord Capulet laughed, "Go, be gone."

The servant bowed and left.

The nurse stood in the doorway.

He looked at her and sighed, "We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence?"

"Ay, forsooth."

"Well, he may chance to do some good on her, a peevish self-willed harlotry it is."

"See where she comes from shrift with merry look." The nurse said, pointing out of the window, towards the gate.

The stood in silence for a long time, both knew Juliet would come to talk to them first.

Juliet walked into the study with a solemn look on her face.

"How now, my headstrong! Where have you been gadding?" Lord Capulet asked.

"Where I have learned me to repent the sin of disobedient opposition to you and your behests, and am enjoined by holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, and beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you." Juliet said, her head bowed in shame.

Capulet smiled, "Send for the county; go tell him of this, I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning."

"I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell. And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty."

"Why, I am glad on't. This is well, stand up, this is as't should be. Let me see the county. Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! This reverend holy friar, our whole city is much bound to him."

"Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, to help me sort such needful ornaments as you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?"

"No, not till Thursday, there is time enough." Lady Capulet said, she had walked in as Juliet was speaking.

"Go, nurse, go with her, we'll to church to-morrow."

The nurse and Juliet left the room, leaving the lord Duke Capulet and the lady Duchess Capulet to themselves.

"We shall be short in our provision, 'tis now near night."

"Tush, I will stir about, and all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife. Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her. I'll not to bed to- night. Let me alone. I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself to County Paris, to prepare him up against to-morrow, my heart is wondrous light, since this same wayward girl is so reclaimed."

"Ay, those attires are best, but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, for I have need of many orisons to move the heavens to smile upon my state, which, well thou knowest, is cross, and full of sin." Juliet said, trying to get the nurse out.

Lady Capulet entered and Juliet inwardly sighed. "Getting Nurse away is enough, but my mother too...God help me." She thought.

"What, are you busy, ho? need you my help?" lady Capulet asked.

"No, madam, we have culled such necessaries as are behoveful for our state to-morrow. So please you, let me now be left alone, and let the nurse this night sit up with you. For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, in this so sudden business."

"Good night, get thee to bed, and rest, for thou hast need." Lady Capulet said before she and the nurse left.

"Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, that almost freezes up the heat of life. I'll call them back again to comfort me, Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no, this shall forbid it, lie thou there, " She said, picking up her dagger, but then she sat it down again, "What if it be a poison, which the friar subtly hath ministered to have me dead, lest in this marriage he should be dishonored, because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is, and yet, methinks, it should not, for he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo come to redeem me? There's a fearful point! Shall I not then be stifled in the vault to whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in and there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, the horrible conceit of death and night, together with the terror of the place,--As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, lies festering in his shroud. Where, as they say, at some hours in the night spirits resort;--Alack, alack, is it not like that I, so early waking, what with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad,--O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught. Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, as with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body upon a rapier's point. Stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee." She said, and drank the potion down.

She fell limply onto the bed and was covered by the curtains.

Lord and Lady Capulet stood in the kitchen's surveying the cooks with a watchful eye.

Soon, when dawn cracked through the large window that lead out to the orchard, Lord Capulet called out, "Nurse!"

"Ay my lord?" She asked as she came in, her hands full of spices for the cooks.

"Go and fetch Juliet. 'Tis nearly dawn."

The nurse left the kitchen after giving the spices to a cook and went up the stairs to the bride to be.

"Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she. Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweet-heart! Why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, the County Paris hath set up his rest, that you shall rest but little. God forgive me, marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed, he'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?" She said.

But still Juliet did not stir a muscle. The nurse drew open the curtains and looked shocked. "What, dressed! And in your clothes! And down again! I must needs wake you. Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!"

Lady Capulet walked in, "What noise is here?"

"O lamentable day!"

"What is the matter?"

"Look, look, oh, heavy day!"

"O me, O me! My child, my only life, revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help."

Lord Capulet came in with a look of irritation, "For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come."

"She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!" The nurse said, going into some sort of shock.

"Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!" Lady Capulet cried out, her head buried in Juliet's hands.

"Ha! let me see her. Out, alas! She's cold, her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff. Life and these lips have long been separated. Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field."

Friar Laurence and Count Paris walked in. They both had looks of question on their faces.

"Come, is the bride ready to go to church?" Friar Laurence asked.

"Ready to go, but never to return. O son! The night before thy wedding-day hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir, my daughter he hath wedded. I will die, and leave him all. Life, living, all is Death's."

"Have I thought long to see this morning's face, and doth it give me such a sight as this?" Paris said, sorrow plagued his voice. "Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguiled, by cruel the quite overthrown! O love! O life! Not life, but love in death!"

"Despised, distressed, hated, martyred, killed! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now to murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead. And with my child my joys are buried."

Friar Laurence chided them all, "Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not in these confusions. Heaven and yourself had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all, and all the better is it for the maid. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary on this fair corse. And, as the custom is, in all her best array bear her to church. For though fond nature bids us an lament, yet nature's tears are reason's merriment."

"All things that we ordained festival, turn from their office to black funeral. Our instruments to melancholy bells, our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, and all things change them to the contrary." Lady Capulet said, dazed and unbelieving of her daughter's death.

"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 lour upon you for some ill. Move them no more by crossing their high will."