Storyboard-Text
- Juliet doesn't wan to marry Paris, so Friar try's to help.
- Act 4. Scene 1. Line 69-77. "Hold, daughter. I do spy a kind or hope, which craves as desperate execution as that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, thou hast the strengng thou will to slay thyself, then it is likely thou wilt undertake a thing like death to chide away this shame, that cop'st with death himself to 'scape form it; and, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy."
- Act 4. Scene 1. Line 90-121. "Hold, then. Go home; be merry; give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is tomorrow. Tomorrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not the Nurse lie with thee in thy chamber. Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilling liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humor; for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest. The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To ashes, thy eyes’ windows fall Like death when he shuts up the day of life. Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death, And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead. Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncovered on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 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. And this shall free thee from this present shame, If no inconstant toy nor womanish fear Abate thy valor in the acting it."
- Friar comes up with an idea.
- Act. 4. Scene 5. Line 68-86Peace, ho, for shame! Confusion’s cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid. Now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid. Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion, For ’twas your heaven she should be advanced; And weep you now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love you love your child so ill That you run mad, seeing that she is well. She’s not well married that lives married long, But she’s best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse, and, as the custom is, And in her best array, bear her to church, For though fond nature bids us all lament, Yet nature’s tears are reason’s merriment.
- Friar try's to comfort the family.
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