The Complete Tragedies of William Shakespeare - All 12 Books in One Edition. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Return’d my letter back. Then all alone

       At the prefixed hour of her waking

       Came I to take her from her kindred’s vault;

       Meaning to keep her closely at my cell

       Till I conveniently could send to Romeo:

       But when I came,—some minute ere the time

       Of her awaking,—here untimely lay

       The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.

       She wakes; and I entreated her come forth

       And bear this work of heaven with patience:

       But then a noise did scare me from the tomb;

       And she, too desperate, would not go with me,

       But, as it seems, did violence on herself.

       All this I know; and to the marriage

       Her nurse is privy: and if ought in this

       Miscarried by my fault, let my old life

       Be sacrific’d, some hour before his time,

       Unto the rigour of severest law.

       Prince.

       We still have known thee for a holy man.—

       Where’s Romeo’s man? what can he say in this?

       Balthasar.

       I brought my master news of Juliet’s death;

       And then in post he came from Mantua

       To this same place, to this same monument.

       This letter he early bid me give his father;

       And threaten’d me with death, going in the vault,

       If I departed not, and left him there.

       Prince.

       Give me the letter,—I will look on it.—

       Where is the county’s page that rais’d the watch?—

       Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

       Boy.

       He came with flowers to strew his lady’s grave;

       And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:

       Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb;

       And by-and-by my master drew on him;

       And then I ran away to call the watch.

       Prince.

       This letter doth make good the friar’s words,

       Their course of love, the tidings of her death:

       And here he writes that he did buy a poison

       Of a poor ‘pothecary, and therewithal

       Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet.—

       Where be these enemies?—Capulet,—Montague,—

       See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,

       That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

       And I, for winking at your discords too,

       Have lost a brace of kinsmen:—all are punish’d.

       Capulet.

       O brother Montague, give me thy hand:

       This is my daughter’s jointure, for no more

       Can I demand.

       Montague.

       But I can give thee more:

       For I will raise her statue in pure gold;

       That while Verona by that name is known,

       There shall no figure at such rate be set

       As that of true and faithful Juliet.

       Capulet.

       As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie;

       Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

       Prince.

       A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

       The sun for sorrow will not show his head.

       Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

       Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished;

       For never was a story of more woe

       Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

       [Exeunt.]

       THE END