What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on wiyout apology?
what, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? or shall we on wiyout apology?
what, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? or shall we
The date is out of such prolixity:
We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But let them measure us by what they will,
We’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.
The date is out of such prolixity: We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf, Bearing a Tarear’s painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no wiyout-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will, We’ll measure them a measure, and be gone.
the date is out of such prolixity: we’ll have no c...
the date is out of such prolixity: we’ll have no cupid hoodw
Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling;
Being but heavy I will bear the light.
Give me a torch, I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy I will bear the light.
give me a torch, i am not for this ambling; being but heavy i will bear the light.
give me a torch, i am not for this ambling; being but heavy
Mercutio is the most verbally alive character in the play — he speaks in free-form wit, obscene jokes, and visionary flights that shift register without warning. Watch for how his humor always has an edge, and how the edge always points somewhere true.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
nay, gentle romeo, we must have you dance.
nay, gentle romeo, we must have you dance.
Not I, believe me, you have dancing shoes,
With nimble soles, I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
Not I, believe me, you have dancing shoes, With nimble soles, I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
not i, believe me, you have dancing shoes, with ni...
not i, believe me, you have dancing shoes, with nimble soles
You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings,
And soar with them above a common bound.
You are a lover, borrow Cupid’s wings, And soar with them above a common bound.
you are a lover, borrow cupid’s wings, and soar with them above a common bound.
you are a lover, borrow cupid’s wings, and soar with them ab
I am too sore enpierced with his shaft
To soar with his light feathers, and so bound,
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.
Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.
I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.
i am too sore enpierced with his shaft to soar wit...
i am too sore enpierced with his shaft to soar with his ligh
And, to sink in it, should you burden love;
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.
and, to sink in it, should you burden love; too great oppression for a tender thing.
and, to sink in it, should you burden love; too great oppres
The Queen Mab speech is often admired as pure poetic invention, but it has a serious philosophical point underneath the fantasy. Mercutio's argument is: dreams show you what you really want. The lover dreams of love, the soldier of violence, the priest of money. Dreams aren't prophetic — they're revelatory. They expose the desires people dress up in respectable language. Romeo claims his dream warns him away from the feast; Mercutio says no, it's just your desire talking — and your desire is foolish. He's partly right: Romeo does desire Rosaline, and desire does produce foolish behavior. Where Mercutio's argument fails is that he assumes all visions are self-generated. The speech darkens as it goes — the Mab who starts by bringing lovers their dreams ends as a hag who teaches women to bear children in the night. By the end, Mercutio seems disturbed by his own vision. Romeo stops him, and Mercutio says: 'I talk of dreams.' It sounds like a concession. It might be a confession.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn.
is love a tender thing? it is too rough, too rude, too boist
If love be rough with you, be rough with love;
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.
Give me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._]
A visor for a visor. What care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities?
Here are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: [_Putting on a mask._] A visor for a visor. What care I What curious eye does quote deformities? Hbefore are the beetle-brows shall blush for me.
if love be rough with you, be rough with love; pri...
if love be rough with you, be rough with love; prick love fo
Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in
But every man betake him to his legs.
Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in But every man betake him to his legs.
come, knock and enter; and no sooner in but every man betake him to his legs.
come, knock and enter; and no sooner in but every man betake
A torch for me: let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;
For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase,
I’ll be a candle-holder and look on,
The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.
A torch for me: let wantons, light of heare, Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels; For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase, I’ll be a candle-holder and look on, The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.
a torch for me: let wantons, light of heare, tickl...
a torch for me: let wantons, light of heart, tickle the sens
Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word:
If thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire
Or save your reverence love, wherein thou stickest
Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.
Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word: If you are dun, we’ll draw you from the mire Or save your revbeforence love, whbeforein you stickest Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho.
tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word: if...
tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word: if thou art
Nay, that’s not so.
Nay, that’s not so.
nay, that’s not so.
nay, that’s not so.
I mean sir, in delay
We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.
Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits
Five times in that ere once in our five wits.
I mean sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that before once in our five wits.
i mean sir, in delay we waste our lights in vain, ...
i mean sir, in delay we waste our lights in vain, light ligh
And we mean well in going to this mask;
But ’tis no wit to go.
And we mean well in going to this mask; But ’tis no wit to go.
and we mean well in going to this mask; but ’tis no wit to go.
and we mean well in going to this mask; but ’tis no wit to g
Why, may one ask?
Why, may one ask?
why, may one ask?
why, may one ask?
I dreamt a dream tonight.
Mercutio is the only major character in Romeo and Juliet who has no stake in the feud. He's not a Montague or a Capulet — he's related to the Prince. He loves Romeo but doesn't share his romantic obsessions. He finds the whole premise of the feud absurd. This outsider position gives him a kind of freedom the other characters don't have: he can say what no one else will. When he calls Romeo's infatuation with Rosaline ridiculous, he's right. When he later says Romeo has been killed by Tybalt's 'grave,' because Romeo chose his love for Juliet over his duty to his friends, he's right again. The play kills Mercutio in Act 3 — and that death is what removes the only voice that might have talked Romeo out of the catastrophe. His absence is a structural catastrophe as much as a personal one. Keep listening to him while you can.
And so did I.
And so did I.
and so did i.
and so did i.
Well what was yours?
Well what was yours?
well what was yours?
well what was yours?
That dreamers often lie.
That dreamers often lie.
that dreamers often lie.
that dreamers often lie.
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
In bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
in bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
in bed asleep, while they do dream things true.
O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you.
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a team of little atomies
Over men’s noses as they lie asleep:
Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
Her traces, of the smallest spider’s web;
The collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams;
Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film;
Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat,
Not half so big as a round little worm
Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid:
Her chariot is an empty hazelnut,
Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers.
And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;
O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight;
O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees;
O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream,
Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:
Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,
And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;
And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail,
Tickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep,
Then dreams he of another benefice:
Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,
And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,
Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades,
Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
Oh, then, I see Queen Mab has been with you. She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Over men’s noses as they lie asleep: Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers; Her traces, of the smallest spider’s web; The collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams; Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love; O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on curtsies straight; O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees; O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail, Tickling a parson’s nose as a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscados, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon
oh, then, i see queen mab has been with you. she i...
o, then, i see queen mab hath been with you. she is the fair
Romeo's closing speech is one of Shakespeare's most interesting moments of ambiguity. He feels a premonition — something in the stars, some consequence beginning tonight that will end in 'untimely death.' Is he prophetically right, or is this just the anxiety of a depressed young man before a party? The play doesn't tell us. What it does is make Romeo aware of the danger and have him choose to go anyway: 'But he that hath the steerage of my course / Direct my suit.' He surrenders to whatever is guiding him. This is not passive — it's a kind of active faith, handing himself over to something larger. In a play with a Prologue that tells you the ending before Act 1, the question isn't whether fate is real; it's whether knowing the danger changes anything. Romeo knows. He goes. The tragedy is not ignorance.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace,
Thou talk’st of nothing.
Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace, Thou talk’st of nothing.
peace, peace, mercutio, peace, thou talk’st of nothing.
peace, peace, mercutio, peace, thou talk’st of nothing.
True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air, And more inconstant than the wind, who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger’d, puffs away from thence, Turning his side to the dew-dropping south.
true, i talk of dreams, which are the children of ...
true, i talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle br
This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
this wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: supper is done, and we shall come too late.
this wind you talk of blows us from ourselves: supper is don
I fear too early: for my mind misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night’s revels; and expire the term
Of a despised life, clos’d in my breast
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But he that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!
I fear too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars, Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels; and expire the term Of a despised life, clos’d in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that has the steerage of my course Direct my suit. On, lusty gentlemen!
i fear too early: for my mind misgives some conseq...
i fear too early: for my mind misgives some consequence yet
Strike, drum.
Strike, drum.
strike, drum.
strike, drum.
The Reckoning
The Queen Mab speech arrives when you least expect a forty-line poem about fairy coaches, and it transforms the scene. Mercutio's fantasy starts light — a tiny fairy on a tiny chariot bringing tiny dreams — and darkens into something obsessive and disturbing, until Romeo has to physically stop him. What's left afterward is strange and unsettled. Romeo's closing premonition feels earned: he's just watched his most brilliant friend spiral somewhere airless and strange. He goes anyway. That choice — to go toward what frightens him — is Romeo's essential quality, and his doom.
If this happened today…
Three friends are walking to a house party where the host is basically their enemy's family. One friend is mopey and doesn't want to dance. Another friend launches into a fifteen-minute improvised stand-up about the dreams everyone has — the lawyer dreaming of fees, the soldier dreaming of war, the priest dreaming of his next promotion — and it starts funny but keeps going, getting stranger and darker, until the third friend has to grab his arm: 'Hey. You need to stop.' A beat of silence. Then: 'You're right. I was talking about nothing.' They keep walking. The mopey one says quietly: 'I have a bad feeling about tonight.' And they go in anyway.