act3raichu

ACT III

I pray you, good Mercutio,
let's go. The Capulets are out.
You are like the man
who snatches off his sword,
on a tavern's table,
lays it down forthwith
and vows to have
no need of it.
Till, with the second beer,
he takes it up
and runs his host
right through.
Am I like
such a fellow?
You know you are
as hot a Jack today
as any to be found
in Italy.
Your mood as moody
as a bitch on heat.
Is it so?
Why, you'd quarrel with
a man for cracking nuts,
for the insult given
to your hazel eyes.
I've seen you
quarrel with a man
for coughing in the street
because he woke your dog.
And if I did, I'm still less
quick to find a fight than you.
(DISTANT WHISTLING)
By heaven,
here come the Capulets.
And do I care?
Wait over here,
and I will speak with them.
Good morrow, gentlemen.
A word with one of you.
MERCUTIO: A single word
with one of us?
Let's couple it with something.
Maybe a word and a blow?
You'll find me good at that,
Mercutio,
if you'll give me
the chance.
Can you not take the chance,
or must it be given?
I've sent a letter writ
to Romeo, whom you consort with.
Consort with? (LAUGHS)
What? Do you imagine us
a pair of minstrels?
For if you do,
expect the sharpest notes.
Here's my baton that
shall make you dance.
"Consorts," indeed.
Mercutio, Tybalt,
this is a public place.
Either withdraw into
some private place
and there dispute
your grievance,
or else, and better yet,
go home.
Men's eyes were made to look
and let them gaze.
I will not budge
for no man's pleasure, I.
Whoa...
- (GRUNTS)
- Peace be with you, sir.
- Here comes my man.
- MERCUTIO: Your man?
I do not see him
in your livery.
How dare you call
a Montague your man!
Benvolio!
- Is something here amiss?
- TYBALT: Romeo!
The hate I bear thee can afford
no better term than this:
Thou art a villain.
Tybalt, the reason
that I have to love thee
does much excuse
the appertaining rage
to such a greeting.
Villain am I none.
Therefore, farewell.
I see you know me not.
Boy! This will not temper
the injuries you have done me.
Therefore, turn and fight.
I do insist I never
injured you, but loved you
better than you'll understand,
till you do know the reason.
So, good Capulet,
a name I love as dearly
as my own, be satisfied.
A smooth, dishonorable,
vile submission!
Tybalt. (SPITS)
You rat catcher.
Will you walk this way?
What do you want from me?
Good king of cats,
just one of your nine lives.
You have it to spare,
with eight to use hereafter.
What, do you dither now
to draw your sword?
Make haste or I will
pluck you ere it's out.
- I am for you.
- No, Mercutio, I beg you,
- put your sword down.
- MERCUTIO: Come, sir.
Are you ready?
Let's begin.
ROMEO: Mercutio, stop! Benvolio,
help me hold them back!
We must stop! Please!
Mercutio! Tybalt!
(GRUNTING)
Gentlemen, for shame!
Stop this brawl now!
You know the prince
has made his wishes clear:
an end to fighting
in Verona's streets!
Tybalt, good Mercutio, hold!
It is time for peace!
(GROANS)
Let's away.
I am dead.
Is Tybalt gone
with no wound to bear?
ROMEO: You, sir, run to my
father's house! Fetch a surgeon!
Tybalt!
Romeo!
Villain! Dog!
If thou art brave,
come settle with me, boy.
Have courage, man.
The wound cannot be much.
No.
'Tis not so deep as a well,
nor so wide as a church door,
but 'tis enough.
'Twill serve.
Ask for me tomorrow, and you
shall find me a grave man.
I am peppered, I warrant,
for this world.
Why the devil came you
between us?
He stabbed me
under your arm.
I thought all for the best.
Our best intentions
pave the way to hell.
To hell with
the Montagues and Capulets...
...whose angry war
has stolen all my days.
Plague on both your houses.
(MERCUTIO GASPING)
He's dead.
His gallant spirit
is among the clouds.
Stay here, Benvolio.
Be what help you may.
I have some business
with a new relation.
No! But, Romeo, stay!
ROMEO: Tybalt!
Let him pass.
What, Romeo? Is it cowardice
that holds you back?
(GASPS)
(GROANS)
Many have died
in this place, Montague.
Befriend their spirits
while you still have time.
They wait to welcome you
with open arms.
They wait for one of us.
That much is sure.
(GRUNTS)
(GRUNTING)
Cousin!
- We're here, Tybalt.
- We're here for you, sir.
Leave us!
(GRUNTING)
- (TYBALT GROANS)
- No!
MAN: My Lord! My Lord?
(GASPING)
(WHEEZING EXHALE)
BENVOLIO: Romeo, away!
The gods themselves are angry.
Tybalt's killed!
- MAN: Tybalt is slain!
- Don't stand there dazed. Go!
The prince will have your head
if you are taken. Go!
Oh, I am fortune's fool.
MAN: Romeo, begone.
Away you now!
(CROWD CLAMORING)
(CLAMORING CONTINUES)
LADY CAPULET:
Tybalt, my nephew.
He was my brother's child.
See how the blood is spilled
of my dear kinsmen.
Prince, as you are true,
for blood of ours,
shed blood of Montague.
Benvolio, who began
this bloody fight?
Tybalt, here slain,
and I was witness how.
Romeo did beg him to desist.
Alas, nothing could stay
the rage of angry Tybalt,
whose ears were deaf to peace.
But what of the second act?
Mercutio lies dead,
and in his grief does
blinded Romeo entertain revenge.
He is a cousin
of the Montagues.
Affection makes him false.
Romeo killed Tybalt.
Romeo must not live.
Romeo killed him.
He killed Mercutio.
Who is the guilty man
in all this grief?
MONTAGUE: Not Romeo, Prince.
He was Mercutio's friend,
and killed his murderer.
The very end the law
would have exacted.
(SIGHS)
This offense means we do now,
at once, exile him hence.
I will be deaf to
pleading and excuse.
Therefore, use none.
Let Romeo leave in haste.
For if he's found,
that hour will be his last.
(CRYING)
Did Romeo's hand
shed Tybalt's blood?
It did.
I weep to say it,
but it did.
And now the prince
has exiled Tybalt's murderer.
- No.
- Shame on your Romeo.
Blister your tongue!
Oh, what a beast I've
been to chide him.
Did Tybalt not first
stab Mercutio?
Will you speak well of him
that killed your cousin?
Shall I speak ill of him
that is my husband?
How stupid I have been to rail,
when now your news of him
is worse than Tybalt's death.
Worse than your cousin's death?
Indeed. You told me
Romeo is banished.
And that one word is greater
grief to me than Father, Mother,
Tybalt and myself
all dead and buried.
Stay in your room,
and I'll find Romeo.
I promise you
a husband for tonight.
Give this ring
to my true knight
and bid him come
to take his last farewell.
I will.
(SOBBING)
What have I done
but murdered my tomorrow?
In killing him
whom she most truly loved,
I have tried and sentenced
my own heart to death.
But if she can pity me
my suffering,
then were it worth
a thousand torments more.
Disasters follow you
like trusty dogs.
You must be married to calamity.
Tell me the prince's verdict.
Am I to die so young?
Not yet at least.
His judgment has more pity
than you dread.
He seeks to have you
banished and not dead.
Not banishment.
Be merciful, say "death,"
for exile has more terror in its
look, much more than death.
Do not say "banishment."
All he asks is that
you leave Verona.
It's not so much.
The world is broad and wide.
There is no world
beyond the city's walls.
Just purgatory, torture,
hell itself.
And exile is
another word for "death."
The prince's kindness
is a golden axe
that cuts my head off.
Rude, unthankful boy.
The prince, in gentleness,
overturns the law!
This is sweet mercy,
and you see it not!
'Tis torture and not mercy.
Heaven is here,
where Juliet lives,
and every cat and dog
and little mouse,
every unworthy thing,
live here in heaven and may look
on her, but Romeo may not.
More validity,
more honorable state,
more courtship lives
in carrion flies than Romeo.
And they may seize on the white
wonder of dear Juliet's hand.
I mean, flies may do this,
but I from this must fly.
They are free men,
but I am banished.
Cease, Romeo,
in your ingratitude.
You cannot talk
of what you do not feel.
If you were young like me
and full of love,
married an hour,
red with Tybalt's blood,
hungry for Juliet
but banished from her side,
then you could speak
and I would listen.
NURSE: Where is my lady's lord?
Where is Romeo?
Behold him now,
with his own tears made drunk.
So is my lady Juliet
just the same,
blubbering and weeping,
weeping and blubbering.
Good nurse, you speak
of Juliet?
Say quick: Does she now
think I am a murderer?
She weeps and weeps.
And lies upon her bed, and...
and then jumps up and cries out,
"Tybalt," and then, "Romeo."
My name was fatal to her
from the start.
It kills her, as it killed
her noble kinsman.
Oh, tell me in what part of
my anatomy does lodge my name,
- and I will hack it off!
- What?
Wouldst kill yourself
and all the lady's hopes?
Look to your wits!
Your Juliet is alive.
There you are happy.
Tybalt would kill you,
but you instead killed Tybalt.
Take heart.
The prince has altered death
to simple exile.
Another stroke of luck
to make you smile.
Have done with pouting.
Go to your love.
Climb to her chamber,
kiss and comfort her!
But leave before the watch
begins to walk,
to make the journey
safe to Mantua,
where you will live
till we can find a way
to blaze your marriage,
reconcile your friends,
beg pardon of the prince
and call you back.
Oh, what it is
to hear good counsel.
You must return
to my lady Juliet.
Say Romeo is coming.
My Lord, I'll tell
my lady you will come.
Say I am prepared
to be chastised.
Here, sir, a ring
she did bid me give you.
How well my comfort
is revived by this.
FRIAR LAURENCE: Be sure
you leave before the dawn.
Then make your home
in Mantua and wait.
I will send you messages
with all our news.
ROMEO: If I were not to gain
a joy past joy,
I would be sad to leave you.
So farewell.
LADY CAPULET: Why the race
to drag her to the church?
Give her time
to mourn her cousin.
No. We have no time
to waste in sterile tears,
with Paris restive in the slips
and soon to be rid of her
if he be not persuaded
she is his.
I do not think
he is so changeable.
Let us not take a chance
with lovers' vows
when Jove does laugh
at their fragility.
Do you want legal offspring
from our loins?
With Tybalt dead
and all our line at risk,
young Juliet
is the only living course
through which our blood
can flow.
You know I do.
Well, then we shall
take action when we may
and strike while
the iron is hot.
MAN: This way, sir.
Paris, welcome.
How does my lady
in this sorrowful hour?
I would that I might be
some comfort to her.
Tonight, she is imprisoned
in her grief,
but in the morning,
I will know her mind.
Wife... when dawn breaks,
bid her make ready
for her wedding day.
You will tell her on Thursday
she will wed the noble count.
What say you to Thursday?
My Lord, I wish Thursday
were tomorrow.
Thursday it is, then.
JULIET: Come, gentle night.
Come loving,
black-browed night.
Give me my Romeo,
and when he shall die,
take him and cut him out
in little stars.
He will make the face
of Heaven so fine
that all the world will be
in love with night
and pay no worship
to the garish sun.
(SIGHS)
My husband.
My wife.
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
(BIRDS CONTINUE CHIRPING)
Must you be gone?
It's nowhere near the dawn.
You heard the nightingale
and not a lark, I promise.
She sings each night
sitting in yonder tree.
Believe me, love,
it was the nightingale.
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.
I do not think the light
is daylight yet.
I am content
if you would have it so.
I have more heart to stay
than will to go.
Come, death, and welcome.
Juliet wills it so.
I will lie with you
and say it is not day.
(BIRDS CHIRPING)
It is. It is. Go now.
Begone. Away!
Oh, it is the lark
that sings so out of tune
with horrid discords
and unpleasant sharps.
Oh, hurry now.
More light and light it grows!
More light and light,
more dark and dark our woes.
(RUNNING FOOTSTEPS)
- Madam!
- What is it?
Your mother is soon coming
to your chamber.
The day is here.
Be careful and make haste.
I shall be gone.
Your parents cannot know
that I have been part
of this deceit.
Farewell, my love.
One more kiss,
and I'll descend.
No. Come this way.
I'll teach Benvolio to learn
your news each day.
No, more than that.
Each hour in each day.
Each minute in each hour
is a day for pining lovers.
And amen to that.
Do you believe
we'll ever meet again?
I do not doubt it.
Nor that we shall smile
to think
of all these troubles
in the past.
If God would only
free me of foreboding.
I think I see you,
now you are below,
as dim and pale
as dead men in their tombs.
So are you dim, love,
in dawn's drab light.
Our worries make us pale.
So adieu.
Oh, fortune, fortune,
all men call you fickle because
no fortune ever constant be.
If that is so,
then change again, oh, fortune.
Be fickle now
and send him back to me.

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