ROMEO AND JULIET
Two households, both alike in dignity,
in fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
from ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
whose misadventured piteous overthrows
do with their death, bury their parents' strife.
KaEmDe Production - Jakarta
Subtitle By: Komardy Syarifuddin
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
'Tis all one.
Here come the house of the Montagues.
- Good morrow. - Good morrow to you, sir.
Quarrel, I will back thee.
Right. Fear me not.
Come. Let's on.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
I do bite my thumb, sir.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Look at them.
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir,
but I do bite my thumb, sir.
Do you quarrel, sir?
- Quarrel, sir? No, sir. - If you do, sir, I am for you.
- I serve as good a man as you. - No better?
Yes, better, sir.
You lie.
Draw! Draw, if you be men!
Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.
Part, fools! Put up your swords. You know not what you do.
The Prince hath forbid this bandying in Verona streets.
Here come the Capulets!
Tybalt. Capulet's kinsman.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
I do but keep the peace.
Put up thy sword or manage it to part these men with me.
Drawn and talk of peace?
I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues and thee.
- Have at thee, coward! - Capulets!
Montagues!
Now hie thee home, fragment!
Villain!
Give me my long sword! Capulets!
On to the market square!
Capulets!
Follow me! Follow me!
Kill the villain Montague!
My noble uncle!
What?
My sword! My sword!
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Hold me not! Let me go!
Montague!
- Montague! - Montague!
Kill the villain Capulet!
I'll strike thee, coward!
- The Prince is coming! - Put down your weapons!
Here comes the Prince!
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
throw your mistempered weapons to the ground...
Down with your weapons. Down, I say.
...and hear the sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil brawls,
bred of an airy word by thee, old Capulet,
and Montague,
have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away.
You, Capulet, shall go along with me.
And, Montague, come you this afternoon.
Once more, on pain of death,
all men depart!
Where is Romeo? Saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
An hour before the worshipped sun
peered forth the golden window of the east,
a troubled mind drove me to walk abroad,
where underneath the grove of sycamore did I see your son.
Towards him I made, but he was ware of me
and stole into the cover of the wood.
Many a morning hath he there been seen.
See, where he comes.
So please you, step aside.
I'll know his grievance or be much denied.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, to hear true shrift.
Come, madam, let's away.
Good morrow, cousin.
- Is the day so young? - But new struck nine.
Ay me! Sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
It was.
What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Not having that, which, having, makes them short.
- But, Romeo... - Farewell, coz.
What fray was here? Tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate,
and more with love.
Soft! I will go along.
But Montague is bound as well as I in penalty alike.
And 'tis not hard, I think, for men as old as we to keep the peace.
Of honourable reckoning are you both,
and pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But...
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
But saying o'er what I have said before.
My child is yet a stranger in the world.
She hath not seen the change of 14 years.
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
ere we think her ripe to be a bride.
Younger than she are happy mothers made.
And too soon marred are those so early made.
The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she.
She is the hopeful lady of my earth.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart.
My will to her consent is but a part.
Peter!
This night I hold an old accustomed feast,
whereto I have invited many a guest such as I love, you among the store.
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
Nurse, where's my daughter? Call her forth to me.
By my maidenhead at 12 years old, I bade her come.
Where is the girl? Juliet!
God forbid, where is the girl?
Juliet! Where is the girl?
Juliet!
How now! Who calls?
Your mother, your lady mother.
It's your lady mother.
Make haste, girl, make haste! Where were you?
Madam, I am here.
What is your will?
This is the matter.
Make haste, girls. Come on.
Nurse, give leave awhile. We must talk in secret.
Nurse, come back again. I have remembered me.
Thou s'hear our counsel.
Thou knowest my daughter's of a pretty age.
- I can tell her age unto an hour. - She's not 14.
I'll lay 14 of my teeth, and yet I have but four.
She is not 14. How long is it to Lammastide?
- A fortnight and odd days. - Even or odd,
come Lammas Eve at night shall she be 14.
Susan and she, God rest all Christian souls, were of an age.
Susan is with God. She was too good for me.
But on Lammas Eve at night shall she be 14.
That shall she. I remember it well.
My lord and you were then at Mantua. Nay, I do bear a brain.
But then she could stand high lone.
Nay, she could have run and waddled all about.
For even the day before, she broke her brow.
And then my husband, oh, God rest his soul, he were a merry man,
took up the child.
"Yea," quoth he, "Dost thou fall upon thy face?
"Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit."
Nurse!
And, by my holidame,
the pretty wretch left crying and said, "Ay."
Enough. I pray thee, hold thy peace.
Yes, madam.
Now, Juliet.
God mark thee to his grace!
Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed.
And I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish.
Marry? That "marry" is the very theme I came to talk of.
Tell me, daughter Juliet,
how stands your disposition to be married?
- It is an honour that I dream not of. - An honour!
Were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst sucked wisdom from thy teat.
Well, think of marriage now. Younger than you, here in Verona,
ladies of esteem are made already mothers.
I was your mother much upon these years that you are now a maid.
- Yes, I remember. - Thus then in brief.
The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.
A man, young lady!
Lady, such as all the world. Why, he's a man of wax.
Verona's summer hath not such a flower.
Nay, he's a flower...
What say you?
Can you love the gentleman?
Madam!
The guests are come, supper served up.
You called, my young lady asked for...
We follow.
Speak briefly. Can you like of Paris' love?
I'll look to like, if looking liking move.
But no more deep will I endart mine eye
than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
- Juliet, the County stays. - Madam, I come.
Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.
Give me a case to put my visage in.
A visor for a visor!
What care I what curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.
Shall this speech be spoke for excuse? Or shall we on without apology?
The date is out of such prolixity. Let them measure us by what they will.
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Knock and enter. And no sooner in, but every man betake him to his legs.
We mean well in going to this mask.
- But 'tis no wit to go. - Why, may one ask?
- I dreamt a dream tonight. - And so did I.
Well, what was yours?
That dreamers often lie.
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
Queen Mab?
She is...
She is the fairies' midwife,
and she comes in state no bigger than an agate-stone
on the forefinger of an alderman,
drawn with a team of little atomies,
athwart men's noses as they lie asleep.
Her wagon-spokes are made of long spinners' legs,
and the cover of the wings of grasshoppers.
The traces of the smallest spider's web
and the collars of the moonshine's watery beams.
Her whip, crack,
is a cricket's bone, the lash of film.
And in this state she gallops night by night through lovers' brains,
and then they dream of love.
O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream,
which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are.
And sometime comes she with a tithe pig's tail,
tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep.
Then dreams he of another benefice.
Amen.
Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck,
and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches,
ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, drums in his ear,
at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted
swears a prayer or two
and sleeps again.
This is that very Mab that plaits the manes of horses in the night,
and bakes the elf locks in foul sluttish hairs,
which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,
that presses them and learns them first to bear,
making them women of good carriage.
This is she... This is she that...
This is she.
Peace, Mercutio, peace!
Thou talk'st of nothing.
True, true. I talk of dreams,
which are the children of an idle brain,
begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
which is as thin of substance as the air
and more inconstant than the wind,
who woos even now the frozen bosom of the north,
and, being angered, puffs away from thence,
turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves.
Strike, drum!
On, lusty gentlemen!
Romeo, we shall arrive too late.
I fear too early,
for my mind misgives,
some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
shall bitterly begin his fearful date with this night's revels
and expire the term of a despised life closed in my breast
by some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail!
Enter my poor house! Welcome!
My lovely niece! Welcome all!
Be merry, gentlemen. Be lively, ladies.
Welcome, gentlemen!
I have seen the day that I have worn a visor
and could tell a whispering tale in a fair lady's ear.
'Tis gone, 'tis gone.
You are welcome, gentlemen! Ladies!
She doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
as a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear.
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
as yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
Did my heart love till now?
Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe.
A villain come in spite to scorn at our solemnity this night.
Young Romeo?
Dares the slave come hither to fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
He bears him like a portly gentleman,
and Verona brags of him to be a virtuous and well-managed youth.
I would not here in my house do him disparagement.
Have patience, take no note of him.
The morisca! The morisca!
- Why, Uncle, 'tis a shame! - Go to!
You are a saucy boy.
You'll make a mutiny among my guests?
Am I the master here or you?
- I will not endure him. - You will not endure?
He shall be endured or I know what.
Well said, my hearts!
You're a princox.
Be quiet, or...
For shame! I'll make you quiet.
Leonardo will sing! Leonardo, I pray thee, sing, sing!
What is a youth?
lmpetuous fire
What is a maid? Ice and desire
The world wags on
A rose will bloom
It then will fade
So does a youth
So does the fairest maid
Comes a time when one sweet smile
Has its season for a while
Then love's in love with me
Some they think only to marry
Others will tease and tarry
Mine is the very best parry
Cupid, he rules us all
Caper the caper, sing me the song
Death will come soon to hush us along
Sweeter than honey and bitter as gall
Love is a pastime that never will pall
Sweeter than honey and bitter as gall
Cupid, he rules us all
A rose will bloom
Then will fade
So does a youth
So does the fairest maid
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
to smooth the rough touch with a gentle kiss.
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
which mannerly devotion shows in this.
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Have not saints lips and holy palmers, too?
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
O, then, dear saint,
let lips do what hands do.
They pray, grant thou,
lest faith turn to despair.
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Then move not,
while my prayer's effect I take.
Thus from my lips
by thine my sin is purged.
Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
Sin from my lips?
O trespass sweetly urged!
Give me my sin again.
A rose will bloom
It then will fade
So does a youth
So does
The fairest maid
- Juliet! Lady Juliet! - Nurse.
Your mother craves a word.
Make haste!
What is her mother?
Marry, bachelor, her mother is the lady of the house.
And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous.
I nursed her daughter that you talked withal.
I tell you, he that shall lay hold of her shall have the chinks.
Is she a Capulet?
O dear account!
My life is my foe's debt.
What ho, my mistresses!
What, will you be gone?
For God, it is so very late that we may call it early.
Good night, sweet my lady Juliet.
Come hither, nurse. What is yon gentleman?
- Count Paris. - No. What's he that follows there?
- I know not. - Go ask his name.
- Romeo of the house of Montague. - What?
His name is Romeo, and a Montague. The only son of your great enemy.
My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown and known too late!
Prodigious birth of love it is to me
that I must love a loathed enemy.
Juliet! Lady Juliet!
Madam!
Romeo!
Juliet!
Romeo!
Lady Juliet!
Juliet!
Romeo!
One, two, three!
Romeo!
He is wise and on my life hath stolen him home to bed.
He leaped this orchard wall. Call, good Mercutio.
Romeo!
Romeo! Passion lover! Madman!
Romeo!
He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not. The ape is dead.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
Romeo, good night!
But, soft!
What light through yonder window breaks?
It is my lady.
O it is my love!
O that she knew she were!
She speaks yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses. I will answer it.
I am too bold.
'Tis not to me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heavens,
having some business, do entreat her eyes
to twinkle in their spheres till they return.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!
- Ay me! - She speaks.
O speak again, bright angel!
O Romeo, Romeo!
Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name.
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love
- and I'll no longer be a Capulet. - Shall I hear more or speak at this?
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
Thou art thyself, though, not a Montague.
What is Montague?
It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face,
nor any other part belonging to a man.
O be some other name!
What's in a name?
That which we call a rose,
by any other name would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,
retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title.
Romeo, doff thy name,
and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself.
I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized.
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
What man art thou that thus bescreened in night,
so stumblest on my counsel?
By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am.
My name is hateful to myself because it is an enemy to thee.
Had I it written, I would tear the word.
My ears have not yet drunk
a hundred words of that tongue's utterance,
yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?
Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.
How camest thou hither and wherefore?
The orchard walls are hard to climb,
and the place death if any of my kinsmen find thee here.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls.
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
and what love can do that dares love attempt.
Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.
If they see thee, they will murder thee.
I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes.
And but thou love me,
let them find me here.
My life were better ended by their hate
than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.
Dost thou love me?
I know thou wilt say "Ay", and I will take thy word.
Yet if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false.
At lovers' perjuries they say Jove laughs.
O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.
Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo.
But else, not for the world.
In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond.
And therefore thou mayst think my 'haviour light.
But trust me, gentleman.
I'll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange.
I should have been more strange, I must confess,
but that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, my true love's passion.
Therefore pardon me, and not impute this yielding to light love,
which the dark night hath so discovered.
Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear...
Swear not by the moon,
the inconstant moon that monthly changes in her circled orb,
lest that thy love prove likewise variable.
What shall I swear by?
Do not swear at all.
Or, if thou wilt,
swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry,
and I'll believe thee.
If my heart's dear love... I swear!
Juliet!
Sweet, good night.
This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
may prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
Good night, good night!
As sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast.
Would thou leave me so unsatisfied?
What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?
The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.
I gave thee mine before thou didst request it.
And yet I would it were to give again.
Wouldst thou withdraw it?
For what purpose, love?
But to be frank, and give it thee again.
And yet I wish but for the thing I have.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep.
The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.
- Juliet! - Anon, good nurse!
- Sweet Montague, be true. - Madam!
- Stay but a little, I will come again. - Madam? Lady Juliet!
O blessed, blessed night!
I am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream,
too flattering-sweet to be substantial.
Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage,
send me word tomorrow
where and what time thou wilt perform the rite.
And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay and follow thee throughout the world.
- Madam! - I come, anon.
But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee.
- Lady Juliet! - By and by, I come!
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief.
- Tomorrow will I send. - So thrive my soul.
A thousand times good night!
Romeo! At what o'clock tomorrow shall I send to thee?
- At the hour of nine. - I will not fail.
It is 20 years till then.
Romeo!
- I have forgot why I did call thee back. - Let me stand here till thou remember.
I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
remembering how I love thy company.
And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
forgetting any other home but this.
Good night, good night!
Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Friar Laurence!
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Good morrow, Father!
Young son, it argues a distempered head,
so soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
Thy earliness doth me assure thou art up-roused with some distemperature.
If not so, then here I put it right,
our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.
That last is true. The sweeter rest was mine.
God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?
With Rosaline? My ghostly father, no.
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Good son. Where hast thou been, then?
I'll tell thee, ere thou ask again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy,
where on a sudden one hath wounded me.
Be plain and homely in thy drift.
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Then plainly know.
My heart's dear love is set on the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine.
And all combined, save what thou must combine by holy marriage.
When and where and how we met, we wooed and exchanged vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass, but this I pray, that thou consent to marry us today.
Holy Saint Francis!
Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear, so soon forsaken?
Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
What a deal of brine hath washed thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then.
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
- Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. - For doting, not for loving.
Yes, for loving.
And bad'st me bury love.
Not in a grave to lay one in, another out to have.
Come, young waverer.
Come, go with me.
In one respect I'll thy assistant be.
Oh, Father!
For this alliance may so happy prove,
to turn your households' rancour to pure love.
Let us hence. I stand on sudden haste.
Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home tonight?
- Who? - Romeo.
Not to his father's. I spoke with his man.
Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, hath sent a letter to his father's house.
- A challenge, on my life. - Romeo will answer it.
Any man that can write may answer a letter.
He will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.
Alas, poor Romeo! He is already dead,
stabbed with a white wench's black eye,
run through the ear with a love-song,
the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.
- And is he a man to encounter Tybalt? - Why, what is Tybalt?
More than Prince of Cats, I can tell you.
Good morrow to you both.
That we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies,
these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-mois.
Signor Romeo, bonjour!
Bonjour.
There's a French salutation to your French slop.
You gave us the counterfeit last night.
What counterfeit?
The slip, sir. Can you not conceive?
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great.
In such a case a man may strain courtesy.
Come between us, good Benvolio. My wit faints.
Thy wit is very bitter sweeting. It is most sharp sauce.
Why, is not this better now than groaning for love?
Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo.
Now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature.
For this drivelling love is like a great natural
that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
- Stop there! - Thou desirest me to stop in my tale?
Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
Thou art deceived for I was come to the whole depth of my tale
and meant to occupy the argument no longer.
Here's goodly gear!
Here's a fine barge!
A sail, a sail!
Two, two! A shirt and a smock.
- Peter! - Anon!
My fan, Peter.
Good Peter, to hide her face, for her fan's the fairer of the two.
- God ye good morrow, gentlemen. - God ye good e'en, fair gentlewoman.
- Is it good e'en, I pray? - 'Tis no less,
for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
What a man are you?
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made himself to mar.
By my troth, it is well said. "For himself to mar," quoth 'a?
Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find young Romeo?
I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse.
If you be he, sir, I desire some conference with you.
- She'll invite him to some supper. - A bawd, a bawd!
A bawd!
You filthy bum!
Farewell, ancient lady.
Scurvy knave! Scurvy knave!
I am none of his flirt-gills! I am none of his skains-mates!
Cur! Lousy knave! Lousy knave!
I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, so full of his property?
A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk,
and will speak more in a minute than he'll stand to in a month.
If he speak anything against me,
I'll take him down and 20 such Jacks!
And if I cannot, I'll find those that shall.
And thou must stand by too
and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!
Punk rampant!
Pray you, sir, a word.
Beef wit!
My young lady bade me inquire you out.
What she bid me say, I'll keep to myself, but first let me tell ye.
If ye should lead her in a fool's paradise...
Nurse...
...as they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour.
For the gentlewoman is young,
and if you should deal double with her,
'twere an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing.
Commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee.
Bid her devise some means to come to shrift this afternoon.
And there she shall at Friar Laurence's cell be shrived and married.
Here's for thy pains.
- No truly, sir. Not a penny. - Go to, I say you shall.
Well...
Sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady!
- When she were a little prating thing... - Goodbye.
There is a nobleman, Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard.
I anger her sometimes and say that Paris is the properer man.
- Commend me to thy lady. - A thousand times.
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse.
In half an hour she promised to return.
Perchance she cannot meet him.
That's not so. O, she is lame!
Love's heralds should be thoughts.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
she would be as swift in motion as a ball.
But old folks, many feign as they were dead.
Unwieldy, slow, heavy, and pale as lead.
O God, she comes! Honey nurse, what news?
O Lord, why look'st thou sad?
Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily.
Send thy man away.
- Peter, stay at the gate! - Go on.
- Hast thou met with him? - I am a-weary, give me leave awhile.
Fie, how my bones ache!
Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse.
Tell me! What says my love?
Your love says, like an honest gentleman,
and a courteous,
and a kind, and a handsome and I warrant him a virtuous...
- Where's your mother? - Where is my mother?
She is within. Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest!
"Your love says, like an honest gentleman, 'Where is your mother?"'
Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow.
Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Do your messages yourself.
Here's such a coil!
Come, what says Romeo?
- Have you leave to go to shrift today? - I have.
Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence's cell.
There stays a husband to make you a wife.
Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks.
They'll be in scarlet straight at any news.
Hie you to church.
- I'll to dinner. - Honest nurse, farewell.
So smile the heavens upon this holy act,
that after-hours with sorrow chide us not.
Amen, amen.
But come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy
that one short minute gives me in her sight.
These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die,
like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume.
The sweetest honey is loathsome in its own deliciousness.
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately.
Long love doth so.
Here comes the lady.
So light a foot will ne'er wear out
- the everlasting flint. - Juliet!
Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Romeo shall thank thee for us both.
Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy be heaped like mine,
that thy skill be more to blazon it,
then sweeten with thy breath this neighbour air.
They are but beggars that can count their worth.
My true love is grown to such excess
I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth.
Come with me.
We'll make short work for you shall not stay alone
till Holy Church incorporate two in one.
I pray thee, Mercutio, let's retire.
The day is hot.
The Capulets abroad.
If we meet, we shall not scape a brawl.
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
Mercutio, let's retire.
Thou art like one of these fellows that when he enters a tavern
claps me his sword on the table and says, "God send me no need of thee!"
And by the operation of the second cup
draws him on the drawer when there is no need.
Am I like such a fellow?
If there were two such we'd have none shortly, for one would kill the other!
Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing
because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun!
Blah, blah, blah! And thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling?
Mercutio!
By my head, here come the Capulets.
By my heel, I care not.
Gentlemen, good-den.
- Good-den. - A word with one of you.
And but one word with one of us?
Couple it with something, make it a word and a blow.
You shall find me apt enough for that, sir, and you will give me occasion.
Can you not take some occasion without the giving?
Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo.
Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels?
If you make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords.
Here's my fiddlestick.
Here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!
We talk here in the public haunt of men.
Withdraw unto some private place or reason coldly of your grievances.
Or else depart. Here all eyes gaze on us.
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I!
Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man.
Mercutio!
Tybalt.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford no better term than this.
Thou art a villain.
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 know'st me not.
Boy!
This shall not excuse the injuries thou hast done me.
Therefore turn and draw!
I do protest, I never injured thee,
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.
- No, Mercutio! - Calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
- No, Mercutio! - Leave me!
- Tybalt, you rat-catcher. - What wouldst thou have with me?
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives
that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter
- dry-beat the rest of the eight! - Please, good Mercutio!
Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?
Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out!
I am for you, sir.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up!
Come on, come!
Benvolio, beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, forbear this outrage!
The Prince expressly hath forbid this bandying in Verona streets.
- Leave us! - Leave us. Away, you coward!
Go hang thyself.
Cut his hair, Tybalt!
Make haste, Tybalt! We cannot wait all day.
Mother's baby's dropped his sword!
Tybalt, no!
Gentlemen, restrain!
Mercutio, come!
Begone!
Fly, Tybalt. Away!
I am hurt.
- I'm hurt. - What, art thou hurt?
A scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough.
Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much.
'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door.
But 'tis enough!
You ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
Where is my page?
Go, villain, and fetch me a surgeon. Fetch me a surgeon!
- Did he hurt you? - No.
Why the devil came you between us?
I was hurt under your arm.
I thought all for the best.
Help me into some house, Benvolio, or I shall faint.
A plague on both your houses!
He drinks too much wine!
They've made worms' meat of me!
I have it, and soundly, too.
Your houses!
He jests!
Romeo!
Brave Mercutio's dead!
This day's black fate on more days doth depend.
This but begins the woe others must end.
He gone in triumph and Mercutio slain!
Away to heaven, respective lenity,
fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
Tybalt!
Romeo!
There he goes. This way!
Tybalt!
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again that late thou gavest me.
For Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads,
staying for thine to keep him company.
Either thou or I, or both, must go with him!
Away!
Let him go!
Have this!
Sword, Romeo!
Thou wretched boy that didst consort him here shalt with him hence.
This shall determine that!
Keep your feet, Romeo.
Attack the head, Romeo!
- Give me your sword! - Quick!
- Come on, Tybalt! - Watch his feet!
Give him a sword!
A sword! A sword!
Into the square!
A sword!
A sword! Give it to me!
Your sword, Romeo!
Romeo, away! Be gone!
The citizens are up. Stand not amazed.
The Prince will doom thee death if thou art taken!
Hence, be gone, away!
O, I am fortune's fool!
I am fortune's fool!
A curse on the Montagues!
Tybalt!
The best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt, honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!
O God!
Did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?
- It did, it did. Alas the day, it did! - O nurse!
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound?
There's no faith, no trust, no honesty in men.
All perjured, all forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
Shame come to Romeo!
Blistered be thy tongue for such a wish!
He was not born to shame!
Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit.
Would you speak well of him that killed your cousin?
Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?
Poor my lord!
What tongue shall smooth thy name, when I,
thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?
To the Prince!
Prince! Prince!
Speak, Benvolio! Speak!
- Go on, speak! - Prince, as thou art true,
for blood of ours shed blood of Montague!
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
Tybalt, here slain!
Romeo did speak him fair,
did him bethink how nice the quarrel was,
and urged withal your high displeasure.
It's true, Prince!
Affection makes him false! He speaks not true!
I beg forjustice, 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?
Not Romeo, Prince.
He was Mercutio's friend.
His fault concludes but what the law should end.
The life of Tybalt!
And for that of fence immediately we do exile him hence!
Let Romeo hence in haste,
else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Banishment!
Be merciful, say "death"! Do not say "banishment"!
Arise! One knocks.
Good Romeo, hide thyself.
Who's there?
Who knocks so hard?
Whence come you?
What's your will?
Let me come in and you shall know my errand.
I come from Lady Juliet.
Welcome, then.
Holy friar, O tell me, holy friar,
where's my lady's lord? Where's Romeo?
There, with his own tears made drunk.
There is no world without Verona walls!
Even so lies she, blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.
Stand up!
Stand, and you be a man.
For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand.
- Why should you fall into so deep an O? - Nurse!
Sir, sir! Death's the end of all.
Speakst thou of Juliet?
How is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer?
Where is she? How doth she?
What says my concealed lady to our cancelled love?
She says nothing but weeps and weeps,
and Tybalt calls and then on Romeo cries.
As if that name did murder her. O tell me, friar, tell me!
In what vile part of this anatomy doth my name lodge?
Tell me, that I may sack the hateful mansion!
- Hold thy desperate hand! - By heavens, leave me!
Thou hast amazed me.
Art thou a man?
Thy form cries out thou art.
Thy tears are womanish!
Thy wild acts denote the unreasonable fury of a beast!
Hast thou slain Tybalt?
Would thou slay thyself and slay thy lady by doing damned hate upon thyself?
Rouse thee, man!
Thy Juliet is alive!
There art thou happy!
Tybalt would kill thee, but thou slew'st Tybalt.
There art thou happy.
The law becomes thy friend and turns death to exile.
There art thou happy!
A pack of blessings light upon thy back.
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her.
But look thou stay not till the watch be set,
for then thou canst not pass to Mantua.
Where thou shalt live,
till we find a time to blaze your marriage,
beg pardon of the Prince,
and call thee home with twenty hundred thousand times more joy
than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse. Commend me to thy lady.
Bid her hasten all to bed,
which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto.
Romeo is coming.
Wilt thou be gone?
It is not yet near day.
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear.
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree.
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale.
Night's candles are burnt out.
And jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
Yond light is not daylight.
I know it, I.
Therefore stay yet. Thou need'st not to be gone.
Let me be taken, let me be put to death.
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.
I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye.
Nor that is not the lark,
whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.
I have more care to stay than will to go.
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.
It is! It is. Hie hence, be gone, away!
Romeo, it is!
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.
Some say the lark makes sweet division.
This doth not so, for she divideth us.
So, now be gone. More light and light it grows.
More light and light.
More dark and dark our woes!
Madam! Your lady mother comes to your chamber!
Your lady mother is coming to your chamber.
The day is broke. Look about.
Art thou gone so? My husband, friend!
I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
for in a minute there are many days.
O, by this count I shall be much in years ere I again behold my Romeo!
I will omit no opportunity that may convey my greetings, love, to thee.
Think'st thou we shall ever meet again?
I doubt it not.
And all these woes shall serve for sweet discourses in our time to come.
Farewell, farewell!
One kiss, and I'll descend.
Adieu.
Adieu!
O God!
We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not.
Then weep no more.
I'll send to one in Mantua, where that same banished runagate doth live,
shall give him such an unaccustomed dram
that he shall soon keep Tybalt company.
But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl.
Thou hast a careful father.
One who, to put thee from thy heaviness,
hath sorted out a sudden day of joy.
Joy comes well in such a needy time.
Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn,
the gallant, young and noble prince, the County Paris,
at St Peter's Church, shall happily make thee there a joyful bride.
Now, by St Peter's Church and Peter, too,
he shall not make me there a joyful bride!
No! No!
So it is concluded.
Son Paris.
How now, wife. Have you delivered to her our decree?
Ay, sir. But she will none, she gives you thanks.
I would the fool were married to her grave!
Soft!
Take me with you.
Take me with you, wife.
How! Will she none?
Doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud?
Doth she not count her blest
that we have wrought so worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom?
Wretched fool! Let me see her!
Ungrateful baggage! Thou shalt not house with me.
Fie! What, are you mad?
Hang thee, young baggage! Disobedient wretch!
Get thee to church on Thursday, or never after look me in the face.
- Father, I beseech you! - Reply not!
- Do not answer me! My fingers itch. - God in heaven bless her!
- You are to blame to rate her so. - And why?
Hold your tongue, good prudence! Go!
I speak no treason. May not one speak?
Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl!
You are too hot.
God's bread, it makes me mad!
Thursday is near. Lay hand on heart, advise.
And you be mine, I'll give you to my friend.
And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets!
For I'll ne'er acknowledge thee,
nor what is mine shall never do thee good!
- Father! - Trust to't, bethink you.
I'll not be forsworn!
Oh, no! No!
O sweet my mother, cast me not away!
- Delay this marriage for a month. - Talk not to me. I'll not speak a word!
Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.
O God!
O nurse!
How shall this be prevented? What say'st thou?
Hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse.
Faith, here it is.
Romeo is banished.
All the world to nothing that he dares ne'er come back to challenge you.
Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth.
Then, since the case so stands as now it doth,
I think it best you marry with the County.
True.
O, he's a lovely gentleman.
Romeo is a dishclout to him!
An eagle, madam, hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye as Paris hath.
I think you are happy in this second match
for it excels your first.
Or if it did not, your first is dead.
Or 'twere as good he were, as living here and you no use of him.
Speakest thou from thy heart?
And from my soul, too.
- Or else beshrew them both. - Amen!
What?
Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much.
Go in and tell my lady I am gone,
having displeased my father, to Laurence's cell
to make confession and to be absolved.
Marry, I shall.
- This is wisely done. - Go!
You say you do not know the lady's mind?
Uneven is the course. I like it not.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,
and therefore have I little talked of love,
for Venus smiles not in a house of tears.
Happily met, my lady and my wife.
That may be, sir, when I may be a wife.
Come you to make confession to this father?
Are you at leisure, holy father, now?
Or shall I come to you at evening mass?
My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.
My lord, we must entreat the time alone.
God shield I should disturb devotion!
Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse thee.
Till then, adieu.
And keep this holy kiss.
O shut the door!
And when thou hast done so, come weep with me!
Past hope, past care, past help!
Juliet, I already know thy grief.
Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this,
unless thou tell me how I can prevent it!
If in thy wisdom thou canst give no help...
Hold, daughter.
I do spy a kind of hope, as that is desperate which we would prevent.
If rather than to marry County Paris...
Bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, from off the battlements of any tower!
Bid me go into a new-made grave, and hide me with a dead man!
Hold, then.
Go home.
Be merry.
Give consent to marry Paris.
Wednesday is tomorrow.
Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone.
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.
Take thou this vial, being then in bed,
and this distilling liquor drink thou off.
Presently through all thy veins shall run a cold and drowsy humour,
for no pulse shall keep his native progress, but surcease.
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest.
And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death
thou shalt continue two and 40 hours.
And then awake as from a pleasant sleep.
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.
Give me, give me!
Tell not me of fear!
Hold.
Get thee gone, be strong and prosperous in this resolve.
How now, my headstrong. Where have you been gadding?
Where I have learned me to repent the sin of disobedient opposition.
Pardon me.
Henceforward I am ever ruled by you.
Why, I am glad on't!
This is well. Stand up.
This is as it should be.
Love, give me strength!
Give this letter into the hand of Romeo, in Mantua.
My lord! My lord! She's dead! Juliet is dead!
My lady Juliet, my lord. She's dead!
Juliet! Juliet!
Juliet! My baby, where is she?
O lamentable day!
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
- Master? - Balthasar!
How fares my Juliet? For nothing can be ill if she be well.
How fares my lady?
She's dead, my lord. She's dead.
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault.
Then I defy you, stars!
Live, and be prosperous.
Farewell, good fellow.
Juliet.
O my love!
My wife!
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Thou art not conquered.
Beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks.
Death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt.
Liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
What more favour can I do to thee
than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain
to sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin.
Dear Juliet!
Why art thou yet so fair?
Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous
and that the abhorred monster keeps thee here to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee,
never from this palace of dim night depart again.
Here, here will I remain with worms
that are thy chamber-maids!
Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace!
And, lips, O you the doors of breath,
seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Here's to my love!
Thus, with a kiss,
I die.
- Who's there? - A friend.
- And one that knows thee well. - How long hast thou been here?
- Full half an hour. - Go with me to the vault.
I dare not, sir. My master knows not but I am gone hence.
Stay, then. I'll go alone.
Fear comes upon me!
O much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
Pale!
What an unkind hour is guilty of this lamentable chance!
O comfortable friar!
Where is my lord?
I do remember well where I should be, and there I am.
Where is my Romeo?
I hear some noise.
Where is my Romeo?
Lady, come from this nest of death, contagion and unnatural sleep.
A greater power than we can contradict hath thwarted our intents.
Come along. The watch is coming.
Where is my Romeo?
Come, go, good Juliet.
I dare no longer stay.
I dare no longer stay!
Juliet!
I dare no longer stay!
What's here?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.
O churl!
Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?
I will kiss thy lips.
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them to make me die with a restorative.
Thy lips are warm!
Yea, noise?
No!
Then I'll be brief.
O happy dagger!
This is thy sheath.
There rust, and let me die.
Where be these enemies?
Capulet.
Montague.
See what a scourge is laid upon your hates
that heaven finds means to kill yourjoys with love.
And I, for winking at your discords, too
have lost a brace of kinsmen.
All are punished.
All are punished!
A glooming peace this morning with it brings.
The Sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.
For never was a story of more woe
than this of Juliet and her Romeo.
Subtitle By: Komardy Syarifuddin