Romeo and Juliet — Act 2, Scene 4in modern English, side by side

Where the hell could this Romeo be?

Didn't he come home last night?

Not to his father's house — I talked to his servant.

It's that same pale, cold-hearted girl, Rosaline — she's tormenting him so badly he's bound to go crazy.

Tybalt, old Capulet's relative, has sent a letter to Romeo's father's house.

A duel challenge, I'd bet my life on it.

Romeo will answer it.

Anyone who can write can answer a letter.

No, I mean he'll answer the man who sent it — showing he's bold enough to accept the challenge.

Ah, poor Romeo — he's already dead, stabbed through by some pale girl's dark eyes, shot through the ear by a love song, with the very bullseye of his heart split down the middle by blind little Cupid's arrow.

Is that really a man fit to face off against Tybalt?

Why, what's so special about Tybalt?

He's more than just a swordfighting champion — oh, he's a bold master of formal fencing etiquette.

He fights the way you'd sing sheet music, keeping perfect time, distance, and proportion.

He pauses on the beat, then — one, two — and the third thrust lands right in your chest.

A true perfectionist who can duel over the tiniest detail, like which silk button on your coat he's going to slice off; a real fencer's fencer, from the finest school of formal dueling, who can cite you the exact technical justification for any duel down to the fine print.

Oh, he's got all the fancy Italian fencing moves down — the lunge, the backhand strike, the killing thrust.

The what?

To hell with these ridiculous, affected show-offs with their put-on accents and trendy jargon.

"By God, what a fine blade, what a tall fellow, what a fine woman" — that's all they can say.

Isn't it pathetic, old man, that we're stuck putting up with these strange little show-off types, these fashion-obsessed "pardon me"-saying dandies, who care so much about the latest style that they can't even sit comfortably on old-fashioned furniture anymore?

God, these people, I can't stand them!

Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!

Without his "Ro," like a dried-out fish with no eggs left — just "meo," moaning and groaning.

Oh, look how lovesick has withered him down to nothing!

Now he's ready to write sonnets like the poet Petrarch.

Compared to his girl, Petrarch's beloved Laura is just a kitchen maid — though admittedly Laura had a better poet writing about her.

Next to Romeo's girl, legendary beauties like Dido would look plain, Cleopatra like a common gypsy, Helen and Hero like disgraced tramps, and Thisbe barely worth a mention.

Signor Romeo, bonjour!

There's a fancy French greeting for your fancy French trousers.

You gave us the slip quite nicely last night.

Good morning to you both.

What do you mean, I gave you the slip?

I mean you slipped away, sir — you gave us the slip.

Can't you follow?

Pardon me, good Mercutio, but my business was urgent, and in a situation like mine a man can be forgiven for bending the rules of politeness.

Which is another way of saying that a situation like yours forces a man to bend at the knees — that is, to bow low.

You mean, to curtsy.

You've hit the nail right on the head.

A very polite way of putting it.

Well, I am the very peak of politeness itself.

"Pink," as in the flower, you mean.

Exactly.

Well then, my shoe must be nicely decorated with flowers too.

Clever — now keep this joke going with me until you've worn a hole clean through your shoe, so that once the sole's completely gone, the joke will still be the one thing left standing, all by itself.

Oh, what a thin, worn-out joke — remarkable only for being so utterly threadbare!

Step in between us, Benvolio — I'm running out of wit.

Whip and spurs, whip and spurs — keep going, or I'll declare myself the winner.

No, if you want to turn this into a wild-goose chase of wit, I'm out

— because you've got more "goose" in just one of your quips than I've got in all five of my senses put together.

Did I get you good with that "goose" line?

You were never really with me on anything, except when you were chasing that goose joke.

I'll bite your ear for that one.

No, no, good goose — don't bite.

Your wit is like a bitter little apple — a real sharp sauce.

And isn't a sharp sauce exactly the right thing to serve with a sweet goose?

Oh, now here's wit as stretchy as soft kid leather — it goes from an inch wide to a mile wide.

I'll stretch it out further, just for that word "broad" — which, added to "goose," proves you're a broad goose through and through.

Now isn't this better than moping around over love?

Now you're good company, now you're the real Romeo, now you're yourself again — by wit as much as by nature.

That slobbering kind of love makes a man act like a total fool, running around with his tongue hanging out, desperate to stick his little toy in some hole.

Stop right there, stop there.

You want me to cut my story off right when it was getting good — that goes against the grain.

Otherwise you'd have dragged that story out forever.

Oh, you're wrong there — I was going to keep it short. I'd already reached the whole point of my story and didn't intend to go on about it any longer anyway.

Now here's quite a sight!

A ship, a ship on the horizon!

Two ships, in fact — a man's shirt and a woman's slip.

Peter!

Coming.

Hand me my fan, Peter.

Good idea, Peter — hide her face with it, since the fan is the prettier of the two.

God give you good morning, gentlemen.

God give you good afternoon, fair lady.

Is it already afternoon?

It's no earlier than that, I promise you — the naughty little hand of the sundial is right on the stroke of noon.

Shame on you!

What kind of man are you?

A man, madam, whom God made only to ruin himself.

Well said, honestly — "to ruin himself," he says?

Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I might find young Romeo?

I can tell you — but young Romeo will be a little older by the time you've found him than he was when you started looking.

I'm the youngest one with that name, seeing as there isn't a worse option.

Well said.

Oh, is the worst option "well said"?

Nicely taken, honestly — very clever, very clever.

If you're the one, sir, I'd like a private word with you.

She's going to invite him to some dinner.

A madam, a madam, a madam!

Tally-ho!

What have you found?

No game worth chasing, sir — unless you count a stale, moldy old rabbit fit only for a fasting-season pie, gone gray and past its prime before it's even served.

Romeo, will you come to your father's house?

We're heading there for dinner.

I'll follow along.

Farewell, old lady; farewell, lady, lady, lady.

Tell me, sir, who was that impudent fellow, so full of his crude jokes?

A gentleman, Nurse, who loves the sound of his own voice, and will say more in a single minute than he'd actually stand behind in a whole month.

If he says anything against me, I'll put him in his place, even if he were twice as tough as he is, and twenty more like him.

And if I can't manage it myself, I'll find someone who can.

Rotten scoundrel!

I am not one of his little floozies;

I am not one of his lowlife companions.

— And you just stood there and let every rascal treat me however he pleased!

I didn't see any man treating you however he pleased.

If I had, my weapon would have been out in a flash.

I promise you, I'll draw my sword as fast as any man, if I see good reason and the law's on my side.

Now, honestly, I'm so upset that I'm shaking all over.

Rotten scoundrel.

Please, sir, a word with you: as I mentioned, my young lady sent me to find you; what exactly she told me to say, I'll keep to myself for now.

But first let me tell you — if you're planning to lead her on with false hopes, as people say, that would be a truly shameful thing to do, since the young lady is so young.

So if you were to be dishonest with her, that would be a terrible thing to do to any young woman, and very poor conduct indeed.

Nurse, give my regards to your lady and mistress. I swear to you—

Bless your heart, and I promise I'll tell her exactly that.

Lord, Lord, she'll be overjoyed.

What will you tell her, Nurse?

You're not even listening to me.

I'll tell her, sir, that you're making promises, which I understand to be a very gentlemanly offer.

Tell her to find some way to come to confession this afternoon, and there, at Friar Lawrence's cell, she'll be given confession and married.

Here's something for your trouble.

No, truly, sir — not a penny.

Come now, I insist you take it.

This afternoon, sir?

Well, she'll be there.

And wait, good Nurse, behind the abbey wall.

Within the hour, my servant will meet you there and bring you a rope ladder, which will carry me up to the peak of my happiness tonight, under cover of secrecy.

Farewell — be trustworthy, and I'll reward your trouble.

Farewell; give my regards to your mistress.

Now, God in heaven bless you.

Listen, sir.

What is it, my dear Nurse?

Can your servant keep a secret?

Haven't you heard the saying — two people can keep a secret, if you get rid of one of them?

I promise you, my servant is as trustworthy as steel.

Well, sir, my mistress is the sweetest lady in the world.

Lord, Lord!

When she was just a little chatterbox — oh, there's a nobleman in town, a certain Paris, who'd love to stake his claim on her.

But she, sweet girl, would rather look at a toad, a genuine toad, than look at him.

I tease her sometimes and tell her Paris is the more handsome man, but I promise you, whenever I say that, she turns as pale as a rag in the whole wide world.

Don't rosemary and Romeo both start with the same letter?

Yes, Nurse, so what?

They both start with an R.

Oh, you're teasing me!

That's the letter that sounds like a dog growling.

R is for — no wait, I know it starts with some other letter — and she's got the loveliest little saying about you and rosemary together, it would do your heart good to hear it.

Give my regards to your lady.

Yes, a thousand times over.

Peter!

Coming.

Go on ahead, quickly.