warmcola God
Hold thy desperate hand:

Art thou a man?
Aren’t you a man?
Thy form cries out thou art:
Your form says you are
Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote
You have womanly tears; your wild acts say
The unreasonable fury of a beast:

Unseemly woman in a seeming man!
A unusual woman in a normal man
Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both!
A man in form and a woman in the way you take misfortune
Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order,
You’ve amazed me
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
I thought you didn’t have a short fuse
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
Have you killed Tybalt? Will you kill yourself?
And stay thy lady too that lives in thee,
And the woman inside you is still there
By doing damned hate upon thyself?
Or commit self-murder as an act of hate?
Why rail’st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Why blame other things?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
You still have your life
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
You could have lost your life
Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
You shame your love and wit
Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all,
Which like a vampire all bound in you
And usest none in that true use indeed

Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit:

Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,

Digressing from the valour of a man;

Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury,

Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;

Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,

Misshapen in the conduct of them both,

Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask,

Is set afire by thine own ignorance,

And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.

What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,

For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;

There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,

But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:

The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend

And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:

A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back;

Happiness courts thee in her best array;

But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench,

Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:

Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.

Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,

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 can find a time

To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,

Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back

With twenty hundred thousand times more joy

Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.

Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;

And bid her hasten all the house to bed,

Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:

Romeo is coming.
Last updated  2008/09/28 09:58:48 PDTHits  213