# The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet (Dowden)/Appendix 1

APPENDIX I
Some Passages from the Quarto of 1597
The passages here selected differ considerably from the text of 1599. The following is the scene in Q 1 corresponding to II. vi.:
Enter Romeo, Frier.
| Rom. | Now Father Laurence, in thy holy grant Consists the good of me and Iuliet. |
| Fr. | Without more words I will doo all I may, To make you happie if in me it lye. |
| Rom. | This morning here she pointed we should meet, And consumate those never parting bands, Witnes of our harts love by ioyning hands, And come she will. |
| Fr. | I gesse she will indeed, Youths love is quicke, swifter than swiftest speed. Enter Iuliet somewhat fast, and embraceth Romeo. See where she comes. So light of foote nere hurts the troden flower: Of love and ioy, see see the soveraigne power. |
| Iul. | Romeo. |
| Rom. | My Iuliet welcome. As doo waking eyes (Cloasd in Nights mysts) attend the frolicke Day, So Romeo hath expected Iuliet, And thou art come. |
| Iul. | I am (if I be Day) Come to my Sunne: shine foorth, and make me faire. |
| Rom. | All beauteous fairnes dwelleth in thine eyes. |
| Iul. | Romeo from thine all brightnes doth arise. |
| Fr. | Come wantons, come, the stealing houres do passe ​Defer imbracements till some fitter time, Part for a while, you shall not be alone, Till holy Church have ioynd ye both in one. |
| Rom. | Lead holy Father, all delay seemes long. |
| Iul. | Make hast, make hast, this lingring doth us wrong. |
| Fr. | O, soft and faire makes sweetest worke they say. Hast is a common hindrer in crosse way. |
The following corresponds in Q 1 to III. i. 94–114:
| Mer. | Is he gone, hath hee nothing? A poxe on your houses. |
| Rom. | What art thou hurt man, the wound is not deepe. |
| Mer. | Noe not so deepe as a Well, nor so wide as a barne doore, but it will serve I warrant. What meant you to come betweene us? I was hurt under your arme. |
| Rom. | I did all for the best. |
| Mer. | A poxe of your houses, I am fairely drest. Sirra goe fetch me a Surgeon. |
| Boy. | I goe my Lord. |
| Mer. | I am pepperd for this world, I am sped yfaith, he hath made wormes meate of me, and ye aske for me to morrow you shall finde me a grave man. A poxe of your houses, I shall be fairely mounted upon four mens shoulders: For your house of the Mountegues and the Capolets and then some peasantly rogue, some Sexton, some base slave shall write my Epitaph, that Tybalt came and broke the Princes Lawes, and Mercutio was slaine for the first and second cause. Wher's the Surgeon? |
| Boy. | Hee's come sir. |
| Mer. | Now heele keepe a mumbling in my guts on the other side, come Benvolio, lend me thy hand: a poxe of your houses.[Exeunt. |
The following corresponds in Q 1 to IV. i. 77 to end of scene:
| Jul. | Oh bid me leape (rather than marrie Paris From off the battlements of yonder tower: ​Or chaine me to some steeple mountaines top, Where roaring Beares and savage Lions are: Or shut me nightly in a Charnell-house, With reekie shankes, and yeolow chaples sculls: Or lay me in tombe with one new dead: Things that to heare them namde have made me tremble; And I will doo it without feare or doubt, To keep my selfe a faithfull unstaind Wife To my deere Lord, my deerest Romeo. |
| Fr. | Hold Iuliet, hie thee home, get thee to bed, Let not thy Nurse lye with thee in thy Chamber: And when thou art alone, take thou this Violl, And this distilled Liquor drinke thou off: When presently through all thy veynes shall run A dull and heavie slumber, which shall seaze Each vitall spirit: for no Pulse shall keepe His naturall progresse, but surcease to beate: No signe of breath shall testifie thou livst. And in this borrowed likenes of shrunke death, Thou shalt remaine full two and fortie houres. And when thou art laid in thy Kindreds Vault, He send in haste to Mantua to thy Lord, And he shall come and take thee from thy grave. |
| Iul. | Frier I goe, be sure thou send for my deare Romeo. |
The following in Q 1 corresponds to IV. v. 41–95:
| Par. | Have I thought long to see this mornings face, And doth it now present such prodegies? Accurst, unhappy, miserable man, Forlorne, forsaken, destitute I am: Borne to the world to be a slave in it. Distrest, remediles, and unfortunate. O heavens, O nature, wherefore did you make me, To live so vile, so wretched as I shall. |
| Cap. | O heere she lies that was our hope, our joy, And being dead, dead sorrow nips us all. |
| All cry. | And all our ioy, and all our hope is dead, Dead, lost, undone, absented, wholy fled. |
| Cap. | Cruel, uniust, impartiall destinies, Why to this day have you preserved my life? To see my hope, my stay, my ioy, my life, Deprivde of sence, of life, of all by death, Cruell, uniust, impartiall destinies. |
| Cap. | O sad fac'd sorrow map of misery, Why this sad time have I desird to see. This day, this uniust, this impartiall day Wherein I hop'd to see my comfort full, To be deprivde by suddaine destinie. |
| Moth. | O woe, alacke, distrest, why should I live? To see this day, this miserable day. Alacke the time that ever I was borne, To be partaker of this destinie. Alacke the day, alacke and welladay. |
| Fr. | O peace for shame, if not for charity. Your daughter lives in peace and happines, And it is vaine to wish it otherwise. Come sticke your Rosemary in this dead coarse, And as the custome of our Country is, In all her best and sumptuous ornaments, Convay her where her Ancestors lie tomb'd. |
| Cap. | Let it be so come wofull sorrow mates, Let us together taste this bitter fate. |
The following in Q 1 corresponds to V. iii. 1–17:
Enter Countie Paris and his Page with flowers and sweete water.
| Par. | Put out the torch, and lye thee all along Under this Ew-tree, keeping thine eare close to the hollow ground. And if thou heare one tread within this Churchyard Staight give me notice. |
| Boy. | I will my Lord. |
| Par. | Sweete Flower, with flowers I strew thy Bridale bed: Sweete Tombe that in thy circuite dost containe, The perfect modell of eternitie: Faire Iuliet that with Angells dost remaine, Accept this latest favour at my hands, That living honourd thee, and being dead With funerall praises doo adorne thy Tombe. |
| Boy | whistles and calls. My Lord. |