Good evening Romeo.
- Is the day so young? - It has just struck eight.
Sad hours
seem long.
What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Not having that which, if I had it, would shorten them.
- In love? - Out...
Out of love?
Out of her favour, she whom I love.
Alas, that love, which seems so gentle
should prove itself to be so tyrannous and rough.
Alas, that love, which not even itself sees,
should, without eyes, drag us wherever it please!
Take care, my friend.
Not so fast, I will come along,
if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
I leave myself so, that is not me there: This is not Romeo, he is elsewhere!
- Tell me in earnest, who is it that you love? - In earnest, my friend, I do love a woman.
Follow my advice: stop thinking of her.
O, teach me how I should stop thinking.
By giving liberty to your eyes To examine other beauties.
One fire burns out another's burning One pain is lessened by another's anguish,
Spun to giddiness, help by the other way turning, One desperate grief cured by another's languish.
Take some new infection to your eye And the rank poison of the old will die.
And now, the other way round.
Stop it...
Plaintain leaf will help.
With what, might I ask?
With broken legs.
Romeo, are you mad?
Not mad, but like mad-man nonetheless
Bound up, locked away, starved, Whipped and tormented.
What happened here?
Tell me not,
for I have heard it all:
Here there is much to do with hate
but more with love.
Quarrelsome love, loving hate
Anything, from nothing first create:
Heavy lightness,
Deep meaninglessness,
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,
Feather of lead,
Bright smoke,
Cold fire,
Sick health,
Waking sleep.
There is nothing without its opposite.
Capulet!
- Sir Capulet! - Welcome!
- Sir Paris! - Tybalt.
If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
- Montague too is bound by the same penalty. - Peace?
I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues and diplomats like you.
- Are you giving us the finger, Sir? - I am giving you the finger, Sir.
Are you giving us the finger, Sir?
- Is the law on our side if I say yes? - No.
I am not giving you the finger, Sir: but I am giving the finger, Sir.
- Do you quarrel Sir? - Quarrel Sir? No, Sir.
- What say you to our deal? - What say you to my request?
I say again what I have said before: My child is still a stranger in the world
Let two more summers into autumns subside Before we may think her ready to be a bride.
- Younger than she have become happy mothers. - Those who start so early expire early too.
She is the last hope of my life.
Woo her, Sir Paris, get her heart. In her consent my desires are only a part
And if she agrees, you can count on me To give her word, with mine, support and sympathy.
At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light
All line up, and you ought to favour Those who deserve it; my child is among them too
How highly you rank her, it is up to you.
The buffet is open!
Juliet!
What's that now?
Who´s calling?
Your mother wishes to speak to you.
Madam, I am here. What is your wish?
It is to do with...
Nurse, leave us a while It is a personal matter.
Nurse, come back again.
I have reconsidered, you ought to hear this.
- My child, you have now reached a certain age... - I can tell her age to the nearest hour.
- You are not yet 14. - In 17 days to be precise. I still remember...
- I pray you, keep your silence! - Yes, but today I cannot help but laugh.
The valiant Paris courts you for your hand.
Such a man, young lady, As all the world has not yet seen –
a man who seems made of wax.
- Verona's summer has no such flower. - Indeed, he's a true flower!
What do you say?
Can you love the gentleman?
You shall behold him at our feast, Read young Paris' face like a book
and find delight written there with beauty's pen:
Take all his features in your sight And see how finely they unite.
And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margin of his eyes.
You will share all that he does possess By wedding him, you yourself will be no less.
No less? More in fact! Men make them blow right up.
I'd love to look, if looking creates love.
But no deeper will I shoot the arrow of my eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
- Go, do not let Sir Paris wait. - Like happy days, happy nights you must create.
Give me a cover for my face! A mask for the mask.
Should we introduce ourselves or just slip inside?
What do I care what Capulets deem nuisances?
Let them take us for whatever they want, We'll take for us a couple of dances and be gone.
This is the mask, which will blush instead of me.
- Not I. - You will dance at Capulet's private ball!
Together with the fairest beauties of Verona.
Not I. I sink under love's burden.
You wish to be a burden and weigh love down, Too much weight for such a tender thing.
Tender thing? It seems rough to me, rude; It is disturbing, and pricks like a thorn.
If love is rough with you, be rough with love.
Prick, when love pricks you And you will beat it down.
That pale, hard-hearted Rosaline Torments you so, you must be turning mad.
Come on now, we are pulling you out of this mess.
Sorry, out of this love, You're up to your ears in it.
Do not do that!
Supper is done, we are too late.
I fear we are too early, for I sense something wicked.
Oh, Romeo.
By his voice that's a Montague.
A Montague? What?!
The swine dares come here hidden by a mask!
Who dares, if I strike him dead, Speak to me of sin?
- Nephew, what has made you so fierce? - Romeo, the villain.
- Calm yourself, Tybalt, let him be gone. - I will not put up with it!
- You will put up with it. - He is a Montague, our foe,
who has set out to sneer at our feast.
You will put up with it. - No!
You will, because I tell you to do so!
No, uncle!
Would you listen to that! Am I the master here or you?
No, uncle, a foe!
Fury knows its aim,
Patience does not want to know it.
I shudder, when they kiss inside me.
To make us look like fools,
I want to spoil the coward's fun.
No!
No! Uncle, a foe! No!
Does my heart know love?
Would you have thought it, sight?
Now you know what beauty is,
now since this night.
If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this
Two lips, blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Do not wrong your hand too much Which modest devotion shows in this.
Saints have hands that pilgrims' hands may touch And palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss.
- Do saints and palmers not have lips too? - Lips that they must use in prayer.
O, let lips do what hands do – They pray, you answer, let the night be fair.
- He who prays hears no word of response. - Then no words while my prayers are granted.
- Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. - Then on my lips lies the sin that they have taken.
Sin from my lips? How sinful that is.
Give me my sin again.
Juliet?
You kiss by the book.
Juliet, your mother wants a word with you...
Juliet? For the love of God!
Romeo is his name! Romeo, a Montague! Our foe´s only son!
- A Montague? - A Montague! Come with me!
A Montague?
A Capulet.
O the price of love, amongst the debts of my foe.
My only love sprung from my only hate!
Felt too early, and disallowed too late.
As a monster love is born to me that chose our family's loathed enemy.
Juliet?
Juliet, it´s enough now! Come with me!
Hello?
Romeo!
How can I go forward, when my heart is here?
Turn back round, planet, find your central star.
Speak but one rhyme and I will be satisfied:
Cry once 'love is dire', add on 'desire'.
Just give us one good key word.
I conjure him by Rosaline's bright eyes By her marble brow and scarlet lips
The little feet, full calves, pudding thighs And the domain that adjoins them:
Show yourself to us in your own form!
Come, he is one with the petulant night, He who is blinded by love knows no darkness.
- If love were blind, it would not hit the mark. - Into the beautiful blackness.
Now he crouches beneath a medlar tree And wishes his mistress were the type of fruit
Which provokes girls to laugh amongst themselves.
O Romeo, that she were, o that she were a fanny apple for the long-stemmed pear.
Good night, I must go to my crib - This grassy bed is too cold for me to kip.
Let's go, since we are searching in vain Here for him, who gladly remains unfound.
He who laughs at scars knows nothing of wounds.
But, soft.
What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east,
And Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun
And kill the envious moon
Who is already sick and pale with grief That you who serve her are far more fair than she.
Serve her no longer, she wishes you ill:
Her white priest's gown radiates poisonous green - Only madmen wear it, cast it off.
Her eyes.
Two of the most beautiful stars in high heaven commissioned to glisten some place else,
Asked her eyes in their spheres To act in their place until they return.
What if her eyes were up there And the stars here in her head?
The brightness on her cheeks would outdo the stars As the daylight shames the light of a lamp.
Her eyes in heaven would, through the empty air, Stream such a great bright light
The birds would sing, Thinking that it was not night.
She speaks!
Speak again, bright angel.
From above me you shine through this night, Like a winged messenger of heaven
Which mortals with white wandering eyes Gaze at in amazement, falling on their backs,
When he comes sailing over slow-swelling clouds, across the curved bosom of the air.
Deny your father,
cast off your name
Or, if you do not wish to do that,
Swear, that you love me And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
What should I do?
Shall I hear more, or shall I say something?
I am too bold, it is not to me she speaks.
'Tis but your name that is my enemy
You are still yourself, whether Montague or not.
What is a Montague? It is handless, footless,
Has neither arm nor face Nor any other part belonging to a man.
Romeo, Discard your name
and for that name Which you are not,
take me.
I take you.
I take you -
at your word:
Newly baptised, I will never again be Romeo.
Who stumbles across my self-counsel?
With a name I cannot tell you who I am, Because it is an enemy to you.
I would rip it apart Had I written it to you.
Are you not Romeo,
a Montague?
Nope.
Neither of these, since both would displease you.
How did you come here? And for what reason?
The place is death, considering where you come from.
No stony limits can lock love out,
and that which love can do Love always wishes to dare.
If they see you, they will murder you.
There lies more peril in your eye -
Look at me, and then I am invulnerable to their hostility.
But do not look at me, then let them find me here.
Rather would my life be ended by their hate Than death be prolonged, lacking in your love.
Hello?
No!
The night masks my face, or else you would see the maiden's blush
For that, which this night You have heard me say;
Gladly I would hide behind etiquette, would gladly deny what I have said,
but farewell, manners.
Do you love me?
I know you will say 'yes' and I wish to take your word.
Yet even if you swear it, you may still prove it false:
They say Jupiter laughs at lovers' oaths.
If you love, then put it forth, so that I believe it.
Only in case you think I am too quickly won, I will frown and bristle and say no
Till you woo me, or else not for the world.
What of it, my fair Montague,
I am too fond, so perhaps you think me shallow:
but, Gentleman trust me,
I am more prudish by far than those who are prudish by definition.
Lady, by yonder moon, which tips The tops of the fruit trees with silver rings, I swear -
O swear not by the inconstant moon Which waxes and wanes in her orbit.
Your love for me ought to be consistent.
What then shall I swear by?
Do not swear at all.
Or, if you must, swear by yourself,
Which is the god whose image I worship,
And I'll believe you.
- If my heart's dear love... - Better you do not swear.
As much as I delight in you, This nighttime betrothal does not please me.
It is too swift, too haphazard, too hasty, It is too akin to lightning, which is gone
Before one can say 'There is lightning'.
Sweet dreams.
It could be that summer's breath warms The bud of our love
And lets it blossom into a magnificent flower when we meet again.
Goodnight.
Will you leave me alone so unsatisfied?
What satisfaction could you have tonight?
The exchange of my vow of love with yours.
I gave you mine, before you requested it
And yet I wish I had it anew to give again.
Would you withdraw it?
For what purpose, my love?
To be free to give it to you again.
I desire only that which I already possess.
My desire to give is as boundless as the sea, My love is just as deep.
The more I give to you, the more I have Since both know nothing of limits.
Adieu, dear love!
I'm coming, Nurse!
Blessed is the night!
I tremble, embraced by such a night, and fear 'tis but a dream,
Too flatteringly sweet to be substantial.
Three words more, my dear Romeo and then goodnight.
Are you sincere in your love?
Do you wish to be my husband?
Then...
Send me word with the messenger that I will send to you tomorrow in secret
and I will lay all that I am at your feet.
I'm just coming.
But if you do not mean me well...
I'm coming!
A thousand times goodnight.
A thousand times worse, to be deprived of your light.
When shall I send to you tomorrow?
- Around nine? - I will do so.
'Tis twenty years till then.
- Romeo! - Yes?
I have forgotten why I called you back.
Let me stand here till you remember.
So that you stand there forever, I shall forget.
And I'll stand forever, then you shall forget forever
And I will forget that there is world beyond this.
'Tis almost morning. I would be so glad if you went no further
Than a rich child's cage bird, which hops from his hand,
A poor prisoner in twisted shackles,
Until he tugs him back on a little silver chain,
So fond of him, and jealous his freedom.
I wish I were the bird.
Beloved, I wish you were too
But if you were, I would caress you to death.
Goodnight.
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Sleep dwell upon your eyes, peace in your breast -
I wish I were sleep and peace, so sweet there to rest.
With eyes of grey, day now smiles at night Chequering the east with streaks of light.
The darkness like a drunkard reels From the day's path and the solar chariot's wheels.
I set foot into the kitchen, In which my life is held
And inwardly I bow and pray:
Pleasepleasepleaseplease...
... love me.
Tender flesh, oh raw diet, You marvel, you beauty, you noble comfort
Bring us poison, so our endurance will prevail Love should live, man will fail.
Be proud of your hair, your mouth, your eyes, your scent,
Every edge of the world, every cove, on your little nose and the wine,
Every bit still so small, And the radishes you bring to me,
I like it like this, like this it can remain.
You embolden me and taste so good.
When owls cry And fireflies fall from the sky,
When people clench their fists,
When snails move into their houses, because other people are at war,
Let us leave the city and go to places where palm trees stand watch over nature.
Whether to Mars or to Gnas, step on the gas.
If you become a statue, I will put you in my hallway
And hang myself next to you.
I am your friend, your clown, your foe
I am a stranger to her, I'm an imposter, I'm a swine
I look too far, Too wide, too crudely, too subtly
I am giddy, I tell myself clearly Please will you stay by me
And I see
Quietly
Now that the sun's burning eye is coming up
The night's dew steams away and the day gets us up.
We must fill a wicker basket with herbs, that sting us and soothe us.
That which nature buries, the earth their tomb She bears anew, in that same earthen womb
And children of varieties diverse All at once at her bosom we see them nurse,
Many with miraculous powers abundant None like any another, yet not one is redundant.
O glorious are the great gifts of grace That plants, herbs and stones encase
Since nothing is so poor here on this earth It all gives back something of greatest worth
Nor is so high that if falsely used It perishes, unaltered, but its origin abused.
A virtue can transform and to a vice proceed And vice can sometimes be dignified by deed.
In a delicate shoot of this flower Resides both poison and medicinal power -
One smells it...
Smell it...
...and feels... just smell it...
...what do you feel?
A sense of well-being? - ... a sense of well-being.
One smells it and feels a sense of well-being.
One eats it... - do you want some? His heart falters and comes to a stop.
Two leaders quarrel militantly about their law In men as well as herbs: good and poor
And where that which alone can damage succeeds Canker attacks such growth with fatal deeds.
Good morning, father.
God's blessing to thee. What early bird approaches me?
Your earliness lets me guess You sprang from your bed not in happiness.
If that's not true, then the following must be right: Our Romeo has not yet seen his bed tonight.
The latter is true, I found rest much more sweet.
God forgive! With Rosaline did you meet?
With Rosaline, my father? But no
Forgotten is the name and the way it torments me so.
That's my good son. Where were you then?
You will hear it, before you ask me twice again.
There was a feast hosted by my enemy Where somebody wounded me frightfully
As I wounded her.
To nurse us both back to health We need your power, your holy hands' wealth.
See, pious man, there's no hatred in me Because my requests comprise my enemy.
Confess in riddles what you have committed And you will only in riddles be aquitted:
- Be plain son. - Plain kindness please impart!
Capulet's daughter Has won my heart,
As she has mine, so have I won hers too.
Today to marry us, I beg of you.
Holy Saint Francis, what a transition
And Rosaline so swiftly out the competition Your burning love?
For young men it seems love lies Not in their hearts, only in their eyes.
Jesus Christ, how much teary brine Has channeled your cheeks over Rosaline!
How much salt water went to waste, Seasoning a love that ended with no taste.
See, on your cheek sits a tearstain That the sun has not yet dried away again.
If you were yourself and these woes no joke All this about Rosaline you once spoke:
Who are you now?
- For loving her you often scolded me. - Only because you did so excessively.
- Bury love, was an order you gave. - No, rather pull a new one out the grave.
Please do not scold me,
This is now a love, she loves me too. The other was not so.
O, she knew well Your love did read by rote and could not spell.
In one respect I will be a helper to you:
For this alliance could succeed In forcing peace upon your houses.
Buenos días, dear Mercutio. That's all Greek to me.
Dzien dobry, Romeo...
There you have a mysterious greeting for your mysterious departure yesterday,
and for the dough you've worked us in to.
- What dough are you blaming me for? - The forgery, you fake fifty.
Oh dear, butt I had something big to deal with,
so one has to be an arse and click the clique away.
Therefore we're your 'click-off clique'?!
For being so falsely upstanding I'll stand on my hands,
or else take a stand, or I'll stand down, or give you a standing ovation.
Why no bowing? Better than barfing on your shoes.
- You mean flushing one's fences. - Amazing, how he dispenses.
- I've knocked down your defences. - The joke is over. Stop the pretences.
Hold your horses, Romeo, or I'll ride you like a rodeo.
Riding on a foreign arse? You'll end up in the shit.
If only I had bet on the right horse. You seem to be a Trojan.
Your head is full of chicks but you have a mouldy cock.
Watch out, if you stray from the flock, your joke will be hoovered on the hoof.
I'll have stopped hovering around.
Straight from the horse's mouth it hooves me in the face.
And for a little while a shiny shiner will bloom.
- You mean this gentle flower? - Yes, a forget-me-not.
How could I ever forget you?
You trample all over me, as if you wanted to dull your old shoes.
Dull or laquered. Your laquer is peeling off.
Your humour is reaching rock bottom. Step forward, dear Bensoulio.
In contrast to your nonsense chatter, I will dance the Schuhplattler.
Flat and flatter I beat you down to Schubert's beat, till you spit out empty tones.
I'll spit in your soup, or else it's just sweet and sour.
- But it goes well with the roast duck. - All's webbed that ends webbed.
Should we not expand your chicken-breasted joke a bit further,
so that your duckdick fits in humongoosely well?
Is that not better than amorous sighs? Now you are a person again,
now you are Romeo again, now again I recognise you.
Go away!
- I dreamed a dream tonight. - So did I.
- What did you dream? - Dreamers make mistakes too.
- Not if the dream touches upon truth. - Then Queen Mab has visited you.
- Queen Mab? - Queen Mab.
She is the queen of the dreamworld.
She comes, as small as an agate stone On the forefinger of a councilman,
A team of delicate atoms pulls her Over men's noses as they snore.
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut Built by the carpenter squirrel or woodworm
Who have always been the coachmakers of the fairies.
The spokes are made from little beetle legs Its canopy from cricket's wings,
The reins from the smallest spider's web, Its yoke from moonshine's watery beams,
The whip's handle from a cricket's leg, Its cord from gossamer.
On the coachman's seat Sits a grey-coated gnat,
Not half as big as one of the plump little worms That nestle in the fingers of idle girls.
- Whoa, what kind of clobber is that?!
In this parade she flies night after night Through lovers' brains,
and they dream of love.
- Yes, of love!
Into the knee of a butler, they dream of kippers, Into the thumb of a lawyer, who dreams of juicy fees,
Or over ladies' lips, that dream of kisses And that Mab gladly plagues with angry blisters
Because sweet stuff makes their breath foul.
Sometimes she crosses a banker's nose, He smells giant dividends in his dreams
And sometimes she tickles, With a little pig's tail, the navel of a bishop
Then he dreams of even more good grub.
Sometimes she drives along a soldier's neck, Then he cuts throats in foreign lands,
Dreams of gunshots, pillaging, women to prey on And outrageous boozing.
She crouches on the breast of sleeping maidens As Incubus and teaches them to endure strain
And all else that they will have to bear.
- That all is her – Mab. - Peace, Mercutio!
- I am a seal!
- Peace, Mercutio! You speak of something that does not exist.
Exactly, of dreams,
Of the spawn of an idle brain Conceived by nothing except empty fantasy.
This love bullshit runs like an idiot through the world and with a lolling tongue
seeks after nothing but a mouse hole that fits his little stick.
Come, Bevolio, we´re leaving.
- A very good morning to you, Gentlemen. - Good lunchtime, Gentlewoman.
- What, is it already midday? - Not a minute less.
The stiff clockhand is almost ramming the cleavage of the numerals.
- What kind of man are you? - One which God created as his own opposition.
My soul, well said, 'God created as his own opposition',
how he brings that up!
Gentlemen, can one of you tell me where I can find young Romeo?
I can tell you,
but young Romeo will be older when you find him than he was when you sought him.
- How smart. - She's got it!
Smart, smart, S-M-A-T!
If you are him, I want to see you in private.
- She wants to see his privates. - Will you come to see your father, we want to dine there.
- I will be right behind you. - Will you come to see your father, we want to dine there.
- I will be right behind you. - Will you come, we want to dine.
- I will be right behind you! - Romeo, are you coming now!
He will be right behind you!
Whether I do it or whether I leave it I must die from the hatred.
Young lady, what do women like you and shotguns have in common?
You can bend them at the middle and load them from behind.
Farewell, young lady, goulash twat, bent meat, pavement tank, pube head...
What was that about?
A Gentleman, madam, who likes to hear himself talk
and spouts off more in a minute, than he is able to make right again in a month.
I am not a pube head, I actually have no idea what that is...
And you stand by and watch him mess me about completely.
That is so typical Montague. I am so furious, I could shudder now.
But put fun aside now.
My young Lady instructed me to investitigate you.
But what she instructed me to do, I'll keep to myself.
My young Lady is young
and therefore, when you are crazy about her... no...
... in case you wanted her to drive her crazy, that would be poor show.
Dearest nurse...
For you, still Angelica.
Dearest Angelica, recommend me to your Lady.
- I assure you... - I will tell her that.
What do you want to tell her? You won't let me finish...
I want to tell her that you assure her, which is the word of a gentleman.
Dearest nurse... Angelica.
I ask the young Lady, if this afternoon she would plan to make confession.
And in Brother Laurence's cell she will be absolved and trusted.
Angelica... Nurse?... Angelica?
Rum...
Give it to me...
Rumba...
Rumdi dumdi...
Rum truffle...
Rum shaker...
Rumania...
Rumance...
No. Ro... it´s called Romance, isn´t it, Romeo?
Romeo... Romance...
Do both begin with a consonant?
Yes, with an 'R'.
You joker, that is the dog's letter: the growler.
Something different begins with 'R':
Eroticism!
And this is something my young Lady... You're gonna be blacked out, I can tell you...
The clock struck nine when I sent the nurse. At half nine she promised to return.
Perhaps she cannot find him? Completely impossible. She is too lame!
A herald of love must be like a thought, Ten times faster than a sun beam,
If she were driven by passion and warm youthful blood,
She would fly at the speed of light, like a ball,
But the elderly love to play dead, They are spiritless, stale, idle and grey as lead.
Oh dear, there she is!
The news, Nurse:
Did you meet with him?
Good or bad? Just tell me that.
I will gladly wait for the details - State the outlook: good or bad?
Bad...
You have made a foolish choice.
Romeo? No, not him.
Although he is better looking than any other man... Although there is nothing to gossip about there...
He is no flower of courtesy, but guaranted to be gentle as a lamb.
- By the way, have you already eaten? - I knew all of that already!
What does my beloved say?
Your beloved,
like a true gentleman says to you:
Where is your mother?
Where my mother is?!
Your beloved, like a gentleman says: 'Where is your mother?'
You are too quick-tempered. In the future get your own messages.
What a fuss!
What does Romeo say?
Out with it.
What is the magic word?
Honey nurse...
Have you permission to go to confession this afternoon?
I have.
Then head off to Brother Laurence's cell - There a husband awaits, to make you his wife.
Such news makes you fall silent.
Now, hurry to the monastery, I must eat something. Off to the cell with you.
Heaven smile upon this holy act So that the late hours do not trouble us.
Fierce wishes come to a fierce end And die, when they triumph,
Just as the spark and the gunpowder consume each other in their kiss.
Sweet honey's own pleasant flavour puts us off and too much of it spoils the appetite.
Moderate love is long-endured: Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
But passion lends them power, time means, To meet tempering extremities with extreme sweet.
Amen.
Mercutio,
let us return home -
Tybalt is over there. And if he comes over here,
we shan't be off without a fight.
- Who is Tybalt? - More than 'Puss in Boots'.
An Italian raging madman like all the others,
just as raging at rage and with rage just as raging.
He clashes with anyone who has one hair fewer, or else more on his balls, than him.
And if I were as keen on bust-ups as him, you'd be a proprietor of life for another 1.5 hours.
Proprietor of life?
How inappropriate!
Did I not say so? There is Tybalt.
Did I not declare that? I don't give a damn about him.
A plague on these absurd, murmuring, affected daydreamers,
these new composers of conversation: Mr Jesus, a most formidable collar,
a most capable man, a most adorable hooker.
Is it not a misery, my love, that these mayflies are plaguing us,
these fashion-mongers, these excusez-mois,
who are so into new forms that they cannot sit on old benches?
O fashion! Modernity! The mouldy modernity!
Anything else?
- Gentlemen. Good evening. - Good evening, Tybalt.
- A word with one of you. - What, only with one of us and only one word?
Make something of it, Sir, make it a word and a blow.
I am intent on doing so, Sir, as soon as you give me the opportunity.
Could you not simply the opportunity? Without it being given?
You, Mercutio, are blowing Romeo's horn.
I'm blowing what?!
- Romeo's horn. - Are you making wind players of us, Tybalt?
And if you are making wind players of us, expect nothing but dissonance:
here is my wind instrument, it will make you dance.
Everyone is already staring.
Men's eyes were made to look: Let them stare.
Continue in peace, here comes my man.
I'll be hanged, if he is yours.
How I feel about you is best said like so:
- You are scum, Romeo. - Prime time for rhyme! Bravo, Tybalt!
The reason that I feel you are excused, If the anger due to such a greeting stays away:
I am no scum.
So farewell, I see that you misjudge me.
Boy
That does not excuse the injustice That has befallen me because of you.
I protest, I never did you an injustice, I think far more highly of you than you suppose:
Until you know the reason for my respect
My dear Capulet – a name, which I cherish as I do my own – stay calm!
Stay calm...
Subservience, cowardly, dishonourable, disgraceful: Tybalt, you rat-catcher.
Ok, we´re leaving, we´re leaving...
- What do you want from me? - For the moment just one of your nine lives.
I will go about that now,
and depending on how you seem to me afterwards, I will get on with the other eight.
I am yours.
We´re leaving...
Ahead of you, Mercutio, lies your death.
Be peaceful, let it go.
What!? You provoke me and babble about peace?
It's good, let's go, come on...
Let´s go, Mercutio, please...
Alright, Mercutio, let´s go...
I've been hit.
A plague on both your houses.
Are you hurt? - I am hurt.
Only a scratch...
Big enough...
The wound cannot be that bad.
Not as deep as a well, nor as high as a church door, but big enough.
Mercutio, what´s going on?
Ask for me tomorrow and you will find me a grave man.
In this world I am peppered.
A plague on both your houses!
Please, stop it now...
They have made worms' meat of me.
May your houses stink of me for eternity! Why the hell did you get in the middle of that?
- I just wanted... - A plague!
A plague on both your houses! They stink of me for eternity...
Mercutio, whats are you doing?
Mercutio, get up! Mercutio, get up, it´s enough!
Why did you get in the middle of that?
Mercutio, get up...
Mercutio is dead!
That bold world-defier Has set out for the clouds - too early.
Romeo, come!
You!
Play!
Romeo, be gone! You are dead if they get you. Be gone, quickly!
Me,
fortune's fool, me.
Come,
civil night,
you high Black Queen,
Teach me a game For a pair of untainted maidens
That can only win when it loses.
Cover with your black cloak That which trembles in my cheeks,
The untame blood, till timid love takes courage
And finds with ease that which it seeks with fullest heart.
Come, night, come,
Romeo, come,
You day by night
For you lie brighter on night's feathers Than new snow on the back of a raven:
Come, gentle night, come,
Night with brow so dark Give me my Romeo,
And if he dies then cut him out into little stars
And he will make the face of heaven so beautiful That all the world falls in love with night
And no longer worships the garish sun.
I bought a house for love But I did not possess it,
And now I am sold, but uninhabited.
Nurse!
What's the matter?
He is dead...
It's all over, Lady.
The day is black as coal, he's gone, slaughtered, dead.
God cannot be so cruel.
Not God.
Romeo can. Romeo, oh Lord,
Who ever would have thought it!
Did Romeo kill himself?
Now say yes,
I am a no, then, if it is such a yes.
I saw the puncture, with these eyes of mine, in his manly breast, here.
A corpse, bleak, bloody, pale as ash, completely caked with blood.
O break, my heart, impoverished, empty,
break at once!
To prison, your eyes See no freedom,
To the earth, Earth, end movement now,
To Romeo in funeral sheets let yourself die away.
No...
Tybalt is dead
and Romeo banished.
- Was it Romeo's hand that struck Tybalt? - It was, cursed day.
O serpent heart, hidden by flowering face.
Has a dragon ever lain in such a handsome cave?
Courteous hangman, angelic Satan Divine on the outside, rotten on the inside?
Trust no one, believe no one, respect no man –
all false, insincere, oath-forgetting, dishonorable.
Now I need a Schnapps.
All this fussing is ageing me.
Shame, shame on Romeo!
For that wish Your tongue should blister, Nurse!
He was not born to shame, Shame is ashamed to sit upon his brow!
- You are speaking of the murder of your cousin! - Should I speak badly of my husband?
Tybalt is dead and Romeo banished.
This one word 'banished' Slayed 10 thousand Tybalts.
Tybalt's death was shock enough, If such a nasty shock needed company,
Why was your 'Tybalt is dead' followed Not by 'your father' or 'your mother'?
No, both,
at which a lamentation of pertinent intensity would arise
But only: following after 'Tybalt is dead' 'Romeo is banished' –
To utter that Strikes father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet
Strikes them all dead.
Calm down.
I will fetch Romeo, I know where he is now.
Fetch him for a last farewell.
Father, what's the news? What is the prince imposing?
I have it. Here, drink this.
- What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? - The judgement he passed puts it more mildly:
Not body's death, only body's banishment.
Banishment!
Have mercy,
say 'death',
Since death does not have such terror in his look as exile has.
Therefore say 'death'. Do not say 'banishment'.
You are only banished from Verona: Do not take it so badly, the world is big and broad.
There is no world beyond Verona's walls Only purgatory, torture chamber, hell.
Banished from here means banished from the world And banished from the world means dead:
Banishment's true name is death!
O rude unthankfulness!
For your misdeed the law calls for death. The prince however is putting our law aside
And is turning the black penalty of death into banishment for you.
- You are blind to this highest mercy. - It is torture, no mercy!
My heaven is here, where Juliet lives, Every cat, every dog and every little mouse
Every unworthy thing lives here in heaven And may look upon her, only Romeo may not.
Romeo in reputation, in esteem, in courtly respect Has been surpassed by a housefly -
It may seize hold of Juliet's marvellously white hand, Flies may do that, they are free people;
Romeo may not, he is banished; I am banished.
I am banished!
Was there no poison goblet, no sharp dagger,
No fairer means To strike me dead than 'banished'?
How do you, a man of God, my enlightened friend, have the heart to destroy me with 'banished'?
- Will you let me get a word in? - Your word will be 'banishment' again.
If you cannot reverse the prince's verdict, Then it is good for nothing. Speak no more.
- Madmen are deaf. - Speak no more.
- Let me discuss how things stand with you! - You cannot discuss what you do not feel!
If you were young like me
And Juliet was your love
Her husband for but an hour,
Tybalt's murder
Enflamed like me and then like me banished
Then you should like to speak, you should like to tear your hair out
And throw yourself to the ground as I am now Measuring out an undug grave.
Just like my damsel.
Sobbing and sniveling, United in suffering, coupled in lamenting!
Pull yourself together now For Juliet's sake.
Who falls like this into such a deep O?
- Life is a struggle. - How is it with Juliet?
Does she think I am an old murderer?
Now that I have already spilled her relative's blood over the childhood of our happiness.
She says nothing at all, only weeps And throws herself on her bed,
jumps up again and calls for Tybalt, falls once again onto the bed and cries 'Romeo'.
As if the name was fired at her from a gun
And she was struck by it in the heart.
Romeo, stop it!
You have astonished me.
I stood, By the rules of my order,
stood in the delusion that your character was balanced fairly well.
Did you slay Tybalt? Do you now wish to slay yourself,
And your wife who lives a life with you By damning yourself, filled with hatred?
You abuse your existence, abuse heaven, abuse the earth,
Where existence, heaven and earth are found together in you,
And together with you are lost.
Fie!
You disgrace spirit, feeling, form, which you have in overabundance, like a userer, to do your bidding,
And you use none of them As form, feeling and spirit deserve to be used.
Your noble form is a wax figure Lacking in the courage of a man,
Your feeling nothing but a hollow perjury Killing that which you vowed to love.
Your spirit, which crowns your form and feeling Becomes inflamed, unable to guide them
Like the powder of a careless soldier. What was given to you as defence tears you apart.
Pull yourself together, your Juliet lives, She for whose sake you wanted to kill yourself:
Tybalt wanted to kill you, but you struck him: your happiness!
Your happiness, two times!
The law that imposes death upon you becomes your friend
And turns it to exile.
A heap of blessings are laying themselves on your shoulders,
Happiness woos you, more beautiful than it ever gets
But you, just like a ill-tempered wench Pull a face at it and at your love.
Careful, such people do not end up well.
Go, get yourself to your wife, And embrace her!
Be gone and bear this in mind: If you do not get away before the day breaks,
Leave the city early in the morning, in disguise.
Farewell. Goodnight.
I will send out Benvolio from time to time, to report to you what develops here in your favour.
I could stay awake here all night long to hear good advice.
O learning! Really great, thanks.
Judge well: Spill Montague's blood for ours.
Romeo slayed him, because he slayed Mercutio.
Pronounce the judgement,
you should not blight our house!
Romeo slayed Tybalt!
And this shameless act Banished him instantly from our city.
- He must die. - Wait for the verdict to come.
- Spare murderers, mercy is their escape. - If not, he can contend somewhere else.
Look, she loved cousin Tybalt dearly And so did I.
Quite true, birth means death.
Things are shaping up so badly, Sir Paris, that we lack the time to talk to our daughter.
It is very late, she shan't be coming down tonight.
At present, grief is paralysing her tongue. Tomorrow morning I will question her.
If you were not honouring us with your company I would have hit the sack an hour ago.
These days of woe are no time to woo. Good night, Sir.
My regards to your daughter.
Sir Paris...
Sir Paris!
Come, Sir Paris, I have had enough, My daughter loves you, period.
She listens to me in all these matters.
My Lady,
pass by Juliet before you go to bed, Tell her, Sir Paris loves her
And share with her, next Wednesday...
What day is today?
- Monday, Sir. - Wednesday is too soon.
On Thursday then, say, she will marry Sir Paris.
Are you ready? Does it suit you to marry in such haste?
No great fuss – only a friend or two
Tybalt is freshly slain and having a big celebration could seem that we are not bothered by his death.
Half a dozen friends And that's all.
What do you think of Thursday?
- I wish it were Thursday tomorrow. - Lovely, then away with you, till Thursday.
Please put something on.
My wreath...
You wish to leave?
It is not yet near day.
It was the nightingale and not the lark,
She only sings at night, there in the pomegranate tree:
Believe me, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, No nightingale.
Night has blown out its candles.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
I know exactly, that light there is no daylight -
so you can stay, you do not have to go.
Should they catch me, should they put me to death,
I will simply say: That grey is not the sight of the early morning,
It is the pale reflection off Luna's brow,
Nor was that a lark, If I do not have to go, I will stay:
Come, death, welcome guest! Juliet wills it so.
No, go without delay,
it is the lark that sings so out of tune.
They say the lark sweetly separates night from day,
This one does not do so, since she separates us.
It is getting light and ever lighter.
Inside us it becomes darker, around us it gets light.
Open, window, Day comes in and life goes out.
Farewell.
Come, one more time.
So leave me all at once, lover, husband, friend?
Give me news every day of the hour
For in every minute there are many days.
Counting like this, I will age many years Before I see my Romeo again.
Do you think we shall see each other again?
I am sure of it.
All of this misery will give us much to talk about in the future.
O God, how bleakly my soul prophesizes!
Juliet?
Is he gone? Careful, your mother is coming.
You are awake already?
Mother,
I am not well.
Still shedding all these tears over the death of your cousin?
Do you wish to wash him out of the earth with them,
if you could he would still not come back to life. So stop it!
Whoever feels what I lost must be allowed to cry.
Thus you feel only the loss, not the friend for whom you weep.
The friend is lost, and that is what I must cry about.
More worthy of crying is not his death, but the fact that the scoundrel who slayed him lives.
- The scoundrel, Madam? - Yes, the Montague.
Never was a man further away from being a scoundrel,
forgive him, God, I do, with all my heart,
even though he weighs my heart down like no other.
- I rest my case, he murders and lives. - Yes, where my arm does not reach him.
I wish that I alone could seek vengence for my cousin.
We will get revenge. Fear not.
And when it comes, I hope you will be satisfied.
With Romeo I shall only be satisfied When I see him before me -
Dead
is my heart
from worrying about love.
Now, child, more joyful news:
You, good child, have a dear father,
One who, to cure you of your gloom Has devised a sudden day of joy for you.
What kind of joy?
Next Thursday the galant, young, noble gentleman, Sir Paris
in the morning in the church of Saint Peter will happily make you a joyful bride.
By Saint Peter's church and by he himself: A joyful bride of me he will not make!
I will not marry yet, and when I do, then I would much rather it be to the hated Romeo.
The sun sets, the earth weeps dew
But the sunset of my brother's son Brings forth downpours.
My child, are you a geyser?
You are still tear-stained, will you be gushing forever?
In one little body you imitate a ship, a sea and a storm all in one go:
In your eyes, like the sea, comes hide tide and low tide,
Your body sails on this tide of tears like a ship upon it,
Your sigh like the stormy wind, whipping your tears,
Soon breaking the mast and letting you capsize - No calm will come to pass.
How goes it, Have you told her of our decision?
- Yes, Sir! - Fill me in:
Does she not thank us? Is she not proud?
Not proud of it,
but thankful indeed:
I cannot be proud of that which I hate
But I can be thankful for hate, that is meant to be love.
How now, what...?
What is this confused logic?
'Not proud' and 'thankful indeed' and 'that which I hate' and 'meant to be love'?
Mistress Meddlesome, thank me no thanks, nor proud me no prouds
But instead set your dainty little feet in the direction of the church with Paris next Thursday
Or else I will drive you there in a tumbrel With your mouth gagged, you anaemic carrion!
You baggage!
- Tallow-face! - Have you lost your mind?
Hang yourself, baggage, disobedient wench! I tell you what:
Get yourself to Saint Peter on Thursday Or never after look me in the face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me:
My fingers itch.
Careful, young lady, careful!
Wife, we thought ourselves blessed when God allowed us this one child,
but I see now that this one is one too many and having her is a curse.
- Go to hell, slag. - Are you not ashamed to shout at her like that?
And why should I be, Lady Wisdom?
- Hold your tongue, blabbermouth, you are wasted. - I only mean well.
- Lord in heaven! - May one not speak?
Silence!
Put in your two cents wherever you want. Here it is not needed.
- Pull yourself together now! - Holy mother of God, I'm gonna snap!
By day, by night, every hour, every time of year,
whether in the office, at the card table, even whether I was alone or with company
Nothing was more dear to my heart than your happiness.
Now that I provide for her a noble gentlemen, well off, young, from the best family,
A fellow you might find in a catalogue, built to taste, then the foolish girl begins to whine!
Graze where you want, you shall no longer live with me.
Think about it, I do not care to jest. Thursday is near.
Follow me, and I will give you to my friend, Do not follow me, then hang yourself, beg, starve,
Drop dead on the streets, for then, upon my health I will abandon you,
and that which is mine will never do you good.
Count on that. Think very carefully.
I will not take back this vow.
Mother, by a month, by a week, delay the wedding:
if not, make my bridal bed where Tybalt lies.
Do not speak to me.
Do what you please.
Nurse...
What to do?
How to untie the knots?
Nurse, some comfort.
…some comfort…
Here it is already:
Romeo is banished,
And I bet the whole world for nothing, He does not dare come back
And claim his right to you,
But if he does, it must be in secret.
Since the case is as it is I think the best thing would be
For you to take Sir Paris.
He is a nice gentleman. Romeo is a dishcloth next to him.
With this second marriage, you would put the first to shame.
The first husband is dead, or as good as. What good is he to you?
Damn my heart, I think that this is a stroke of luck.
Do you mean that seriously?
As truly as I wish to be blessed.
Amen.
What?
That was a great comfort, Nurse.
On Thursday, Sir? That is very shortly.
My step-father Capulet wishes it so.
Where he is in a hurry, I shall not apply the brakes.
You are only unsure of what the lady thinks? The course is uneven, I do not like it.
She will not stop weeping over Tybalt's death
And that makes it hard to have an amorous chat Since Venus smiles in no houses of mourning.
Now her father thinks it dangerous That she grants her sorrow so much power
And in his wisdom he presses for the wedding To stem her overflowing tears
Which she is not managing to master on her own And to distract her with the joy of a celebration.
Now you also know the reason for his haste. - If only I did not know, why it should be slowed.
What?
Look, Sir, the lady herself approaches my cell.
How convenient.
My lady friend and soon my wife.
That may be, Sir.
Can I be that indeed, your wife?
That may be, love: in only two days' time.
- What must be shall be. - That is beyond doubt.
- Have you come to make confession here? - If I answered, I would be confessing to you.
That you love me.
I wish to confess to you, that it is him whom I love.
That I know.
It would suit you better If I did it in the back.
- Your eyes are afflicted with tears. - That is no great victory by the tears,
since my eyes were already bleary enough before their attack.
- These words condemn her more than tears. - Do not condemn that which is true, Sir,
and I said that which I said to my eyes.
- Do you slander them for me? - That may well be, for it is not mine.
- My lord, if you would be so kind as to leave us... - God forbid that I should disturb Godly devotion!
Juliet, till Thursday.
I shall come early to wake you.
Till then, Adieu. And keep this holy kiss.
- No plan, no comfort, no support anymore. - I know of your grief.
Do not tell me that you have heard of it Without telling me how to change it.
If, in your wisdom, you know of no further help Tell me that what I am determined to do is wise
And quickly help me get out this knife here.
God joined my heart and Romeo's together
And you our hands,
And before this hand here, Sealed, by you, to Romeo's hand,
serves as the token of the next union
Or even before my heart traitorously seeks another, render them both lifeless.
Do not hesitate: I do not hesitate to die - Your advice will not protect me from corruption.
I spy a kind of hope
Which requires a resolution just as desperate As that which it should prevent.
If you have the strength to kill yourself, rather than unite yourself with Paris,
Then you would also be glad to ward off dishonour through something that only ressembles death.
- If you dare that, I have guidance to give you. - Order me to avoid the marriage,
To jump from the roof of the highest tower, I will do it without fear or indecision.
Go home, be cheerful Consent to the marriage with Paris.
Tomorrow is only Wednesday,
Tomorrow night See to it that you are alone,
Do not let your nurse Sleep with you in your room.
Take this vial.
Lie on your bed And drink this elixir in one go:
Through your veins will run a cold feeling, Then your pulse will almost stop beating,
No warmth, no breath of air will testify that you live,
Limbs, robbed of their flexibility, Seem like a rigid cadavre, cold.
In this false likeness of the end You will be for forty-two hours
And will then awake As if from the most pleasant sleep.
When your bridegroom comes to wake you For your big day – you will lie there dead.
Then – you will, in your most beautiful dress Be carried to a tomb in the old crypt
That welcomes all deceased Capulets.
In the meantime I will write to tell Romeo And he and I will await your awakening.
That same night Romeo will take you with him to Mantua
And you will be free from the disgrace that threatens you,
Unless volatility and women's fear Steal your courage along the way.
Give it to me and do not talk to me of fear.
- May your determination give you strength. - Where is my daughter?
I will send Benvolio to Mantua With my news for your Romeo.
Where is my daughter?
Love strengthens me, as only love can.
Invite whoever is written here. And provide me with twenty great cooks.
- Where is my daughter? - Gone to Brother Laurence.
- Gone to Brother Laurence? - Yes, of course.
He will possibly bring her to her senses, Obstinate harlot that she is.
She returns from confession happy as a lark.
And you, my stubborn one?
Where have you been hanging about?
At that place where I was taught to repent my sins Of unruly disobedience towards my father.
Forgive me, please.
Whatever you say,
I shall do it.
Well then, I am glad, that is good! That is as it should be.
Send for Sir Paris, tell that to him.
- This knot should be tied tomorrow morning. - No, not before Thursday!
Leave it to me And everything will go to plan.
Go to Juliet, help her spruce herself up. I shall not sleep a wink tonight.
Now off with you. This one time l am happy to play the housewife.
My heart feels so light since this wild child Is eating out the palm of my hand.
By God, the honorable father Our whole city is indebted to him.
What are you doing rummaging around? Can I help?
No, Madam,
everything that seems good for tomorrow We have already picked out.
We do not even have enough to eat in the house - Everything is already closed.
So leave me alone and in peace,
Since you have your hands full With so much to do in this haste.
Well then. Good night.
Off to bed with you then and rest well, You will need it.
Nurse please leave as well,
I will have a lot to pray for
If heaven should smile on me, since I am guilt-ridden and sinful.
Farewell.
God knows, when we will see each other again.
Here comes the fear already,
Weak and cold it runs through my veins and the warmth of life is fading.
I want to call my nurse.
What could she do for me?
I must act the death scene alone,
it will not work any other way.
Come, vial.
But what if the mixture does not work at all?
What if it is a poison that the friar Offered to me cunningly in order to kill me?
I fear it is poison.
Here is a drink.
I drink it to you.
Every word sung in praise
Every tone praised in song
Happily running out of ideas
A first bat in the sky
And now be blind, close your eyes
I am holding your limbs
Your drooping lids
Lay down now
Tomorrow we'll be wild again
No!
Calm now, still yourselves. You shared this beautiful damsel with heaven.
Now it has her completely, and all the better it is for her.
You could not protect your part from death,
But heaven protected its part for an eternal life.
It was your heaven to raise her up high And now that she has been lifted,
And higher than the clouds, In heaven itself, now you weep?
O, your love for this child is so poor, so bad That you speak of disaster now she is glad?
To live a long married life is not a happy way, It must be short, then off to heaven without delay.
Wipe away your tears, Scatter rosemary on this beautiful corpse,
Follow the custom, dress her in fine clothes And lay her to rest in the crypt.
Nature indeed bids us to lament, But our pain can supply reason's merriment.
Amen.
Benvolio, what is it?
Have you not brought a letter with you from the friar?
Here.
How is my wife? How is Juliet?
I ask twice since nothing can be wrong, as long as she is well.
Then she is now well and nothing is wrong.
Her corpse sleeps in the Capulet crypt
And her immortality lives with the angels.
She was carried to the tomb of her ancestors.
Forgive the bearer of bad news: You charged me with it.
Well...
I take on the challenge, stars.
- I am returning home. - I beg of you, wait a while longer.
You look pale And the look in your eyes is not a good one.
- Stay here. - Leave me alone.
- Do what I tell you. Disappear. - Stay here, Romeo!
- Shut up! Be quiet and leave me alone! - Don´t leave!
Pharmacist, here are forty ducats.
They will be yours If you give me a drop of poison for them,
A drop of the quick kind,
That, scarcely swallowed, Moves through your veins in no time at all
And makes the life-weary drinker drop down dead
And the last sigh wrenches itself so violently from his chest,
Like a shot of powder flies from the mouth of the fatal cannon.
Here is your money, a much worse poison to men's souls,
Inciting more murder by far in this loathesome world than your brew.
I am selling poison to you, not you to me.
Farewell, live well, see to it, that you get some flesh on you.
Come, refreshment and not poison,
Go with me to Juliet's grave, For there I need you.
You dare come home.
Romeo, for this you must die.
I will do so.
I came here for that reason.
My good man, A desperate man needs peace.
Run away and leave me,
May all the dead who lay here warn you.
I beg of you, young man,
Do not make me mad And lay another sin upon my head.
Just scarper!
I am not interested in your conjurations. Come...
Watch out, my boy!
You detestable gullet,
You womb of death In which my dearest morsel of earth is tucked.
I force your rotten jaws to open And cram you with food until you burst.
Forgive me.
Why are you still so fair?
Should I believe The grim reaper is skilled at love
And holds you, the scrawny, ghastly monster, In the gloom to be his concubine?
Here I wish to live,
Here, where the worm serves as your chambermaid,
Here I lie down far away from the times
And throw from this world-wearied flesh The yoke of inauspicious stars.
Eyes
Look your last,
Arms,
take your last embrace
And lips,
you doors of breath,
Seal with a righteous kiss The final contract with death, the winner.
Come, unsavoury guide, false pilot, You lunatic commander,
land on the reef The leaky, sea-sick boat.
Here's to you,
you my love.