3.5 Flashcards
Scene 4 lights up
Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
bed
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Yon light is not day-light, I know it, l:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua:
Therefore stay yet; thou need’st not to be gone.
Let me be ta’en, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye,
‘Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay than will to go:
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
How is’t, my soul? let’s talk; it is not day.
It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division;
This doth not so, for she divideth us:
Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes,
O, now I would they had changed voices too!
Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt’s-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.
Nurse: Madam!
Nurse?
Nurse: Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about
Then window, let day in, and let life out
Romeo: Farewell, farewell, one kiss and I’ll descend
Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!
I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days:
O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo!
Romeo:
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
O thinkst thou we shall ever meet again?
Romeo:
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
O thinkst thou we shall ever meet again?
Romeo:
I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.
O God, I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, now thou art below,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look st pale.
Romeo:
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you:
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle:
If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him.
That is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, fortune;
For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long,
But send him back
Lady Capulet:
Ho, daughter! are you up?
Who is’t that calls? is it my lady mother?
Is she not down so late, or up so early?
What unaccustom’d cause procures her hither?
Lady Capulet: Why, how now, Juliet!
Madam, I am not well!
Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live;
Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love;
But much of grief shows still some want of wit.
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
Lady Capulet:
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for.
Feeling so the loss,
Cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
LADY CAPULET
Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.
What villain madam?
