O, shut the door! And when thou hast done so, Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help.
Oh, shut the door! And when you’ve done that, come weep with me. My situation is beyond hope, beyond cure, beyond help!
O Juliet, I already know thy grief. It strains me past the compass of my wits. I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county.
Oh, Juliet, I already know why you’re so sad. It’s too difficult a problem for me to know how to solve. I’ve heard that on the coming Thursday you must marry this count, and nothing can delay it.
Tell me not, Friar, that thou hear’st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it. If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I’ll help it presently. [Shows him a knife] God joined my heart and Romeo’s, thou our hands. And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo sealed, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both. Therefore out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, ‘Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honor bring. Be not so long to speak. I long to die If what thou speak’st speak not of remedy.
Friar, don't tell me that you’ve heard all this unless you can tell me how I can prevent it. If with all your wisdom even you can’t help, then you must agree that my resolution to die is wise. And this knife will help me do it. [Revealing a knife] God joined my heart to Romeo’s, and you joined our hands. Before my hand or heart—which are bound to Romeo—are given to another man, I’ll use this knife to kill myself. So either use your long experience and education to give me some advice about what to do, or watch as I use this knife like a judge to honorably resolve the extreme situation in which I’m caught. Don’t wait long to speak. I want to die if what you say isn’t a solution.
Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to ’scape from it. An if thou darest, I’ll give thee remedy.
Wait, daughter. I see a ray of hope. But it will require an act as desperate as the situation we want to avoid. If you have the willpower to kill yourself rather than marry Count Paris, then you’ll likely agree to experience something like death to escape this problem. You can wrestle with death itself in order to escape from death. If you dare to do it, I’ll give you the solution.
O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel house, O’ercovered quite with dead men’s rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud— Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble— And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstained wife to my sweet love.
To avoid marrying Paris I’d jump from the top of a tower; or walk down thief-infested alleys; or sit among a nest of serpents; or be chained up with wild bears; or be shut up every night in a crypt full of rattling bones, stinking flesh, and skulls without jawbones; or climb into a freshly dug grave and hide beneath the shroud of a dead man. All those things make me tremble when I hear them said, but I’ll do them without fear or dread in order to be a pure wife to my sweet love.
Hold, then. Go home, be merry. Give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow. Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone. Let not the Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. [Shows her a vial] Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distillèd liquor drink thou off, When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humor, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest. The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To wanny ashes, thy eyes’ windows fall Like death when he shuts up the day of life. Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death. And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncovered on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the meantime, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come, and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame, If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valor in the acting it.
Be strong, then. Go home, be cheerful, and agree to marry Paris. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Tomorrow night make sure that you go to sleep alone. Don’t let the Nurse sleep in your bedroom. [Showing her a vial] Drink this liquor when you’re in bed. A cold, sleepy feeling will then run through your veins, and your pulse will cease. Your body will go cold, and you’ll stop breathing. The red of your lips and cheeks will fade to a pale ashen color, and your eyelids will close just as if you were dead. Your body will lose control over its own movement, and will become stiff as that of a corpse. You’ll remain in this simulation of death for forty-two hours, and then you’ll wake as if from a pleasant sleep. So when the bridegroom comes to wake you from your bed in the morning, he will think that you are dead. Then, as is the tradition of our city, you’ll be dressed in your best clothes and placed on an uncovered funeral bier, and carried to the Capulet tomb that holds all of your dead relatives. Meanwhile, before you wake up, I’ll send word to Romeo of our plan. He’ll come here, and we’ll keep a watch over you as you wake. That night, Romeo will take you with him to Mantua. So, as long as you don’t change your mind or let your womanly fear interfere with your courage, you’ll be free from the current situation which threatens to force you into sin.
Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear!