Original
Modern English
Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.
Gregory, remember, we won’t be carrying coals (stand here and listen to their insults).
No, for then we should be colliers.
No, then we would become coal miners.
I mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.
I meant, if they make us angry, we will draw our swords.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o’the collar.
Got it! As long as you are alive, you should stay out of trouble that may lead you to hangman’s collar.
I strike quickly, being moved.
I strike hard and fast, when I am motivated.
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
But you avoid being motivated, else you will have to move fast.
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
One of those scoundrels from Montague family might motivate me.
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn’st away.
To be motivated is to act; and to be valiant is to stand and fight. Therefore, when you feel motivated, you run away instead.
A dog of that house shall move me to stand.
A scoundrel from that family will make me take a stand.
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.
I would walk on the side of the street closer to the wall, so if I face any Montague, I can push them into the gutter.
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.
Walking on the side of the wall shows that you are a weakling.
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:
True, and therefore women, being the weaklings, are always pushed to the walls.
therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
Therefore I will push Montague’s men into the gutter, and push his Montague women against the wall.
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
The fight is between our masters and us, the men.
’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men
It is all one. I will become a tyrant once I have fought with the men.
I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.
Although, I will be civil with the maids - I will cut off their heads.
The heads of the maids?
The heads of the maids?
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.
Yes, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads. You can take my words in whatever sense you prefer.
They must take it in sense that feel it.
Its the maids who will have to sense it, whether you rape them or kill them.
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
Maids will sense me as long as I can stand upright, everyone knows, I am a man.
’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.
It’s fortunate that you are not a fish, or else you would be dried and weak like salted hake.
Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.
Draw your sword, some Montague servants are coming this way.
My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
My sword is drawn. Fight them! I will back you up.
How? Turn thy back and run?
How? By turning your back and running?
Fear me not.
Do not worry about me.
No, marry; I fear thee!
No, indeed. I do worry about you.
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
Let’s make sure that they start the fight so the law is on our side.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
I will frown at them as I pass by, and let them respond in whatever way they like.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to them if they bear it.
No, I do not think so. I will bite my thumb, looking at them. That is an insult and if they do not react to that, it will be a disgrace. [He bites his thumb]
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Are you biting your thumb at us, sir?
I do bite my thumb, sir.
I am biting my thumb, sir.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
But are you biting it at us, sir?
Is the law of our side if I say ay?
[Whispering to GREGORY] Will it be lawful if I said yes?
No.
[Whispering to SAMPSON] No.
No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
I am not biting my thumb at you, sir. But, I am biting my thumb, sir.
Do you quarrel, sir?
Do you want to start a fight, sir?
Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
Fight, sir? Not at all, sir.
But if you do, sir, I am for you.
But if you do want to fight, sir, I am all game for it.
I serve as good a man as you.
My master is as good as yours.
No better.
Not better than mine.
Well, sir.
Well, sir.
Say better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.
[Whispering to SAMPSON] "Better"? One of our master’s kinsmen has just arrived.
Yes, better, sir.
[TO ABRAHAM] Yes, my master is better than yours, sir.
You lie.
You are a liar.
Draw, if you be men.
Draw your swords, if you are men.
Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
Gregory, remember to slash them.
Part, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.
You fools! Draw your swords. You don’t know what you are doing.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
What! Have you drawn your swords to fight with these workers?
Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Turn around Benvolio, and look at the man who will kill you.
I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,
I am simply trying to keep the peace.
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Put away your sword, or use it to keep these men away from me.
What, drawn, and talk of peace?
What! You have drawn out your sword and you ask me to keep the "peace"?
I hate the word As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
I hate that word, just as I hate hell and all the Montagues, and you.
Have at thee, coward.
Let’s fight now, you coward!
Clubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!
Draw your sticks, spears and axes! Strike! Beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
To hell with the Capulets! To hell with the Montagues!
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
What is this noise? Give me my long sword, now!
A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
You will need a crutch! Why are you calling for a sword?
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Give me my sword, I said! Old Montague has arrived, and he is showing off his sword just to offend me.
Thou villain Capulet!
You are a villain Capulet!
Hold me not, let me go.
[LADY MONTAGUE holds him back] Do not hold me lady, let me go.
Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
You are not taking even one step to try to fight an enemy.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—
You rebels, you are enemies to peace, who obscenely draw their weapons on their own neighbours.
Will they not hear?
[To HIMSELF] Can they not hear me?
What, ho! You men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
[TO FIGHTERS] What is happening! You men, you beasts, your rage can be satisfied only by the spilling fountains of blood oosing out from your veins.
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper’d weapons to the ground And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
I will torture you until you throw away your weapons and listen to me, you angry prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,
Three civil wars have been waged just because some silly words came out from you, Capulet and Montague.
And made Verona’s ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.
Your battles made even the senior citizens to take off their ornaments and jewellery and instead pick up old spears in order to put an end to your hate.
If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away:
If you ever disturb the peace of the city, you will pay for it with your lives. Rest of you can leave now.
You, Capulet, shall go along with me, And Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our farther pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
You, Capulet, you should come with me now and you, Montague, you come to old Free-town, our common judgement place, in the afternoon, to hear what I have to say. Everyone else must leave immediately or I will have you killed.
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Who started this generation-old fight again?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Tell me, nephew, Were you around when it all began?
Here were the servants of your adversary And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
Your servants were fighting with your enemy’s servants, when I arrived here.
I drew to part them,
I drew my sword to stop them.
in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d, Which, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,
At that moment, the furious Tybalt showed up with his sword drawn.
He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.
He kept swinging his sword in the air, making this hissing sword, trying to taunt me.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
And as the fight began, more and more servants from both sides joined in until the Prince came and stopped the fight.
O where is Romeo, saw you him today?
Oh! where is Romeo? Did you see you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
I am glad, he was not around for this fight.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun Peer’d forth the golden window of the east,
Madam, I went out for a walk, an hour before the dawn, as my mind was troubled this morning.
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad, Where underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from this city side,
As I walked, I saw your son under the sycamore grove near the western part of the city.,
So early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood.
I walked towards him, but he saw me and ran towards the wood and hid himself.
I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found,
I assumed that he must be in the same state of mind as I was, not wanting to be found by anyone.
Being one too many by my weary self, Pursu’d my humour,
And therefore, I did not pursue Romeo and find out what was on his mind. I was happy to leave him alone on his own.
not pursuing his, And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.
Besides, I myself did not want any company as I was feeling tired even in the company of myself.
Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
Romeo has been seen there many mornings, crying and his tears adding drops to the morning dew and the day cloudier with his deep sigh.
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son,
But as soon as the sun rises in the east, my son comes back home to hide from the light.
And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out And makes himself an artificial night.
He locks himself in his bedroom, shuts all the windows, keeps the daylight out and creates an artificial darkness for himself.
Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
His dark and significant thoughts will lead to bad result unless someone good can advice him bring him out of this state.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
My noble uncle, what is the reason for his sadness?
I neither know it nor can learn of him.
I don’t know and he won’t tell me as well.
Have you importun’d him by any means?
Have you done everything to make him speak with you?
Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affections’counsellor, Is to himself—I will not say how true—
Me and any of my friends have tried to talk to him but he insists on talking only to himself. Although, I am not sure how good advice he is giving himself.
But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm
He holds his secret as close to him as an insect infested bud, which can not open itself to air or sun.
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know.
Only if we could find the cause of his sadness, we would be as eager to help him as we were to learn the reason for his sadness.
See, where he comes. So please you step aside;
Look, here he comes. So, please step aside.
I’ll know his grievance or be much denied.
Either he will tell me his grief or he will deny me like always.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
I hope you are lucky enough to hear the story.
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,
[To LADY MONTAGUE] Come madam, let’s go.
Good morrow, cousin.
Good morning, cousin.
Is the day so young?
Is it that early?
But new struck nine.
It’s only nine o’clock.
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
Oh my! Time goes by slowly when you are in grief.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Was that my father who left in a rush?
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
It was. What grief is making Romeo’s hours so long?
Not having that which, having, makes them short.
I do not have the thing that makes hours shorter.
In love?
Are you in love?
Out.
Out.
Of love?
Of love?
Out of her favour where I am in love.
I love her but she doesn’t love me back.
Alas that love so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.
Oh, it is silly that love, which looks like a bliss can be so rough when you experience it.
Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?
Well, how can love, which is supposed to be blind, force you to do exactly what it wants to do? Where should we eat?
O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love:
[Noticing blood] - Oh God! Did any fight happen here? No, don’t tell me. I already know. This fight has to do a lot with hate, but even more to do with love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Oh, fighting love! Oh, loving hate! Oh, love that originates from nothing! Sad happiness ! Serious sadness! Pretty things muddled together into an ugly mess.
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
Love is light and heavy, cold and warm, bright and dark, sick and healthy, asleep and awake - it’s everything except what it actually is.
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
This is the love I have within even then no one loves me back.
Dost thou not laugh?
Are you laughing?
No coz, I rather weep.
No, my cousin. I am crying instead.
Good heart, at what?
Crying at what?
At thy good heart’s oppression.
At the way love has made your heart cried.
Why such is love’s transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest With more of thine.
That’s how love works. My heart is heavy with my own grieves and now you are going to add yours onto it.
This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Your love is only drowning me down.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Love is like a smoke, just made out of the sighs of lovers.
Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’eyes;
When the smoke clears out, love is like fire, burning in the eyes of lover’s eyes.
Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’tears:
And when in distress, it is like a sea, filled with lover’s tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz.
What else is love? A wise madness, a sweet candy choking in your throat. Goodbye, my cousin.
Soft! I will go along: And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Wait! I will come along with you. If you leave me behind, you will be doing wrong to me.
Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here. This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.
Oh! I have lost my senses. It is as if I am not even here. This is not Romeo. He is somewhere else.
Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
Tell me, whom do you love?
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
What? should I groan her name in despair?
Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.
Groan? Why, no! But seriously, tell me, who is she?
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will, A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.
If you ask a sick man to write his will - it will only make him feel even more sick.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Seriously cousin, I do love a woman.
I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.
I could guess that, when you told me that you are in love.
A right good markman, and she’s fair I love.
Then you guessed it right. And the woman I love is beautiful.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
A beautiful target is the one that gets the hit the fastest.
Well, in that hit you miss:
Well, now you missed the target.
she’ll not be hit With Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit; And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,
She can’t be hit by Cupid’s arrow. She is like Diana, protected by the armour of chastity.
From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.
She is untouched by the childish bow of love.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
She won’t listen to words of love, neither will she let you look at her with love, or open her lap to receive gifts that might even tempt a saint.
O she’s rich in beauty, only poor That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Oh! She is rich beauty but also poor because he beauty will die with her.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
So has she decided to live her entire life as a virgin?
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty starv’d with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She has and by doing that, she wastes her beauty. If she denies herself of intimacy and do not bear children, she will never pass her beauty to future generations.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair.
She is too fair, too wise to deserve heaven’s blessing by despairing me.
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
She has sworn to never love and because of her vows, I am sentenced to a living death.
Be rul’d by me, forget to think of her.
Listen to me! Stop thinking of her.
O teach me how I should forget to think.
Oh please teach me how should I stop thinking.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.
By allowing your eyes to look at the beauty around. Look at other beautiful girls.
’Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more.
This way, you will only make her beauty stand out more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’brows, Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
These masks that beautiful women wear over their faces - these masks make us think how beautiful they are underneath.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
A man who goes blind can’t forget his precious eyesight he lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve but as a note Where I may read who pass’d that passing fair?
Show me a really beautiful girl. What good is her beauty, it will only remind me of a girl who is even more beautiful.
Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.
Goodbye! You can’t teach me to forget.
I’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
I will teach you how to forget, or else I will die owing you that lesson.