Juliet's Soliloquy
Farewell!--God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me;--
Nurse!--What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.--
Come, vial.--
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning?--
No, No!--this shall forbid it:--lie thou there.--
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet methinks it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man:--
I will not entertain so bad a thought.--
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,--
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for this many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;--
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking,--what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;--
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?--
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point:--stay, Tybalt, stay!--
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me;--
Nurse!--What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.--
Come, vial.--
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning?--
No, No!--this shall forbid it:--lie thou there.--
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet methinks it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man:--
I will not entertain so bad a thought.--
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like
The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place,--
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for this many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;--
Alack, alack, is it not like that I,
So early waking,--what with loathsome smells,
And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;--
O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers' joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?--
O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body
Upon a rapier's point:--stay, Tybalt, stay!--
Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.
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Tuesday, July 12, 2011 - 00:25
Poesia Consagrada :
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Language | |
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Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 12: When I do count the clock that tells the time | 0 | 7.128 | 07/12/2011 - 01:13 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 119: What potions have I drunk of Siren tears | 0 | 4.967 | 07/12/2011 - 01:12 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 118: Like as to make our appetite more keen | 0 | 4.356 | 07/12/2011 - 01:09 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds | 0 | 4.740 | 07/12/2011 - 01:07 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 115: Those lines that I before have writ do lie | 0 | 4.720 | 07/12/2011 - 01:06 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 114: Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you | 0 | 4.935 | 07/12/2011 - 01:05 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 113: Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind | 0 | 4.334 | 07/12/2011 - 01:04 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 112: Your love and pity doth th' impression fill | 0 | 4.489 | 07/12/2011 - 01:02 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 111: O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide | 0 | 4.152 | 07/12/2011 - 01:01 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 110: Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there | 0 | 4.989 | 07/12/2011 - 00:59 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 11: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st | 0 | 5.363 | 07/12/2011 - 00:58 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 109: O, never say that I was false of heart | 0 | 5.571 | 07/12/2011 - 00:57 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 108: What's in the brain that ink may character | 0 | 4.519 | 07/12/2011 - 00:57 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 107: Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul | 0 | 4.658 | 07/12/2011 - 00:56 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 106: When in the chronicle of wasted time | 0 | 4.859 | 07/12/2011 - 00:54 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 105: Let not my love be called idolatry | 0 | 5.317 | 07/12/2011 - 00:53 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 104: To me, fair friend, you never can be old | 0 | 5.123 | 07/12/2011 - 00:53 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 103: Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth | 0 | 4.908 | 07/12/2011 - 00:52 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 102: My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming | 0 | 4.211 | 07/12/2011 - 00:50 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 101: O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends | 0 | 4.984 | 07/12/2011 - 00:43 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/General | Sonnet 100: Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long | 0 | 5.009 | 07/12/2011 - 00:42 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 10: For shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any | 0 | 4.571 | 07/12/2011 - 00:40 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonnet 1 | 0 | 4.957 | 07/12/2011 - 00:38 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/Sonnet | Sonet LIV | 0 | 5.017 | 07/12/2011 - 00:37 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/General | Silvia | 0 | 5.402 | 07/12/2011 - 00:36 | English |
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