Romeo and Juliet, Act 4, Scene 1

On Thursday, sir? The time is very short.

On Thursday, sir? That's very soon.

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

My father-in-law Capulet wants it that way, and I'm not at all reluctant to slow him down.

You say you do not know the lady’s mind. Uneven is the course; I like it not.

You say you don't know the lady's feelings. This isn't a straight road; I don't like it.

Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death, And therefore have I little talk’d of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 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, Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society. Now do you know the reason of this haste.

She weeps beyond all measure for Tybalt's death, and so I've spoken little of love; for Venus does not smile in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father thinks it dangerous that she lets her grief rule her so completely, and in his wisdom he hurries our marriage along to stop the flood of her tears, which she dwells on too much while she's alone, and which company may drive out of her. Now you know the reason for this haste.

[Aside.] I would I knew not why it should be slow’d.— Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.

[Aside.] I wish I didn't know why it should be delayed.— Look, sir, here comes the lady toward my cell.

Happily met, my lady and my wife!

What a happy meeting, my lady and my wife!

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

That may be so, sir, when I can be a wife.

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

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

What must be shall be.

What must be will be.

That’s a certain text.

That's an undeniable statement.

Come you to make confession to this father?

Have you come to make your confession to this father?

To answer that, I should confess to you.

To answer that would be to confess to you.

Do not deny to him that you love me.

Don't deny to him that you love me.

I will confess to you that I love him.

I'll confess to you that I love him.

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

And you'll confess too, I'm sure, that you love me.

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

If I do, it will be worth more said behind your back than to your face.

Poor soul, thy face is much abus’d with tears.

Poor soul, your face has been badly damaged by tears.

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

The tears have won only a small victory by that, since it was bad enough before their attack.

Thou wrong’st it more than tears with that report.

You wrong your face more than the tears do by saying that.

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

It's no slander, sir, if it's the truth, and what I said, I said to my own face.

Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander’d it.

Your face is mine, and you have 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?

That may be, since it isn't my own. Are you free now, holy father, or should I come to you at evening mass?

My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.— My lord, we must entreat the time alone.

I have time now, sorrowful daughter.— My lord, we must ask you to leave us alone.

God shield I should disturb devotion!— Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye, Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.

God forbid I should interrupt devotion!— Juliet, on Thursday early I'll wake you. Until then, goodbye, and keep this holy kiss.

O shut the door, and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!

Oh, shut the door, and when you've done that, come and weep with me — there's no hope, no cure, no help!

O 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.

Oh, Juliet, I already know your grief; it stretches me beyond the reach of my wits. I hear that you must be married to this Count next Thursday, and nothing can postpone it.

Tell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st 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 join’d my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo’s seal’d, 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-experienc’d time, Give me some present counsel, or behold ’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the empire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak. I long to die, If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.

Don't tell me, Friar, that you've heard about this, unless you can tell me how to stop it. If your wisdom can give me no help, then just call my decision a wise one, and I'll put an end to it at once with this knife. God joined my heart and Romeo's, and you joined our hands; and before this hand, sealed to Romeo's by you, is used to sign another contract, or my true heart turns traitor and goes over to another man, this knife will kill them both. So out of your long years of experience, give me some advice now, or look — between my desperate situation and me this bloody knife will rule as master, settling what the authority of your years and your skill could not bring to any honourable outcome. Don't take so long to speak. I long to die, if what you say offers no 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 cop’st with death himself to scape from it. And if thou dar’st, I’ll give thee remedy.

Wait, daughter. I do see a kind of hope, but it demands a course of action as desperate as the thing we want to prevent. If you have the strength of will to kill yourself rather than marry Count Paris, then it's likely you'll go through with something like death to drive away this disgrace, since you'd grapple with death himself to escape it. And if you dare to do it, I'll give you the remedy.

O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower, Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me lurk Where serpents are. Chain me with roaring bears; Or hide me nightly in a charnel-house, O’er-cover’d quite with dead men’s rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls. Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble, And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain’d wife to my sweet love.

Oh, rather than marry Paris, tell me to jump from the top of that tower over there, or to walk on roads where thieves are, or tell me to hide where snakes are. Chain me up with roaring bears, or shut me every night in a vault full of bones, completely buried under dead men's rattling bones, with foul-smelling leg bones and yellow jawless skulls. Or tell me to climb into a freshly dug grave and lie hidden with a dead man in his shroud — things that made me tremble just to hear them described — and I'll do it without fear or hesitation, so I can live as an untainted wife to my sweet love.

Hold then. Go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow; Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone, Let not thy Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off, When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest, The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall, Like death when he shuts up the day of life. Each part depriv’d of supple government, Shall stiff and stark and cold appear like death. And in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. Then as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes, uncover’d, on the bier, Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the meantime, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come, and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame, If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear Abate thy valour in the acting it.

Then wait. Go home, be cheerful, agree to marry Paris. Tomorrow is Wednesday; tomorrow night make sure you sleep alone — don't let your Nurse sleep with you in your room. Take this small bottle, and when you're in bed, drink down this distilled liquid. Then at once a cold, drowsy fluid will run through all your veins; no pulse will keep its natural beat, but will stop. No warmth, no breath will show that you're alive. The roses in your lips and cheeks will fade to pale ash; the lids of your eyes will drop like death's when he closes down the day of life. Every part of you, robbed of the power to move, will seem stiff and rigid and cold as death. And in this borrowed appearance of shrivelled death you'll stay for forty-two hours, and then wake as if from a pleasant sleep. Now when the bridegroom comes in the morning to get you out of bed, there you'll be, dead. Then, as the custom of our country is, dressed in your finest clothes, in an open coffin, you'll be carried to that same ancient tomb where all the Capulet family lie. In the meantime, before you wake, Romeo will learn our plan from my letters, and he'll come here, and he and I will watch for you to wake, and that very night Romeo will carry you away from here to Mantua. And this will free you from your present disgrace, as long as no fickle whim or womanly fear weakens your courage in carrying it out.

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

Give it to me, give it to me! Oh, don't talk to me about 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.

Here. Now go, and be strong and successful in this decision. I'll send a friar quickly to Mantua with my letters to your husband.

Love give me strength, and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father.

May love give me strength, and strength will bring help. Goodbye, dear father.