R & J act 3

“and says “God send me no need of thee” and, by the operation of the second cup, draws him and the drawer when indeed there is no need.”

“By my heel, I care not”

“Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo”

Zounds, consort!

Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting. Villain am I none. Therefore farewell. I see thou knowest me not.

But love thee better than thou canst devise Till thou shalt know the reason of my love.

And so, good Capulet, which name I tender As dearly as mine own, be satisfied

Tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you walk?

A plague o’ both houses! I am sped. Is he gone and hath nothing?

Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ‘tis enough. Where is my page?--- Go, villain, fetch a surgeon

No, ‘tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but ‘tis enough

Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man

They have made worms’ meat of me. I have it, and soundly, too. Your houses!

This day’s black fate on more days doth depend. This but begins the woe others must end

Away to heaven, respective lenity, And [fire-eyed] fury be my conduct now.---

O, I am Fortune’s fool

For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin!

This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give. Romeo slew Tybalt; Romeo must not live

Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio. Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

And for that offense Immediately we do exile him hence.

I have an interest in your heat’s proceedings: My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.

Bear hence this body and attend our will. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill

Ah weraday, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s killed, he’s dead

What storm is this that blows so contrary?

Tybalt is gone and Romeo banished. Romeo that killed him--he is banished.

All this is comfort. Wherefore weep I then?

WHen theirs are dry, for Romeo’s banishment.-- Take up those cords.

Hark you, your Romeo will be here at night

Affliction is enamored of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

Thou cutt’st my head off with a golden ax And smilest upon the stroke that murders me

This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not

Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say “death”, For exile hath more terror in his look

Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel

In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion.

Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself And slay thy lady that in thy life [lives] By doing damned hate upon thyself?

But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua, Where thou shalt live till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile, your friends, Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went’st forth in lamentation

Either be gone before the watch be set Or by the break of day [disguised] from hence

I’ll find out your man

And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here

These times of woe afford no times to woo.--

I think she will [be] ruled In all respects by me. Nay, more, I doubt it not.--

Monday, ha ha! Wednesday is too soon. O’ Thursday let it be.

--O’ Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl,--

But what say you to Thursday?

O, think’st thou we shall ever meet again?

For then I hope thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.

Madam, I am not well.

Some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit

Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend

Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death As that the villain lives which slaughtered him

That same villain, Romeo

Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands. Would none but I might venge my cousin’s death!

That he shall soon keep Tybalt company. And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied

With Romeo till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart, so for a kinsman vexed

But now I’ll tell thee joyful tidings, girl

And joy comes well in such a needy time. What are they, beseech your ladyship?

Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn

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.

It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed!

Ay sir, but she will none, she [gives] you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave

Doth she not count her blessed, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bride?

Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! Out, you baggage! You tallow face!

I tell thee what: get thee to church o’ Thursday, Or never after look me in the face

God’s bread, it makes me mad

An you be not, hang, beg, starve, de in the streets, For, by my soul, I’ll never acknowledge thee

Delay this marriage for a month, a week, Or if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies

What sayst thou? Hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse.

I think it best you married with the County.

Romeo’s a dishclout to him. An eagle, madam, hath not so green, so quick so fair an eye As Paris hath.

Speak’st thou from thy heart?

Having displeased my father, to Lawrence’ cell To make confession and to be absolved

Ancient damnation, O most wicked fiend!

I’ll to the Friar to know his remedy. If all else fail, myself have power to die.

thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain

Here from Verona art thou banished

dramatic irony

caesura

motif

assonance

pun

apostrophe

soliloquy

conceit

double entendre

allusion

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