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 Capulet wants it that way, and I'm not at all inclined to slow down his hurry.

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 is an irregular way to go about it; 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 that's why I've spoken little of love; Venus doesn't smile in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father thinks it dangerous that she lets her sorrow have so much power over her, and in his wisdom he hurries our marriage forward to stop the flood of her tears, which, dwelt on far too much by her alone, may be driven out of her by company. 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!

How fortunate to meet you, 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, and 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 truth.

Come you to make confession to this father?

Have you come to make your confession to this priest?

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 also confess, 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 is badly damaged with 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 there, because it was bad enough before they spited it.

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

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

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

It isn't slander, sir, when 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 true, since it isn't my own. Are you free now, holy father, or shall 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, my sorrowful daughter.— My lord, we must ask you to leave us alone for a while.

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, early on Thursday 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 left!

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 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 tell me how I can prevent it. If in your wisdom you can give me no help, then just call my decision wise, and with this knife I'll settle the matter at once. God joined my heart to Romeo's, and you joined our hands; and before this hand, sealed by you to Romeo's, is the signature on another contract, or my true heart turns traitor and goes to another man, this knife will kill them both. So, out of your long experience, give me some advice right now, or look — between me and my desperate situation this bloody knife will act as the ruler, deciding the matter that all the authority of your years and your learning could bring to no honourable conclusion. Don't take so long to speak. I long to die if what you say doesn't offer a 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 is desperate. If you have the strength of will to kill yourself rather than marry Count Paris, then it's likely you'll be willing to attempt something like death to drive away this disgrace — you who would face death himself to escape it. And if you dare, I'll give you a 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, tell me to jump from the battlements of that tower over there rather than marry Paris, or to walk on roads full of thieves, or tell me to hide where snakes are. Chain me up with roaring bears, or shut me each night in a charnel house, completely covered over with dead men's rattling bones, with stinking legbones and yellow jawless skulls. Or tell me to climb into a freshly dug grave and hide with a dead man in his shroud — things that have made me tremble just to hear them described — and I'll do it without fear or hesitation, to live as an unstained 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.

Wait, then. Go home, be cheerful, agree to marry Paris. Tomorrow is Wednesday; tomorrow night make sure you lie alone, don't let your Nurse sleep with you in your room. Take this small bottle, and then, once you're in bed, drink down this distilled liquid. Straight away a cold, sleepy fluid will run through all your veins; no pulse will keep its natural beat, but will stop. No warmth, no breath will show you're alive. The roses in your lips and cheeks will fade to pale ashes; the windows of your eyes will fall shut, like death when he closes up the day of life. Every part of you, robbed of its supple control, will appear stiff and rigid and cold, like death. And in this borrowed likeness of shrivelled death you'll remain for forty-two hours, and then wake as if from a pleasant sleep. Now when the bridegroom comes in the morning to wake you from your bed, you'll be lying there dead. Then, as our country's custom is, dressed in your finest clothes, uncovered, on the open bier, you'll be carried to that same ancient vault where all the family of the Capulets 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 keep watch for you to wake, and that very night Romeo will carry you away from here to Mantua. And this will free you from this present shame, 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; off you go, 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 provide the help I need. Goodbye, dear father.