Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc’d the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree.
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Will you leave? It's not even close to daytime. It was the nightingale, not the lark, that pierced your ear. Nightly she sings on that pomegranate tree over there. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
Are you leaving already? It's not even close to morning. It was the nightingale, not the lark, that was singing in your ear. She sings there every night on that pomegranate tree. Believe me, it was the nightingale.
dont go its not even morning yet it was the nightingale not the lark believe me babe
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
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.
It was the lark, the morning messenger, not the nightingale. Look, love, at those envious streaks lacing the clouds in the east. Night's candles are burned out, and joyful day stands on its toes on the misty mountain tops. I have to leave to stay alive, or stay and die.
It was the lark, the bird that announces morning, not the nightingale. Look, love, those are pale streaks lighting up the clouds in the east. The night is gone--all the stars have burned out--and the day is arriving, standing up tall on the mountain peaks. I have to leave or I'll die.
it was the lark its morning look at those pale streaks in the sky i have to go or ill die
Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I.
It is some meteor that the sun exhales
To be to thee this night a torchbearer
And light thee on thy way to Mantua.
Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.
That light is not daylight, I know it, I. It's some meteor that the sun throws out to be a light for you this night and light your way to Mantua. So stay here, you don't need to leave.
That's not daylight, I'm sure of it. It's just some meteor that the sun's throwing out to be like a torch for you tonight and light your way to Mantua. So stay with me, you don't have to go.
thats not daylight its some meteor stay with me u dont have to go
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.
Let them take me, let them execute me, I'm happy, as long as you want it. I'll say that pale glow is not the morning light, it's just the pale reflection of Cynthia's face. And that bird whose notes reach the vaulted sky above our heads is not the lark. I care more about staying than I want to go. Come, death, and be welcome. Juliet wants it this way. How are you, my soul? Let's talk. It's not daytime.
I'm fine with being arrested or killed if that's what you want. I'll say that gray light isn't morning at all, it's just the moon's reflection. And that bird singing up there isn't the lark. I want to stay way more than I want to leave. Come on, death, I'll welcome you. Juliet wants me to stay. How are you feeling? Let's just talk. It's not morning.
fine w me dying if u want it i dont wanna leave u come death im ready its not even morning yet
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 chang’d 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.
It is, it is! Run, be gone, away. It's the lark that sings so badly, straining harsh notes and unpleasant sharpness. Some say the lark sings prettily, but this one doesn't--she's splitting us apart. Some say the lark and the disgusting toad exchange eyes. I wish they'd exchanged voices too, because that voice is taking you from my arms, chasing you away with a hunting horn calling to the day. Now go, the light is getting brighter.
It is, it is! Get out of here, go, hurry. It's the lark singing out of tune, making harsh ugly sounds. People say larks sing beautifully, but this one doesn't--she's separating us. People say larks and toads exchange their eyes. I wish they'd traded voices too, so that horrible bird's call wouldn't be pulling you away from me and chasing you toward the day. Now go, it's getting lighter.
it is its morning the lark is ruining everything shes separating us go now its getting light
More light and light, more dark and dark our woes.
The more light, the more our darkness and sadness grow.
The brighter it gets, the worse our situation becomes.
more light more dark for us
Madam.
Madam.
madam.
madam.
Nurse?
Nurse?
nurse?
nurse?
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke, be wary, look about.
Your mother is coming to your room. It's getting light—be careful and watch what's happening.
Your mom's heading to your room right now. It's getting bright out there, so stay alert and keep your eyes open.
your mom's coming day's breaking watch out
Then, window, let day in, and let life out.
Then, window, let daylight in, and let my life leave.
So, window, let the morning light in—and let me die.
let the light in let me go let me die
Farewell, farewell, one kiss, and I’ll descend.
Goodbye, goodbye, one kiss, and I'll go down.
Goodbye, goodbye—just one more kiss, then I'm outta here.
bye bye one last kiss i'm going
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.
Are you leaving already? My love, my lord, yes, my husband, my friend, I need to hear from you every day because in an hour, So many days will feel like they've passed. And if I count them up, I'll be so much older Before I see my Romeo again.
You're really going? Love, my husband, my friend— I need you to write to me every single day because even one hour feels like forever. If I do the math, I'll be ancient before I see Romeo again.
you're really leaving? i need to hear from u every day one hour feels like forever i'll be old before i see u again
Farewell!
I will omit no opportunity
That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Goodbye! I won't miss any chance That can carry my love to you.
Goodbye! I won't waste a single opportunity to send my love your way.
bye i'll find ways to reach u i promise
O thinkest thou we shall ever meet again?
Do you think we'll ever meet again?
Do you really think we'll ever see each other again?
will we ever see each other again?
I doubt it not, and all these woes shall serve
For sweet discourses in our time to come.
I'm confident we will, and all these troubles will become beautiful memories we'll talk about in the future.
I'm sure of it, and all this heartbreak is just material for stories we'll tell later.
we will and all this pain will be a good story someday
The alba or 'dawn song' was a medieval lyric genre: lovers arguing about whether it's day yet, forced to part by the coming light. Shakespeare knew the tradition intimately. What he does with it here is use the form's comfort against itself. Usually the alba is bittersweet — they part, but they'll reunite. Romeo and Juliet take the same dialogue (nightingale or lark?) and load it with real stakes: if Romeo stays, he dies. Juliet's final capitulation — 'It is the lark... go' — is the moment she chooses his survival over her own desire, which is also, essentially, a form of self-sacrifice. She gives him his life. He takes it. They won't see each other again alive.
O God! I have an ill-divining soul!
Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.
My God! I have a bad feeling about this! I can see you now as if you were dead, in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyes are failing me, or you look so pale.
Oh my God—I have such a terrible premonition! You look like a dead body to me right now, lying in a tomb. Either I'm going blind or you're looking really pale.
i have a bad feeling you look like ur dead pleeeease don't look so pale
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you.
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu.
And believe me, love, you look the same way to me. Sorrow drinks our blood. Goodbye, goodbye.
And honestly, you look like that to me too. This sadness is draining the life out of us. Goodbye, goodbye.
you look like that to me too sadness is killing us bye bye
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.
Oh Fortune, Fortune! Everyone says you're unpredictable. If you're really unpredictable, what business do you have with him who is famous for loyalty? Be unpredictable, Fortune; Because then, I hope you won't keep him long but send him back to me.
Oh Fortune, Fortune! Everyone knows you're fickle. So what are you doing with someone who's known for being faithful? Go ahead and be fickle; Because then maybe you won't hold onto him for long and you'll send him back to me.
fortune u're so unpredictable why are u messing w him? he's loyal please send him back soon
[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up?
Hello, daughter, are you awake?
Hey, are you up?
yo u awake daughter
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?
Who is it calling? Is it my lady mother? Is she staying up unusually late, or getting up unusually early? What unexpected reason brings her here?
Who's calling me? Is it my mother? Is she staying up late or waking up early for some reason? What's bringing her here at this weird time?
who is that? mom? why is she here?
Why, how now, Juliet?
Well, how are you, Juliet?
So what's going on, Juliet?
hey, u ok?
Madam, I am not well.
Mother, I'm not feeling well.
Mom, I don't feel good.
not feeling great rn
Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death?
What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
And 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.
Still crying over your cousin's death? What, are you trying to wash him up out of his grave with your tears? And even if you could, you couldn't make him alive again. So stop it already: some sadness shows true love, but a lot of sadness just shows a lack of wisdom.
Still crying about your cousin? What, are you trying to cry him back to life? And you couldn't bring him back even if you tried. So seriously, stop: a little grief means you cared, but crying this much just makes you look foolish.
still crying about tybalt? stop it grief is good but too much is dumb
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
But let me cry for a loss this real.
But I should be allowed to cry for someone I actually cared about.
i deserve to cry for this
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you weep for.
So you will feel the loss, but not the friend whom you mourn.
You'll feel the pain of losing him, but he's not going to come back to you.
you'll feel the loss but he won't come back
Feeling so the loss,
I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
Feeling the loss this way, I can't help but always weep for the friend.
When you feel a loss this deeply, you can't help but cry for the person you lost.
when u feel it this much u gotta cry for them
Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death
As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.
Actually, girl, you're not crying so much for his death as for the criminal who lives after killing him.
Actually, Juliet, you're not so upset about him being dead as you are about the murderer still being alive.
ur mad at the killer not the death
What villain, madam?
What villain, madam?
what villain, madam?
what villain, madam?
That same villain Romeo.
That same criminal Romeo.
That murderer Romeo.
romeo
Villain and he be many miles asunder.
God pardon him. I do, with all my heart.
And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.
A criminal and he are worlds apart. God forgive him. I do, with my whole heart. And yet no one grieves my heart the way he does.
He's not a criminal—far from it. God forgive him, because I already have. But honestly, no one makes me feel the way he does.
he's not evil i forgive him but no one hurts me like he does
That is because the traitor murderer lives.
That's because the real traitor and murderer is still alive.
That's because the actual murderer is still out there.
that's why—the killer's still alive
Ay madam, from the reach of these my hands.
Would none but I might venge my cousin’s death.
Yes mother, beyond the reach of these hands of mine. I wish nobody but myself could avenge my cousin's death.
Mom, he's way too far away from me. I wish I could be the only one to avenge Tybalt.
he's too far away i wish i could avenge tybalt myself
In Act 1, Capulet told Paris to win Juliet's heart, that her consent mattered, that she was young. Now he threatens to let her 'hang, beg, starve, die in the streets.' Something has changed. The most obvious explanation is Tybalt's death — grief and powerlessness often express as control, and Capulet cannot bring back his nephew but he can absolutely command his daughter. But there's also a simpler read: Capulet has always been a man used to absolute authority, and the Act 1 reasonableness was a courtesy extended in good times. When crossed, this is who he actually is. The play doesn't let him be simply a villain: he genuinely believes he's doing what's best for Juliet. But his certainty is indistinguishable from cruelty.
We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.
Then weep no more. I’ll send to one in Mantua,
Where that same banish’d runagate doth live,
Shall give him such an unaccustom’d dram
That he shall soon keep Tybalt company:
And then I hope thou wilt be satisfied.
We'll have revenge for it, don't worry. Stop crying now. I'll send word to someone in Mantua, where that same banished outlaw lives, and I'll give him such a strange poison that he'll soon be with Tybalt: and then I hope you'll be satisfied.
Don't worry, we'll get revenge. Stop crying. I'm going to find someone in Mantua where that exiled nobody is hiding, and I'll send him poison so he'll join Tybalt soon: and then you'll finally feel better.
we'll get revenge stop crying i'll poison him in mantua then u'll be happy
Indeed I never shall be satisfied
With Romeo till I behold him—dead—
Is my poor heart so for a kinsman vex’d.
Madam, if you could find out but a man
To bear a poison, I would temper it,
That Romeo should upon receipt thereof,
Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors
To hear him nam’d, and cannot come to him,
To wreak the love I bore my cousin
Upon his body that hath slaughter’d him.
I will never be satisfied with Romeo until I see him—dead— my poor heart is grieving so much for my cousin. Mother, if you could just find a man who could carry poison, I would make it perfect, so that Romeo, once he received it, would soon fall into a quiet sleep. Oh, how my heart hates hearing his name, when I can't go to him, to take revenge for the love I had for my cousin on his body, which killed my cousin.
I'll never be happy until I see Romeo dead— I'm torn apart by what happened to Tybalt. Mom, if you could just find someone who could carry poison, I'd perfect the dose so that Romeo would fall asleep forever. I hate hearing his name when I can't reach him, so I can use the love I had for my cousin to get revenge on his body for killing him.
not happy til romeo's dead tybalt's death destroys me if u can find poison i'll use it romeo killed him i need revenge
Find thou the means, and I’ll find such a man.
But now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
Find the way to do it, and I'll find the man. But now I have good news to tell you, girl.
You find the method and I'll find the guy. But listen, I have some great news for you.
ur plan works i got a guy but first—good news
And joy comes well in such a needy time.
What are they, I beseech your ladyship?
And joy comes at a good time when things are so hard. What is it, I beg your ladyship?
And some good news is exactly what I need right now. What is it? Please tell me!
omg good news is what i need what is it??
Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child;
One who to put thee from thy heaviness,
Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy,
That thou expects not, nor I look’d not for.
Well, well, you have a careful father, child; One who, to lift you out of your sadness, has planned a sudden day of happiness, which you're not expecting, nor was I looking for.
Well, well, you have a thoughtful father, Juliet; one who wants to cheer you up out of your depression, so he's arranged a sudden surprise day of joy, that you're not expecting and neither was I.
ur father's thoughtful he planned smth to cheer u up u won't expect it i didn't either lol
Madam, in happy time, what day is that?
Mother, at a good time, what day is that?
Mom, that sounds nice—what day is it?
what day tho?
Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn
The gallant, young, and noble gentleman,
The County Paris, at Saint Peter’s Church,
Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Well, my child, early next Thursday morning the handsome, young, and noble gentleman, the County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, will happily make you a joyful bride.
Listen, my dear, early Thursday morning the handsome, young, and noble guy, County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, will finally make you a happy bride.
thursday morning county paris st peter's church u get married
Now by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too,
He shall not make me there a joyful bride.
I wonder at this haste, that I must wed
Ere he that should be husband comes to woo.
I pray you tell my lord and father, madam,
I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear
It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate,
Rather than Paris. These are news indeed.
By Saint Peter's Church, and Peter himself too, he won't make me a happy bride there. I'm shocked at how fast this is happening—I need to be married before the man who should be my husband even comes to court me. Please tell my father, my lord, mother, I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear it will be Romeo, whom you know I hate, rather than Paris. This is shocking news.
By Saint Peter and Peter himself, he's not making me a happy bride. How crazy is this rush? I'm supposed to marry before the man who's supposed to court me even shows up. Tell my father, mother, I'm not marrying yet; and when I do, I promise it'll be Romeo—you know, the guy you say I hate— rather than Paris. This is insane.
he won't make me happy this is so rushed i'm not ready i'd rather marry romeo this is crazy
Here comes your father, tell him so yourself,
And see how he will take it at your hands.
Here comes your father. Tell him yourself, and see how he takes it from you.
Your father's coming. You tell him yourself, and let's see how he reacts.
ur dad's here tell him urself
When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew;
But for the sunset of my brother’s son
It rains downright.
How now? A conduit, girl? What, still in tears?
Evermore showering? In one little body
Thou counterfeits a bark, a sea, a wind.
For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is,
Sailing in this salt flood, the winds, thy sighs,
Who raging with thy tears and they with them,
Without a sudden calm will overset
Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife?
Have you deliver’d to her our decree?
When the sun sets, the air produces a little dew, but for the death of my brother's son, it rains constantly. What's this? A water fountain, girl? Still crying? Pouring tears endlessly? In one small body, you're imitating a ship, an ocean, and a storm. Your eyes, which I can only call the sea, flow in and out with tears. Your body is the ship sailing in this salty flood. The winds are your sighs, and they rage with your tears, and your tears rage with them. Without a sudden calm, they'll overturn your storm-tossed body. What now, wife? Have you given her our decision?
When the sun sets, it just drizzles a little, but for my brother's son's death, the rain never stops. What's happening here? Are you a water fountain, girl? Still crying? Still pouring tears? Your whole little body is like a ship, an ocean, and a storm all in one. Your eyes are the sea itself, flowing in and out with tears. Your body is a ship sailing through all those salty tears. Your sighs are the wind, and they're raging along with your tears, making it all worse. Without something to calm this down, you're going to capsize. So what do you think? Did you tell her about our plans?
youre crying too much stop being a whole ocean in human form your eyes r the sea ur body's the ship wife did u tell her about paris
Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks.
I would the fool were married to her grave.
Yes, sir; but she refuses. She thanks you. I wish the fool were married to her grave.
Yes, sir, but she's refusing. She's thanking you for it. I wish she'd just marry her own coffin.
she says no thanks i wish she'd marry death
Soft. Take me with you, take me with you, wife.
How, will she none? Doth she not give us thanks?
Is she not proud? Doth she not count her blest,
Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought
So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Wait. Help me understand, wife. She refuses? Doesn't she thank us? Isn't she proud? Doesn't she count herself lucky, unworthy as she is, that we've gotten her such a worthy gentleman to be her husband?
Hold on. Explain this to me, wife. She's refusing? Doesn't she appreciate us? Isn't she proud? Can't she see how lucky she is, even though she doesn't deserve it, to get someone so good to marry?
hold up she refuses? doesn't she get how lucky she is? he's a great guy
Not proud you have, but thankful that you have.
Proud can I never be of what I hate;
But thankful even for hate that is meant love.
I'm not proud that you've arranged this, but I'm grateful that you have. I could never be proud of something I hate; but I can be grateful even for hate that's meant as love.
I'm not thrilled about it, but I am thankful. I'll never be happy about something I hate; but I can appreciate hate if it's coming from love.
i'm grateful but not proud i can't love what i hate even if u mean well
How now, how now, chopp’d logic? What is this?
Proud, and, I thank you, and I thank you not;
And yet not proud. Mistress minion you,
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next
To go with Paris to Saint Peter’s Church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither.
Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage!
You tallow-face!
What do you mean? Playing with logic and words? What's this? Proud, and thanking you, and not thanking you; and yet not proud. You spoiled little girl, don't thank me or call me proud, but get your body ready by Thursday to go to Paris at Saint Peter's Church, or I'll drag you there on a cart. Get out, you sickly pale thing! Get out, you piece of trash! You pale-faced thing!
What is this? Playing word games with me? What's happening? Proud but also grateful, but ungrateful, but not proud? You brat, stop all this thanking and stop acting tough, but you better get yourself looking pretty by Thursday so you can go marry Paris at Saint Peter's, or I'll drag your body there myself. Get out, you sickly pale wretch! Get lost! You colorless face!
ur playing games w me? stop the fake gratitude get ready by thursday for paris's wedding or i'm dragging u get out u pathetic thing
Fie, fie! What, are you mad?
Oh my! What, are you losing your mind?
Good grief! Are you actually insane?
omg r u crazy??
Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience but to speak a word.
Good father, I beg you on my knees, listen to me patiently, just let me speak.
Dear father, I'm begging you on my knees, just listen to me for a second, please.
dad please listen to me i'm begging u
Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what,—get thee to church a Thursday,
Or never after look me in the face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me.
My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest
That God had lent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her.
Out on her, hilding.
Shut up, young girl, disobedient brat! I'm telling you what—get yourself to church by Thursday, or never show me your face again. Don't speak, don't answer, don't talk back to me. My fingers are itching to hit you. Wife, we barely felt blessed when God gave us just this one child; but now I see this one is too many, and that we're cursed in having her. The heck with her, good-for-nothing.
Shut your mouth, you rebellious little girl! Here's what's happening—get to that church by Thursday, or don't ever let me see your face again. No talking, no answering, no arguing with me. My hand is itching to hit you. Wife, we barely felt blessed when God gave us just this one child; but now I see one is too many, and we're cursed for having her. The heck with her, worthless thing.
shut up get to church thursday or don't come home no talking back i could hit u having u was a curse
God in heaven bless her.
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
God in heaven bless her. You're wrong to talk to her like that, my lord.
May God in heaven bless her. You're being cruel, sir, treating her like this.
god bless her u're being mean sir
The Nurse has been Juliet's mother in every functional sense. She nursed her, raised her, loves her genuinely. Her advice to marry Paris is not malicious — she is trying to solve a practical problem with the tools available to her. But her counsel reveals a deep failure of understanding: she thinks love is fungible, that Romeo and Paris are essentially equivalent options and Paris is objectively better. She has never understood what Romeo and Juliet are to each other. She has watched their love and seen courtship; she missed the sacrament. Her comparison — 'Romeo's a dishclout to him' — is the most tone-deaf possible response to a woman who is secretly married. Juliet's 'Amen' is the door closing. They never have a real conversation again.
And why, my lady wisdom? Hold your tongue,
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
And why, my lady wisdom? Keep your mouth shut, good sense; go chat with your friends instead.
And what would you know, my wise lady? Be quiet, good woman; go gossip with your friends.
stay quiet go gossip w ur friends
I speak no treason.
I'm not saying anything wrong.
I'm not saying anything treasonous.
i'm not doing anything wrong
O God ye good-en!
Oh, to heck with it!
Oh, get lost!
whatever
May not one speak?
Can't I say anything?
Am I not allowed to speak?
let me talk
Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl,
For here we need it not.
Be quiet, you mumbling fool! Save your serious talk for your friends, for we don't need it here.
Shut up, you bumbling idiot! Save your lecture for your girlfriends, because we don't want it here.
shut up save the lecture we don't want it
You are too hot.
You're too angry.
You're way too heated right now.
chill
God’s bread, it makes me mad!
Day, night, hour, ride, time, work, play,
Alone, in company, still my care hath been
To have her match’d, and having now provided
A gentleman of noble parentage,
Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied,
Stuff’d, as they say, with honourable parts,
Proportion’d as one’s thought would wish a man,
And then to have a wretched puling fool,
A whining mammet, in her fortune’s tender,
To answer, ‘I’ll not wed, I cannot love,
I am too young, I pray you pardon me.’
But, and you will not wed, I’ll pardon you.
Graze where you will, you shall not house with me.
Look to’t, think on’t, I do not use to jest.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise.
And you be mine, I’ll give you to my friend;
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets,
For by my soul, I’ll ne’er acknowledge thee,
Nor what is mine shall never do thee good.
Trust to’t, bethink you, I’ll not be forsworn.
God curse it, it makes me furious! Day, night, hour, rides, time, work, play, alone, with other people, my care has always been to find her a husband, and having now given her a gentleman of high birth, of good lands, young, and nobly connected, filled, as they say, with good qualities, shapen just as anyone would want a man to be, and then to have a miserable whining girl, a crying doll, ungrateful for her luck, to say, "I won't marry, I can't love, I'm too young, please forgive me." But if you won't marry, I'll forgive you. Graze where you like, you won't stay in my house. Think about it, I don't joke. Thursday is soon; make your decision. If you're mine, I'll give you to my friend; if you're not, hang yourself, beg, starve, die in the streets, because I swear by my life, I'll never acknowledge you, and what's mine will never do you any good. Believe it, think it over—I don't break my word.
By God, this makes me insane! Day, night, hour, travels, time, work, leisure, alone or with company, all I've ever done is work to get her married, and now that I've found her some rich noble guy, with good properties, handsome, and from a great family, filled with all the good qualities you could ask for, built like a man should be, and then I get this pathetic whining child, a crying toy, acting ungrateful, saying, "I won't do it, I can't love him, I'm not old enough, sorry." But if you won't marry him, that's fine by me. Go live wherever you want, just not in my house. Figure it out—I'm serious. Thursday's coming; decide now. If you're really my daughter, I'll set you up great; if not, hang it, beg, starve, die on the street, because I swear on my soul, I'm done with you, and everything I own stays away from you. Make no mistake, think hard—I never lie.
this drives me crazy i've worked my whole life to marry u off i got u a rich noble guy with everything and ur whining about it marry thursday or get out i won't help u i'll abandon u completely
Is there no pity sitting in the clouds,
That sees into the bottom of my grief?
O sweet my mother, cast me not away,
Delay this marriage for a month, a week,
Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.
Is there no pity looking down from heaven, that sees all the way down to the bottom of my grief? Oh sweet mother, don't reject me, delay this wedding for a month, a week, or if you won't, put the wedding bed in that dark tomb where Tybalt is buried.
Is there anyone in heaven taking pity on me, who can see how deep my pain goes? Oh mom, please don't cast me out, put off this wedding a month, even a week, or if you won't, then make my wedding bed in that dark tomb where Tybalt's buried.
is anyone in heaven listening? i'm so sad mom don't reject me delay the wedding or put me in a tomb with tybalt
Talk not to me, for I’ll not speak a word.
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
Don't talk to me about it, because I won't say another word. Do what you want, because I'm done with you.
Don't bother talking to me—I'm not saying anything else. Do whatever you're going to do, I'm finished with this.
don't talk to me i'm done w u
O God! O Nurse, how shall this be prevented?
My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven.
How shall that faith return again to earth,
Unless that husband send it me from heaven
By leaving earth? Comfort me, counsel me.
Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems
Upon so soft a subject as myself.
What say’st thou? Hast thou not a word of joy?
Some comfort, Nurse.
Oh God! Oh Nurse, how do I stop this from happening? My husband is alive on earth, my promise is in heaven. How do I get that promise back to earth, unless my husband leaves earth? By leaving earth? Help me, tell me what to do. Alack, alack, that heaven would plot like this against someone as helpless as me. What can you say? Don't you have a word to cheer me? Give me some comfort, Nurse.
Oh my God! Oh Nurse, how do I get out of this? Romeo is alive and on this earth, but my vow is in heaven. How do I get that vow back to earth, unless Romeo leaves earth— by dying? Help me, give me advice. It's horrible that heaven would be so cruel to someone as weak as me. Can you say anything? Don't you have some good news? Come on, comfort me, Nurse.
how do i stop this? romeo's on earth but my promise is in heaven how do i get it back he'd have to die help me nurse give me hope
Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banished; and all the world to nothing
That he dares ne’er come back to challenge you.
Or if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you married with the County.
O, he’s a lovely gentleman.
Romeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye
As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart,
I think you are happy in this second match,
For it excels your first: or if it did not,
Your first is dead, or ’twere as good he were,
As living here and you no use of him.
Believe me, listen: Romeo is banished; and the odds are nothing that he would ever dare come back to challenge you. Or if he does, it has to be in secret. So, since things stand the way they do now, I think it's best that you marry the County. Oh, he's a lovely gentleman. Romeo's a dirty rag compared to him. An eagle, madam, doesn't have eyes as bright, so fast, so beautiful as Paris has. So help me, I think you're lucky in this second match, because it's better than your first: and if it's not, your first is dead, or it's as good if he were, since he's living far away and you can't use him.
Trust me: Romeo is banished; and there's basically no chance that he'd ever risk coming back for you. Even if he did, he'd have to sneak around. So given how things are, I really think you should marry Paris. Oh, he's gorgeous. Romeo's like a dirty dishrag next to him. An eagle, madam, doesn't have as bright, alert, and beautiful eyes as Paris does. Honest to God, I think you're blessed getting a second chance, because he's better than Romeo: and if he's not, Romeo might as well be dead anyway, since he's in Mantua and you can't be with him.
romeo's banished he can't come back if he does it's secretly marry paris instead he's hotter anyway much better than romeo romeo's basically dead to u anyway
Speakest thou from thy heart?
Are you speaking from your heart?
Are you actually being honest with me?
r u serious?
And from my soul too,
Or else beshrew them both.
And from my soul as well, or else curse me.
And from my soul too, or God strike me down.
yes i mean it or curse me
Amen.
Amen.
amen.
amen.
What?
What?
what?
what?
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in, and tell my lady I am gone,
Having displeas’d my father, to Lawrence’ cell,
To make confession and to be absolv’d.
Well, you've comforted me wonderfully. Go in, and tell my lady I've left, having upset my father, to Friar Lawrence's room, to go to confession and to be forgiven.
Well, you've really helped me a lot. Go inside and tell my mother I've gone, since I messed up with my father, to Friar Lawrence's place, to confess and get absolution.
ty for helping me tell mom i went to friar lawrence to confess since dad's mad at me
Marry, I will; and this is wisely done.
Well, I will; and this is a wise thing to do.
Sure, I will; and that's a smart plan.
ok i'll tell her good idea
Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend!
Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn,
Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue
Which she hath prais’d him with above compare
So many thousand times? Go, counsellor.
Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain.
I’ll to the Friar to know his remedy.
If all else fail, myself have power to die.
You horrible old woman! Oh worst fiend! Is it more wrong to want me to break my promise, or to insult my husband with the very tongue that praised him so much before, above all comparison so many thousands of times? Go, you're no good to me. You and me—we're done with each other from now on. I'm going to Friar Lawrence to find out what to do. If nothing else works, I myself have the power to die.
You evil old monster! You absolute devil! Is it worse to push me to betray my vows, or to trash my husband with the same mouth that praised him over everyone else thousands of times? Get out of here. You and I are finished. I'm going to Friar Lawrence for help. If there's no other way, I can always kill myself.
ur evil u want me to betray romeo after u praised him forever we're done i'm going to the friar if there's no hope i'll die
The Reckoning
The scene that turns the vice one full turn tighter. It begins with one of Shakespeare's most beautiful exchanges — the lark/nightingale argument, two people desperately lying to themselves — and ends with Juliet absolutely alone in the world for the first time. Her parents have threatened and abandoned her. The Nurse, the one person Juliet has trusted her whole life, counsels her to marry Paris and calls Romeo a 'dishclout.' Juliet is thirteen years old and has no one. Her final line — 'If all else fail, myself have power to die' — is not melodrama. It's arithmetic.
If this happened today…
A teenager wakes up after secretly spending the night with their new spouse. Their partner leaves at dawn because they have to — they're literally going into exile. She watches him go from the window. Then her mother arrives with wedding news for a different person. Then her father arrives and, when she says no, threatens to throw her out of the house with nothing. Then the one adult she's always confided in says: 'Honestly? The new guy is better anyway. Just go with it.' She's alone in her room wondering if a priest is her only remaining option.