Literal Piece of Hell Tearing at My Brain Again
Romeo and Juliet Translation Act three, Scene 2
JULIET
Gallop quickly, you peppery-footed steeds, Toward Phoebus' lodging. Such a wagoner As Phaeton would whip yous to the west And bring in cloudy nighttime immediately. Spread thy close pall, love-performing night, That runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalked of and unseen. Lovers can come across to practice their amorous rites By their own beauties, or, if love be bullheaded, It best agrees with night. Come, ceremonious night, M sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning friction match Played for a pair of stainless maidenhoods. Hood my unmanned blood bating in my cheeks, With thy black drapery, till strange love, grow bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night. Come, Romeo. Come, grand mean solar day in night, For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow upon a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night, Give me my Romeo. And when I shall dice, Accept him and cut him out in little stars, And he volition make the face up of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with nighttime And pay no worship to the garish lord's day. Oh, I accept bought the mansion of a love, Simply not possessed information technology, and though I am sold, Not notwithstanding enjoyed. So tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wearable them.
JULIET
Move faster you lot fiery-footed horses, bearing the sun toward its nighttime resting place. Phaeton would whip you so difficult that you lot would already have brought the lord's day west and nighttime would come immediately. Come up, night, with your darkness, and then that Romeo can come to me without anyone knowing and leap into my artillery. In the dark, lovers can yet see plenty, by the light of their ain beauty, to make love. Or, if love is blind, then it is best suited to the night. Come up, night, you lot widow dressed in black, and teach me how to win my honey then that we both tin can lose our virginities. Hibernate the blood rushing to my cheeks in your darkness, until my shy love grows bold enough to remember of love-making equally simple and true. Come, night. Come, Romeo. You're like a day during the night, lying on the wings of night even whiter than snow on the wings of a raven. Come, gentle night. Come, loving, dark night. Give me my Romeo. And when I die, take him and cut him into stars that will make the dark sky so beautiful that the entire world will fall in love with the nighttime and forget about the tasteless sun. Oh, I have bought the mansion of love, but not yet possessed information technology. I belong to Romeo, just have not still been enjoyed by him. This day is and then long and irksome, merely as the night earlier some festival is to an impatient child forced to expect to put on her fancy new clothes.
The NURSE enters carrying the rope ladder.
Oh, here comes my Nurse, And she brings news, and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.— At present, Nurse, what news? What hast thou at that place? The cords That Romeo bid thee fetch?
Oh, hither comes my Nurse, bringing news. Every phonation that speaks Romeo's name speaks with heavenly beauty. Now, Nurse, what's your news? What is that yous have in that location? The rope ladder Romeo told you to get?
NURSE
Yes, yes, the ladder.
JULIET
Ay me, what news? Why dost grand wring thy hands?
JULIET
Oh no, what'due south your news? Why are yous wringing your hands?
NURSE
Ah, weraday! He'due south expressionless, he's expressionless, he's dead! We are undone, lady, nosotros are undone! Alack the solar day! He's gone, he's killed, he's expressionless!
NURSE
Alas! He'south dead. He'southward dead. He's dead! We're done for, lady, done for! Curse the mean solar day! He'due south gone. He's killed. He'south dead!
JULIET
Can heaven exist so envious?
JULIET
Can God exist so vicious?
NURSE
Romeo tin, Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, Romeo! Who always would accept thought it? Romeo!
NURSE
Romeo can be, though God is not. Oh, Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have guessed? Romeo!
JULIET
What devil art thousand that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roared in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? Say thou but "ay," And that bare vowel I shall toxicant more than Than the death-darting middle of cockatrice. I am not I if there be such an I, Or those eyes shut that makes thee answer "ay." If he exist slain, say "ay," or if not, "no." Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
JULIET
What kind of a devil are you lot to torment me in this style? This sort of torture is fit just for hell. Has Romeo killed himself? Say "yes" and that single word will poison me more terribly than could fifty-fifty the mortiferous gaze of the cockatrice . I will cease to be myself if y'all say that Romeo killed himself. If he's dead, say "yes." If not, say "no." Those trivial words volition determine my joy or pain.
NURSE
I saw the wound, I saw information technology with mine optics— God save the mark!—here on his manly chest. A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse. Pale, pale equally ashes, all bedaubed in blood, All in gore blood. I swoonèd at the sight.
NURSE
I saw the wound. I saw information technology with my own eyes. God anoint that wound—here on his manly chest. A pitiful corpse, a bloody, pitiful corpse. Stake, pale equally ashes and covered in blood. Gory with blood. I fainted at the sight of it.
JULIET
O, break, my heart, poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er expect on liberty. Vile earth, to globe resign. Stop move here, And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier.
JULIET
Oh, my poor, bankrupt heart is breaking. Go to prison, eyes, so you will never again be free to look at the globe. I'll coffin my body in the world, where it will lie motionless and share a single coffin with Romeo.
NURSE
O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! Honest admirer! That ever I should alive to run into thee expressionless.
NURSE
Oh Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I ever had! Oh, well-mannered, honorable Tybalt! If only I had non lived long plenty to see him die.
JULIET
What storm is this that blows and so contrary? Is Romeo slaughtered, and is Tybalt dead? My dearest cousin and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, audio the general doom! For who is living if those two are gone?
JULIET
What storm is this to cause then many different disasters? Has Romeo been killed, and Tybalt too? Tybalt, my dearest cousin, and Romeo who equally my husband was even more dear to me? May the last trumpet play to bespeak the onset of doomsday, because who could remain live if those two are gone?
NURSE
Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banishèd. Romeo that killed him—he is banishèd.
NURSE
Tybalt is dead. Romeo has been banished. Information technology was Romeo who killed Tybalt, which is why he was banished.
JULIET
O God, did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt'south blood?
JULIET
Oh God, did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
NURSE
It did, it did. Alas the solar day, it did.
NURSE
It did, information technology did. Unfortunately, it did.
JULIET
O serpent heart hid with a flowering face! Did always dragon continue so fair a cavern? Beautiful tyrant! Fiend angelical! Dove-feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despisèd substance of divinest show, Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st. A damnèd saint, an honorable villain! O nature, what hadst yard to do in hell When 1000 didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweetness flesh? Was always volume containing such vile thing And so adequately jump? Oh, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace!
JULIET
Oh, he has a traitor'southward middle hidden behind a pretty face! Did whatsoever dragon ever nest in such a pretty cavern? He's a cute tyrant! A fiendish affections! A raven hiding nether the feathers of a pigeon! A lamb that kills like a wolf! A hateful reality subconscious by a beautiful appearance. The exact opposite of what he seemed. He seemed like a saint, merely should be damned! He's a villain who seemed honorable! Oh nature, what were you doing in hell when you lot placed the soul of a devil in the paradise of such a perfect man? Has any book with such atrocious contents e'er had a more beautiful embrace? Oh, how could such betrayal hide in such a gorgeous body?
NURSE
There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men. All perjured, All forsworn, all nothing, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man?—Give me some aqua vitae.— These griefs, these woes, these sorrows brand me old. Shame come to Romeo!
NURSE
There is no trust, organized religion, or honesty in men. They all break their oaths. They're all wicked. They all prevarication. Where's my retainer?—Become me some brandy—These griefs, these miseries, these sorrows make me old. Shame on Romeo!
JULIET
Blistered be thy natural language For such a wish! He was non born to shame. Upon his forehead shame is aback to sit, For 'tis a throne where accolade may be crowned. Sole monarch of the universal earth, Oh, what a fauna was I to chide at him!
JULIET
May blisters comprehend your tongue for making a wish like that! Romeo was not born to accept annihilation to do with shame. Shame could never be connected to him, considering he is destined only to experience cracking and total honor. Oh, I was such a creature to condemn him.
NURSE
Will you speak well of him that killed your cousin?
NURSE
You lot're going to speak well of the man who killed your cousin?
JULIET
Shall I speak ill of him that is my hubby? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy proper name, When I, thy three hours' wife, accept mangled information technology? But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have killed my husband. Dorsum, foolish tears, dorsum to your native spring. Your tributary drops vest to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer upward to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would accept slain, And Tybalt's dead, that would accept slain my husband. All this is comfort. Wherefore cry I then? Some word in that location was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murdered me. I would forget it fain, But oh, it presses to my memory, Similar damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds. "Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banishèd." That "banishèd," that ane word "banishèd" Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if information technology had concluded at that place. Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be ranked with other griefs, Why followed not, when she said "Tybalt's expressionless," "Thy begetter" or "thy female parent," nay, or both, Which mod lamentations might have moved? But with a rearward following Tybalt's decease, "Romeo is banishèd." To speak that word, Is father, female parent, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. "Romeo is banishèd." There is no end, no limit, measure, jump, In that word's decease. No words can that woe sound. Where is my male parent and my mother, Nurse?
JULIET
Should I speak badly of my own hubby? Ah, my poor husband, who will speak well of y'all when I, your married woman of three hours, have been calling you such dreadful names? But why, you villain, did you kill my cousin? Because my villain of a cousin would accept killed yous, my hubby. I turn down to cry. These tears which seem similar sadness for Tybalt's decease are really tears of joy that Romeo is still alive. My husband, whom Tybalt would have killed, is alive. And Tybalt, who wanted to kill my husband, is dead. This is skilful news. Then why am I crying? Because there was news that's even worse than that of Tybalt's decease. Worse news that kills me within. I wish I could forget it, but it forces its way into my memory the style sins captivate guilty minds. "Tybalt is dead, and Romeo has been banished." That word "banished," that single word "banished," is worse than the death of x thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death would have been misery plenty even if naught else had happened. Or, if misery loves company, and one grief must necessarily follow another, then it would accept been amend had the Nurse, after telling me that Tybalt was dead, then told me that my mother or my father, or fifty-fifty both, were gone. That would take pushed me into normal feelings of grief. Just to tell me that Tybalt's is expressionless and and so say, "Romeo has been banished." To say that is the same as saying that my father, my mother, Tybalt, Romeo, and Juliet have all been killed, are all dead. "Romeo has been banished." The death contained in those four words is space, unmeasurable. No words tin express that misery. Where are my begetter and mother, Nurse?
NURSE
Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse. Will you get to them? I volition bring you thither.
NURSE
Crying over Tybalt'southward corpse. Will you join them? I'll bring you there.
JULIET
Launder they his wounds with tears? Mine shall be spent When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords.—Poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both y'all and I, for Romeo is exiled. He made you lot for a highway to my bed, But I, a maid, dice maiden-widowèd. Come, cords.—Come, Nurse. I'll to my wedding bed. And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
JULIET
Practice they launder Tybalt's wounds with their tears? My tears will still exist flowing considering of Romeo'south banishment when their tears for Tybalt have gone dry. Accept this rope ladder, this poor rope ladder made useless because Romeo has been exiled. He fabricated this ladder to exist his passageway to my bed, but I am a virgin and at present volition die a virgin and a widow. Come up with me, rope ladder. Come with me, Nurse. I'm going to my wedding bed. Death, non Romeo, will take my virginity!
NURSE
Hie to your sleeping accommodation. I'll find Romeo To comfort you. I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo volition be here at dark. I'll to him. He is hid at Lawrence' cell.
NURSE
Go to your bedroom. I'll become bring Romeo to comfort you. I know where he is. Pay attending: your Romeo will be hither tonight. I'll go him. He'southward hiding in Friar Lawrence'due south cell.
JULIET
[Giving her a ring] O, find him! Give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come up to have his last farewell.
JULIET
[Giving The NURSE a band] Oh, go and find him! Give this ring to my true knight. And tell him to come see me to say a final goodbye.
Source: https://www.litcharts.com/shakescleare/shakespeare-translations/romeo-and-juliet/act-3-scene-2
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