Page 3208 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

Murder’d her kinsman. O, tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy [105]
Doth my name lodge? Tell me that I may sack
The hateful mansion.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Hold thy desperate hand.
Art thou a man? Thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast. [110]
Unseemly woman in a seeming man,
And ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz’d me. By my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper’d.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? Wilt thou slay thyself? [115]
And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Why rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. [120]
Fie, fie, thou sham’st thy shape, thy love, thy wit,
Which, like a usurer, abound’st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax [125]
Digressing from the valour of a man;
Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Misshapen in the conduct of them both, [130]
Like powder in a skilless soldier’s flask
Is set afire by thine own ignorance,
And thou dismember’d with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead. [135]
There art thou happy. Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew’st Tybalt. There art thou happy.
The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend
And turns it to exile. There art thou happy.
A pack of blessings light upon thy back; [140]
Happiness courts thee in her best array;