Paris Lines

yomiposo's version from 2016-01-05 04:15


Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof.
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yon yew trees lay thee all along,
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
But thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear’st something approach.
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.


Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew—
O woe! Thy canopy is dust and stones—
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew.
Or, wanting that, with tears distilled by moans,
The obsequies that I for thee will keep
Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.


The boy gives warning something doth approach.
What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight?
  Muffle me, night, awhile.


This is that banished haughty Montague,
That murdered my love’s cousin, with which grief,
It is supposed the fair creature died.
And here is come to do some villainous shame
To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!
Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemnèd villain, I do apprehend thee.
Obey and go with me, for thou must die.


I do defy thy commination
And apprehend thee for a felon here.


Oh, I am slain! If thou be merciful,
Open the tomb. Lay me with Juliet.