Act 4, Scene 5 — Romeo and Juliet

The argument The Nurse discovers Juliet apparently dead in her bed. The family erupts in grief. Friar Lawrence arrives and counsels acceptance. Then the hired musicians are left stranded, and Peter picks a quarrel with them in a comic scene that closes the act.

Enter Nurse.

NURSE ≋ verse [playfully teasing the late sleeper]

Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she.

Why, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed!

Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!

What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now.

Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant,

The County Paris hath set up his rest

That you shall rest but little. God forgive me!

Marry and amen. How sound is she asleep!

I needs must wake her. Madam, madam, madam!

Ay, let the County take you in your bed,

He’ll fright you up, i’faith. Will it not be?

What, dress’d, and in your clothes, and down again?

I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady!

Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!

O, well-a-day that ever I was born.

Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!

Mistress! Juliet! I'm sure you're fast asleep. Come on, girl, you lazy sleepyhead! Hey love, wake up! My lady! Sweetheart! My bride! Not a word? You're getting all your sleep now. Sleep for a week—but tonight when you're with Paris, you won't get much sleep, I promise. God forgive me! Yes, amen. How deeply she's asleep! I need to wake her. My lady, my lady! The County will come to your bed and startle you awake, I promise. Won't that be something? All dressed up and already back in bed? I have to wake you! My lady! Lady! Lady! Oh no! Help! My lady is dead! Oh, how I wish I'd never been born. Bring some brandy! My lord! My lady!

Mistress! Juliet! You're sound asleep, I'm sure. Come on, you lazy girl, wake up! Hey, sweetheart, get up! Lady! My dear! Your new husband's coming, and after tonight you won't get much sleep, believe me. God help me! Yes, amen. She's sleeping so hard! I need to wake her. Come on, lady! When Count Paris gets in your bed, he'll wake you up fast enough. Trust me. You're dressed and already back asleep? I've got to wake you! Lady! Lady! Oh my God! Help! My lady is dead! I wish I'd never been born. Bring brandy! My master! My lady!

juliet wake up youre sleeping so hard. count paris will be here soon. wait HELP shes dead oh god no

Why it matters The Nurse's speech moves from cheerful ribaldry to discovery of death in a single sustained speech — no break, no stage direction separating the comedy from the horror. The effect is shocking precisely because of the tonal continuity. She's still making wedding-night jokes when she realises Juliet won't respond.

🎭 Dramatic irony The Nurse's discovery speech begins as a joke about Paris's wedding night vigour — and ends in genuine panic. The audience, watching this, experiences both the comedy (Juliet is not really dead) and the horror (no one in the room knows that, and the plan is already in danger from the moved wedding date).

Enter Lady Capulet.

LADY CAPULET [alarmed by the Nurse's cries]

What noise is here?

What is this noise?

What's all this commotion?

whats going on

NURSE [wailing in sudden horror]

O lamentable day!

What a sad day!

This is such a sad day.

so sad

LADY CAPULET [frightened, demanding answers]

What is the matter?

What's wrong with her?

What's happened?

what happened

NURSE [unable to voice the horror]

Look, look! O heavy day!

Look, look! Oh what a heavy day!

Look! Oh what a terrible day!

look. such a bad day

LADY CAPULET ≋ verse [frantic anguish, crying for help]

O me, O me! My child, my only life.

Revive, look up, or I will die with thee.

Help, help! Call help.

Oh me, oh me! My child, my only reason for living. Come back to life, look at me, or I will die with you. Help, help! Call for help!

Oh no! Oh no! My child, you're my whole life. Wake up, look at me, or I'll die with you. Someone help! Get help!

NO my baby. wake up or ill die too. HELP

Enter Capulet.

CAPULET [impatient, unaware of the tragedy]

For shame, bring Juliet forth, her lord is come.

Shame on you, bring Juliet out here. Her husband has arrived.

Where is Juliet? Bring her out. Her husband is here.

where is juliet. her husband is here

Why it matters Capulet enters still in wedding mode — this is the last moment of his old life. Everything changes with the next line.

NURSE [hysterical, repeating the terrible news]

She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!

She's dead, deceased, she's dead. Oh what a terrible day!

She's dead, she's gone, she's dead. Oh God, what a day!

shes dead shes dead omg

LADY CAPULET [echoing in stricken disbelief]

Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!

Oh what a terrible day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!

Oh God, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!

no no no shes gone

CAPULET ≋ verse [confirming her death in shock]

Ha! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,

Her blood is settled and her joints are stiff.

Life and these lips have long been separated.

Death lies on her like an untimely frost

Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

Let me see her. Oh no! She's cold. Her blood has settled and her joints are stiff. Life and these lips have been separated for a long time. Death lies on her like a sudden frost on the sweetest flower in the field.

Let me look at her. Oh God! She's cold. Her blood's pooled and she's rigid. Life has left those lips. Death has taken her like frost kills the most beautiful flower.

shes cold. shes stiff. shes like a flower frozen by frost

Why it matters Capulet's 'untimely frost / Upon the sweetest flower' is one of his more genuinely poetic moments. But it also carries an irony no one in the scene can see: the 'untimely' death is precisely timed, deliberate, a plan. The frost is fake. The flower is not dead.

NURSE [keening in shared grief]

O lamentable day!

What a sad day!

This is such a sad day.

so sad

LADY CAPULET [numb with sudden loss]

O woful time!

What a sad time!

What a terrible time!

terrible

CAPULET ≋ verse [grief choking off his words]

Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,

Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.

Death has taken her away to make me mourn, and it has silenced me so I cannot even speak.

Death has taken her to make me suffer, and it's left me speechless.

death took her & now i cant even speak

Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians.

FRIAR LAWRENCE [cheerful, about to be stunned]

Come, is the bride ready to go to church?

Come now, is my bride prepared to head to the church?

So, has the bride been prepared for the wedding?

is the bride ready

Why it matters The Friar's entrance line is almost blackly comic in its timing. He's here to perform a wedding. The line lands into devastation.

CAPULET ≋ verse [devastated, calling death his son-in-law]

Ready to go, but never to return.

O son, the night before thy wedding day

Hath death lain with thy bride. There she lies,

Flower as she was, deflowered by him.

Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir;

My daughter he hath wedded. I will die

And leave him all; life, living, all is death’s.

Ready to go to the church, but never to come back home. Oh Friar, the night before her wedding day, death has married my bride. There she lies, once a flower, now destroyed by him. Death is now my son-in-law, death is my heir. My daughter is now married to death. I will die and leave everything to him. All life, all living, everything belongs to death now.

She's ready for the church, but she won't come back. Father, death came and married my bride the night before her wedding. There she is, a flower that death has destroyed. Death is my son-in-law now, death is my heir. My daughter married death instead. I'm going to die and leave everything to him.

shes going to church but not coming back. death married her instead. hes my son in law now

Why it matters Capulet's language in grief is striking: he turns 'deflower' into a metaphor for death, making Death into the bridegroom he feared Paris might not be worthy of. The bitterness is real. What makes it even more painful for the audience is knowing it's all based on a false premise.

PARIS ≋ verse [stunned, his hopes shattered]

Have I thought long to see this morning’s face,

And doth it give me such a sight as this?

I have waited long to see this morning arrive, and is this the sight it gives me?

I've been looking forward to this morning, and this is what I find?

ive been waiting for this morning. this is what happens

LADY CAPULET ≋ verse [cursing the day she lost her only child]

Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day.

Most miserable hour that e’er time saw

In lasting labour of his pilgrimage.

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,

But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

And cruel death hath catch’d it from my sight.

Cursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. The most miserable hour that time has ever seen in its long journey. I had but one, poor one, one poor and loving child. I had one thing to be joyful about, and cruel death has taken it from my sight.

Cursed, miserable, wretched, hateful day. The worst hour that time has ever witnessed. I had just one child, one poor, loving child. She was my one joy, and cruel death has stolen her.

worst day ever. she was my only joy. death took her from me

NURSE ≋ verse [keening, repeating her grief]

O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.

Most lamentable day, most woeful day

That ever, ever, I did yet behold!

O day, O day, O day, O hateful day.

Never was seen so black a day as this.

O woeful day, O woeful day.

Oh grief! Oh sorrowful, sorrowful, sorrowful day. The most lamentable day, the most sorrowful day that I have ever witnessed! Oh day, oh day, oh day, oh hateful day. Never has such a dark day been seen. Oh sorrowful day, oh sorrowful day.

Oh God! This is the saddest, saddest, saddest day. The worst day I've ever seen! Oh this day, this day, this terrible day. Never has there been such a dark day. Oh what a sad day, what a sad day.

saddest day ever. never seen anything worse. worst day of my life

Why it matters The Nurse's lament is deliberately excessive — a kind of verbal keening. But it earns its repetition: the Nurse has known Juliet since birth, nursed her, loved her. However inadequate her counsel was in 3-5, her grief here is real.

PARIS ≋ verse [grieving, vowing love beyond death]

Beguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain.

Most detestable death, by thee beguil’d,

By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown.

O love! O life! Not life, but love in death!

Deceived, abandoned, wronged, rejected, slain. Most horrible death, by you I am deceived, by your cruel, cruel hand I am utterly overcome. Oh love! Oh life! Not life, but love in death!

Tricked, abandoned, wronged, spurned, destroyed. Oh horrible death, you've deceived me, crushed me with your cruelty. Oh love! Oh life! I've lost everything—love can only exist in death now.

tricked. abandoned. destroyed. i lost everything

Why it matters Paris's lament is formally elegant — the language of a man trained to express sentiment in verse. It has the quality of literary grief rather than raw grief. This isn't criticism of Paris: it's just how he was educated to speak. The contrast with the Nurse's chaotic repetitions is striking.

CAPULET ≋ verse [devastated, echoing Paris's grief]

Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d.

Uncomfortable time, why cam’st thou now

To murder, murder our solemnity?

O child! O child! My soul, and not my child,

Dead art thou. Alack, my child is dead,

And with my child my joys are buried.

Despised, distressed, hated, martyred, killed. Cruel time, why did you come now to murder, murder our celebration? Oh child! Oh child! You are my soul, not just my child. You are dead. Alas, my child is dead, and with my child, my joys are buried.

Despised, in pain, hated, destroyed, murdered. Why did this happen now, right when we should be celebrating? Oh my child! Oh my child! You were my whole soul, not just my daughter. You're dead. My child is dead, and all my happiness is buried with you.

child youre dead. you were my whole soul. all my joy is gone

FRIAR LAWRENCE ≋ verse [urging acceptance of God's will]

Peace, ho, for shame. Confusion’s cure lives not

In these confusions. Heaven and yourself

Had part in this fair maid, now heaven hath all,

And all the better is it for the maid.

Your part in her you could not keep from death,

But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.

The most you sought was her promotion,

For ’twas your heaven she should be advanc’d,

And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc’d

Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?

O, in this love, you love your child so ill

That you run mad, seeing that she is well.

She’s not well married that lives married long,

But she’s best married that dies married young.

Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary

On this fair corse, and, as the custom is,

And in her best array bear her to church;

For though fond nature bids us all lament,

Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.

Stop, for shame. Confusion cannot be cured by more confusion. Heaven and you both had a claim on this fair maid. Now heaven has all of her, and that is better for her. You could not protect your part of her from death, but heaven keeps his part in eternal life. What you most wanted was her advancement and success. You wanted her to be elevated and successful, and now see—she is elevated above the clouds, as high as heaven itself. But you grieve now, seeing her well? In this love, you love your child so poorly that you go mad seeing she is well. A woman who lives married a long time is not well-married, but one who dies while young and married is best-married. Dry your tears and place rosemary on this fair body. Dress her in her best clothes and carry her to church as is the custom. Though human nature tells us to grieve, yet our grief becomes reason's laughter.

Stop this, for shame. You can't solve grief with more despair. Heaven and you both loved her, but now heaven has taken her, and that's better for her. You could never protect her from death, but heaven keeps her safe in eternal life forever. All you wanted was for her to do well in life, to succeed and be happy. Well, she's succeeded—she's risen to heaven itself. Why do you cry now when she's done so well? You claim to love her, but you're acting like she's suffering when she's actually fine. A woman who lives married for many years isn't truly well-married, but one who dies young while married—that's the best marriage. Wipe your tears, put rosemary on her, dress her in her finest clothes, and take her to church. Let nature grieve if it must, but reason should laugh.

stop crying. she made it to heaven. shes well married dying young. dry ur tears

Why it matters The Friar's speech does two things at once: it's the consolation appropriate to a priest, and it's also damage control. If anyone examines this death too carefully, they might find the potion. His urgency to get everyone to the church — 'dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary' — serves the deception as much as pastoral care. The theology he offers is orthodox but applied with suspicious speed.

🎭 Dramatic irony The Friar's counsel is simultaneously orthodox Christian consolation and deliberate misdirection. 'She is well' theologically; she is also literally well, lying upstairs not dead. His speed in moving everyone toward the church serves the deception as much as pastoral duty.

CAPULET ≋ verse [mournfully listing the reversal]

All things that we ordained festival

Turn from their office to black funeral:

Our instruments to melancholy bells,

Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;

Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,

And all things change them to the contrary.

Everything that we arranged as celebration transforms into mourning. Our musical instruments become sad bells. Our wedding feast becomes a somber burial meal. Our celebratory hymns turn into mournful dirges. Our wedding flowers now serve only for a buried body. Everything transforms into the opposite of what it was.

Everything we planned for a wedding has turned into a funeral. The music is now sad bells. The wedding celebration is now a death feast. The happy songs are now dirges. The flowers for our wedding now cover her coffin. Everything has become the opposite of what we wanted.

everything for the wedding is now for the funeral. music to bells. celebration to death

Why it matters Capulet's speech about inversion — wedding becomes funeral, feast becomes burial — captures something structurally true about the whole play. Romeo and Juliet is built on inversions: love and hate, life and death, wedding night and exile. This speech names the pattern that has been running since Act 1.

FRIAR LAWRENCE ≋ verse [taking charge, ushering them out]

Sir, go you in, and, madam, go with him,

And go, Sir Paris, everyone prepare

To follow this fair corse unto her grave.

The heavens do lower upon you for some ill;

Move them no more by crossing their high will.

Sir, go inside, and madam, go with him. And go, Sir Paris. Everyone prepare to follow this fair body to her grave. The heavens are angry at you for some wrong. Do not anger them further by resisting what they have decided.

Go inside, sir, and you too, ma'am. And Sir Paris, everyone prepare to follow her to the grave. Heaven is angry with you for something. Don't make it worse by fighting what heaven wants.

go inside. prepare for the funeral. heaven is angry at you

[_Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar._]

FIRST MUSICIAN [matter-of-fact about the cancelled gig]

Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.

Indeed, we may as well pack up our instruments and go.

Well, we might as well pack up and leave.

we can just leave

NURSE ≋ verse [weary, waving the musicians off]

Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,

For well you know this is a pitiful case.

Good honest fellows, put them away, put them away. As you well know, this is a pitiful situation.

Good men, pack up, pack up. You can see this is a tragic situation.

pack up. this is so sad

FIRST MUSICIAN [punning, unbothered by the tragedy]

Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Yes, I swear, the situation might be improved.

Yes, I promise you, things might get better.

things might improve

[_Exit Nurse._]

Enter Peter.

PETER [cheeky, demanding a cheerful tune]

Musicians, O, musicians, ‘Heart’s ease,’ ‘Heart’s ease’, O, and you

Musicians, oh, musicians, 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease,' oh, and you

Musicians, musicians, play 'Heart's ease,' 'Heart's ease,' come on you all

musicians play hearts ease come on

PETER [insistent, half-joking plea]

will have me live, play ‘Heart’s ease.’

if you want me to stay alive, play 'Heart's Ease' for me.

if you want me to survive, play 'Heart's Ease.'

play hearts ease if u want me to live

FIRST MUSICIAN [puzzled by his request]

Why ‘Heart’s ease’?

Why Heart's Ease?

Why would you want Heart's Ease?

why heart's ease tho

PETER [jesting to mask his own sorrow]

O musicians, because my heart itself plays ‘My heart is full’. O play

me some merry dump to comfort me.

Oh musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My Heart is Full.' Oh play me some cheerful sad song to comfort me.

Oh musicians, because my heart literally plays 'My Heart is Full.' Come on, play me something sad but comforting.

my heart plays my heart is full. play something sad to comfort me

FIRST MUSICIAN [flatly refusing, citing propriety]

Not a dump we, ’tis no time to play now.

We don't play sad songs. It's not the time for music now.

We're not playing sad music. This isn't the time for that.

not the time for music

PETER [goading them, spoiling for a fight]

You will not then?

You won't, then?

So you won't play?

u wont

FIRST MUSICIAN [terse, refusing again]

No.

nah

PETER [threatening, half in jest]

I will then give it you soundly.

Then I'll give you a sound beating.

Then I'll beat you soundly.

ill beat u up

FIRST MUSICIAN [mocking his empty threat]

What will you give us?

What will you hit us with?

What are you going to hit us with?

with what

PETER [gleeful, trading insults]

No money, on my faith, but the gleek! I will give you the minstrel.

No money, I swear, but a gibe! I'll call you a minstrel.

No coins for you, I swear. Just insults! I'll call you servants.

no money. just insults. ur servants

FIRST MUSICIAN [trading the insult back]

Then will I give you the serving-creature.

Then I'll call you a servant.

Then I'll treat you like common servants.

ill call u a servant

PETER [blustering with mock menace]

Then will I lay the serving-creature’s dagger on your pate. I will

carry no crotchets. I’ll re you, I’ll fa you. Do you note me?

Then I'll strike your head with a dagger. I won't stand for any nonsense. I'll call you 're' and 'fa.' Do you understand me?

Then I'll whack you on the head with a dagger. I'm not taking any of this. I'll call you musical names. Do you get it?

ill smack u with a dagger. i wont tolerate this. get it

FIRST MUSICIAN [punning back, unfazed]

And you re us and fa us, you note us.

And if you call us 're' and 'fa,' you've insulted us and taken note of us.

And if you call us musical notes, you're insulting us, you know.

if u call us that ur insulting us

SECOND MUSICIAN [cooling the mock quarrel]

Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Please put away your dagger and show us your wit.

Come on, put away your dagger. Show us how clever you are.

put away the dagger. show us ur smart

PETER [showing off, quizzing them]

Then have at you with my wit. I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and

put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men.

‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound,

And doleful dumps the mind oppress,

Then music with her silver sound’—

Why ‘silver sound’? Why ‘music with her silver sound’? What say you,

Simon Catling?

Then I'll attack you with my intelligence. I'll beat you severely with my wit and put away my dagger. Answer me like men. 'When sharp sorrows wound the heart, and sad songs oppress the mind, then music with her silver sound'—Why 'silver sound'? Why 'music with her silver sound'? What do you say, Simon Catling?

Alright, I'll use my wit on you instead. I'll beat you with intelligence and put my dagger away. Now answer me like real men. This song says 'When griefs wound the heart and sad songs oppress the mind, music with her silver sound'—but why 'silver sound'? What's that supposed to mean, Simon?

my wit vs ur dagger. why does the song say silver sound? what u think simon

Why it matters The song Peter quotes — and questions — is a real Elizabethan song. His question about 'silver sound' is a genuine puzzle he poses to the musicians, then answers himself with triumphant absurdity. The whole scene is grief displaced into argument.

FIRST MUSICIAN [playing along with the riddle]

Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Well sir, because silver has a sweet sound.

Well, sir, because silver sounds good.

cuz silver sounds nice

PETER [dismissive, pressing the next one]

Prates. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?

You're spouting nonsense. What say you, Hugh Rebeck?

That's nonsense. What about you, Hugh?

thats stupid. u hugh

SECOND MUSICIAN [wry joke about getting paid]

I say ‘silver sound’ because musicians sound for silver.

I say 'silver sound' because musicians make sounds in exchange for silver money.

I'd say 'silver sound' because musicians only play if you pay them in silver.

musicians only play for money

PETER [mocking, demanding a better answer]

Prates too! What say you, James Soundpost?

You're also spouting nonsense! What say you, James Soundpost?

That's also nonsense! What about you, James?

nonsense. u james

THIRD MUSICIAN [stumped, admitting defeat]

Faith, I know not what to say.

Indeed, I don't know what to say.

Honestly, I don't know what to say.

no idea what to say

PETER [triumphant, delivering his own answer]

O, I cry you mercy, you are the singer. I will say for you. It is

‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no gold for

sounding.

‘Then music with her silver sound

With speedy help doth lend redress.’

Oh, I ask your pardon. You're the singer. I will answer for you. It is 'music with her silver sound' because musicians don't have gold to make sounds with. 'Then music with her silver sound brings swift help to ease.'

Oh, I'm sorry, you're the singer. Let me answer for you. 'Music with her silver sound' means musicians don't have gold, only silver. 'Then music with her silver sound brings speedy comfort.'

musicians use silver not gold. music brings comfort

Why it matters Peter's answer — that musicians have 'silver sound' because they're too poor to have gold — is both absurd and pointed. Musicians in Shakespeare's time were often poorly paid. The joke cuts against the pretension of the whole music-versus-grief argument.

[_Exit._]

FIRST MUSICIAN [exasperated at Peter's antics]

What a pestilent knave is this same!

What a pestilent knave this fellow is!

What an annoying pest this guy is!

what an annoying guy

SECOND MUSICIAN [dismissive, ready for dinner]

Hang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay

dinner.

Hang him, Jack. Come, let's go in here, wait for the mourners, and have dinner.

Forget him, Jack. Let's go inside, wait for the funeral, and get some food.

forget him. lets go wait for the funeral & eat

[_Exeunt._]

The Reckoning

The scene that should be the tragedy's turning point — but isn't, because we know Juliet isn't dead. That knowledge doesn't make it easier. It makes the family's grief worse to watch: real and false simultaneously. The formal, almost ritualistic quality of the lamentation speeches (where everyone takes a turn saying essentially the same thing) creates distance — and the comedy that follows is partly Shakespeare's acknowledgment that the audience needs to breathe. The real tragedy is still coming.

If this happened today…

A family wakes on a wedding morning to find the bride won't wake up. Her vital signs are undetectable. The mother screams. The father arrives and says she's cold. The priest shows up and delivers a speech about how it's better for her in heaven. The musicians are left in the hallway not sure whether to leave or wait for lunch.

Continue to 5.1 →