Old Lord Capulet made a great supper, to which many fair ladies and many noble guests were invited. All the admired beauties of Verona were present, and all comers were made welcome if they were not of the house of Montague. At this feast of Capulets, Rosaline, beloved of Romeo, son to the old Lord Montague, was present; and though it was dangerous for a Montague to be seen in this assembly, yet Benvolio, a friend of Romeo, persuaded the young lord to go to this assembly in the disguise of a mask, that he might see his Rosaline, and seeing her, compare her with some choice beauties of Verona, who (he said) would make him think his swan a crow. Romeo had small faith in Benvolio’s words; nevertheless, for the love of Rosaline, he was persuaded to go. For Romeo was a sincere and passionate3 lover, and one that lost his sleep for love, and fled society to be alone, thinking on Rosaline, who disdained4 him, and never requited6 his love, with the least show of courtesy or affection; and Benvolio wished to cure his friend of this love by showing him diversity of ladies and company. To this feast of Capulets then young Romeo with Benvolio and their friend Mercutio went masked. Old Capulet bid them welcome, and told them that ladies who had their toes unplagued with corns would dance with them. And the old man was light hearted and merry, and said that he had worn a mask when he was young, and could have told a whispering tale in a fair lady’s ear. And they fell to dancing, and Romeo was suddenly struck with the exceeding beauty of a lady who danced there, who seemed to him to teach the torches to burn bright, and her beauty to show by night like a rich jewel worn by a blackamoor; beauty too rich for use, too dear for earth! like a snowy dove trooping with crows (he said), so richly did her beauty and perfections shine above the ladies her companions. While he uttered these praises, he was overheard by Tybalt, a nephew of Lord Capulet, who knew him by his voice to be Romeo. And this Tybalt, being of a fiery7 and passionate temper, could not endure that a Montague should come under cover of a mask, to fleer and scorn (as he said) at their solemnities. And he stormed and raged exceedingly, and would have struck young Romeo dead. But his uncle, the old Lord Capulet, would not suffer him to do any injury at that time, both out of respect to his guests, and because Romeo had borne himself like a gentleman, and all tongues in Verona bragged8 of him to be a virtuous9 and well-governed youth. Tybalt, forced to be patient against his will, restrained himself, but swore that this vile10 Montague should at another time dearly pay for his intrusion.
The dancing being done, Romeo watched the place where the lady stood; and under favour of his masking habit, which might seem to excuse in part the liberty, he presumed in the gentlest manner to take her by the hand, calling it a shrine11, which if he profaned12 by touching13 it, he was a blushing pilgrim, and would kiss it for atonement. “Good pilgrim,” answered the lady, “your devotion shows by far too mannerly and too courtly: saints have hands, which pilgrims may touch, but kiss not."—“Have not saints lips, and pilgrims too?” said Romeo. “Ay,” said the lady, “lips which they must use in prayer."—“O then, my dear saint,” said Romeo, “hear my prayer, and grant it, lest I despair.” In such like allusions14 and loving conceits15 they were engaged, when the lady was called away to her mother. And Romeo inquiring who her mother was, discovered that the lady whose peerless beauty he was so much struck with, was young Juliet, daughter and heir to the Lord Capulet, the great enemy of the Montagues; and that he had unknowingly engaged his heart to his foe16. This troubled him, but it could not dissuade17 him from loving. As little rest had Juliet, when she found that the gentleman that she had been talking with was Romeo and a Montague, for she had been suddenly smit with the same hasty and inconsiderate passion for Romeo, which he had conceived for her; and a prodigious18 birth of love it seemed to her, that she must love her enemy, and that her affections should settle there, where family considerations should induce her chiefly to hate.
It being midnight, Romeo with his companions departed; but they soon missed him, for, unable to stay away from the house where he had left his heart, he leaped the wall of an orchard19 which was at the back of Juliet’s house. Here he had not been long, ruminating20 on his new love, when Juliet appeared above at a window, through which her exceeding beauty seemed to break like the light of the sun in the east; and the moon, which shone in the orchard with a faint light, appeared to Romeo as if sick and pale with grief at the superior lustre21 of this new sun. And she, leaning her cheek upon her hand, he passionately22 wished himself a glove upon that hand, that he might touch her cheek. She all this while thinking herself alone, fetched a deep sigh, and exclaimed, “Ah me!” Romeo, enraptured23 to hear her speak, said softly, and unheard by her, “O speak again, bright angel, for such you appear, being over my head, like a winged messenger from heaven whom mortals fall back to gaze upon.” She, unconscious of being overheard, and full of the new passion which that night’s adventure had given birth to, called upon her lover by name (whom she supposed absent): “O Romeo, Romeo!” said she, “wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, for my sake; or if thou wilt25 not, be but my sworn love, and I no longer will be a Capulet.” Romeo, having this encouragement, would fain have spoken, but he was desirous of hearing more; and the lady continued her passionate discourse27 with herself (as she thought), still chiding28 Romeo for being Romeo and a Montague, and wishing him some other name, or that he would put away that hated name, and for that name which was no part of himself, he should take all herself. At this loving word Romeo could no longer refrain, but taking up the dialogue as if her words had been addressed to him personally, and not merely in fancy, he bade her call him Love, or by whatever other name she pleased, for he was no longer Romeo, if that name was displeasing29 to her. Juliet, alarmed to hear a man’s voice in the garden, did not at first know who it was, that by favour of the night and darkness had thus stumbled upon the discovery of her secret; but when he spoke26 again, though her ears had not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue’s uttering, yet so nice is a lover’s hearing, that she immediately knew him to be young Romeo, and she expostulated with him on the danger to which he had exposed himself by climbing the orchard walls, for if any of her kinsmen30 should find him there, it would be death to him being a Montague. “Alack,” said Romeo, “there is more peril31 in your eye, than in twenty of their swords. Do you but look kind upon me, lady, and I am proof against their enmity. Better my life should be ended by their hate, than that hated life should be prolonged, to live without your love."—“How came you into this place,” said Juliet, “and by whose direction?"—“Love directed me,” answered Romeo: “I am no pilot, yet wert thou as far apart from me, as that vast shore which is washed with the farthest sea, I should venture for such merchandise.” A crimson32 blush came over Juliet’s face, yet unseen by Romeo by reason of the night, when she reflected upon the discovery which she had made, yet not meaning to make it, of her love to Romeo. She would fain have recalled her words, but that was impossible: fain would she have stood upon form, and have kept her lover at a distance, as the custom of discreet33 ladies is, to frown and be perverse34, and give their suitors harsh denials at first; to stand off, and affect a coyness or indifference35, where they most love, that their lovers may not think them too lightly or too easily won; for the difficulty of attainment36 increases the value of the object. But there was no room in her case for denials, or puttings off, or any of the customary arts of delay and protracted37 courtship. Romeo had heard from her own tongue, when she did not dream that he was near her, a confession38 of her love. So with an honest frankness, which the novelty of her situation excused, she confirmed the truth of what he had before heard, and addressing him by the name of fair Montague (love can sweeten a sour name), she begged him not to impute39 her easy yielding to levity40 or an unworthy mind, but that he must lay the fault of it (if it were a fault) upon the accident of the night which had so strangely discovered her thoughts. And she added, that though her behaviour to him might not be sufficiently42 prudent43, measured by the custom of her sex, yet that she would prove more true than many whose prudence44 was dissembling, and their modesty45 artificial cunning.
Romeo was beginning to call the heavens to witness, that nothing was farther from his thoughts than to impute a shadow of dishonour46 to such an honoured lady, when she stopped him, begging him not to swear; for although she joyed in him, yet she had no joy of that night’s contract: it was too rash, too unadvised, too sudden. But he being urgent with her to exchange a vow47 of love with him that night, she said that she already had given him hers before he requested it; meaning, when he overheard her confession; but she would retract48 what she then bestowed49, for the pleasure of giving it again, for her bounty50 was as infinite as the sea, and her love as deep. From this loving conference she was called away by her nurse, who slept with her, and thought it time for her to be in bed, for it was near to daybreak; but hastily returning, she said three or four words more to Romeo, the purport51 of which was, that if his love was indeed honourable52, and his purpose marriage, she would send a messenger to him to-morrow, to appoint a time for their marriage, when she would lay all her fortunes at his feet, and follow him as her lord through the world. While they were settling this point, Juliet was repeatedly called for by her nurse, and went in and returned, and went and returned again, for she seemed as jealous of Romeo going from her, as a young girl of her bird, which she will let hop53 a little from her hand, and pluck it back with a silken thread; and Romeo was as loath54 to part as she; for the sweetest music to lovers is the sound of each other’s tongues at night. But at last they parted, wishing mutually sweet sleep and rest for that night.
The day was breaking when they parted, and Romeo, who was too full of thoughts of his mistress and that blessed meeting to allow him to sleep, instead of going home, bent56 his course to a monastery57 hard by, to find Friar Lawrence. The good friar was already up at his devotions, but seeing young Romeo abroad so early, he conjectured59 rightly that he had not been abed that night, but that some distemper of youthful affection had kept him waking. He was right in imputing60 the cause of Romeo’s wakefulness to love, but he made a wrong guess at the object, for he thought that his love for Rosaline had kept him waking. But when Romeo revealed his new passion for Juliet, and requested the assistance of the friar to marry them that day, the holy man lifted up his eyes and hands in a sort of wonder at the sudden change in Romeo’s affections, for he had been privy61 to all Romeo’s love for Rosaline, and his many complaints of her disdain5: and he said, that young men’s love lay not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. But Romeo replying, that he himself had often chidden him for doting62 on Rosaline, who could not love him again, whereas Juliet both loved and was beloved by him, the friar assented63 in some measure to his reasons; and thinking that a matrimonial alliance between young Juliet and Romeo might happily be the means of making up the long breach64 between the Capulets and the Montagues; which no one more lamented65 than this good friar, who was a friend to both the families and had often interposed his mediation66 to make up the quarrel without effect; partly moved by policy, and partly by his fondness for young Romeo, to whom he could deny nothing, the old man consented to join their hands in marriage.
Now was Romeo blessed indeed, and Juliet, who knew his intent from a messenger which she had despatched according to promise, did not fail to be early at the cell of Friar Lawrence, where their hands were joined in holy marriage; the good friar praying the heavens to smile upon that act, and in the union of this young Montague and young Capulet to bury the old strife68 and long dissensions of their families.
The ceremony being over, Juliet hastened home, where she stayed impatient for the coming of night, at which time Romeo promised to come and meet her in the orchard, where they had met the night before; and the time between seemed as tedious to her, as the night before some great festival seems to an impatient child, that has got new finery which it may not put on till the morning.
That same day, about noon, Romeo’s friends, Benvolio and Mercutio, walking through the streets of Verona, were met by a party of the Capulets with the impetuous Tybalt at their head. This was the same angry Tybalt who would have fought with Romeo at old Lord Capulet’s feast. He, seeing Mercutio, accused him bluntly of associating with Romeo, a Montague. Mercutio, who had as much fire and youthful blood in him as Tybalt, replied to this accusation69 with some sharpness; and in spite of all Benvolio could say to moderate their wrath70, a quarrel was beginning, when Romeo himself passing that way, the fierce Tybalt turned from Mercutio to Romeo, and gave him the disgraceful appellation71 of villain72. Romeo wished to avoid a quarrel with Tybalt above all men, because he was the kinsman73 of Juliet, and much beloved by her; besides, this young Montague had never thoroughly74 entered into the family quarrel, being by nature wise and gentle, and the name of a Capulet, which was his dear lady’s name, was now rather a charm to allay75 resentment76, than a watchword to excite fury. So he tried to reason with Tybalt, whom he saluted77 mildly by the name of good Capulet, as if he, though a Montague, had some secret pleasure in uttering that name: but Tybalt, who hated all Montagues as he hated hell, would hear no reason, but drew his weapon; and Mercutio, who knew not of Romeo’s secret motive78 for desiring peace with Tybalt, but looked upon his present forbearance as a sort of calm dishonourable submission79, with many disdainful words provoked Tybalt to the prosecution80 of his first quarrel with him; and Tybalt and Mercutio fought, till Mercutio fell, receiving his death’s wound while Romeo and Benvolio were vainly endeavouring to part the combatants. Mercutio being dead, Romeo kept his temper no longer, but returned the scornful appellation of villain which Tybalt had given him; and they fought till Tybalt was slain81 by Romeo. This deadly broil82 falling out in the midst of Verona at noonday, the news of it quickly brought a crowd of citizens to the spot, and among them the old Lords Capulet and Montague, with their wives; and soon after arrived the prince himself, who being related to Mercutio, whom Tybalt had slain, and having had the peace of his government often disturbed by these brawls of Montagues and Capulets, came determined83 to put the law in strictest force against those who should be found to be offenders84. Benvolio, who had been eye-witness to the fray85, was commanded by the prince to relate the origin of it; which he did, keeping as near the truth as he could without injury to Romeo, softening86 and excusing the part which his friends took in it. Lady Capulet, whose extreme grief for the loss of her kinsman Tybalt made her keep no bounds in her revenge, exhorted87 the prince to do strict justice upon his murderer, and to pay no attention to Benvolio’s representation, who, being Romeo’s friend and a Montague, spoke partially88. Thus she pleaded against her new son-in-law, but she knew not yet that he was her son-in-law and Juliet’s husband. On the other hand was to be seen Lady Montague pleading for her child’s life, and arguing with some justice that Romeo had done nothing worthy41 of punishment in taking the life of Tybalt, which was already forfeited89 to the law by his having slain Mercutio. The prince, unmoved by the passionate exclamations90 of these women, on a careful examination of the facts, pronounced his sentence, and by that sentence Romeo was banished91 from Verona.
Heavy news to young Juliet, who had been but a few hours a bride, and now by this decree seemed everlastingly92 divorced! When the tidings reached her, she at first gave way to rage against Romeo, who had slain her dear cousin, she called him a beautiful tyrant93, a fiend angelical, a ravenous94 dove, a lamb with a wolf’s nature, a serpent-heart hid with a flowering face, and other like contradictory95 names, which denoted the struggles in her mind between her love and her resentment: but in the end love got the mastery, and the tears which she shed for grief that Romeo had slain her cousin, turned to drops of joy that her husband lived whom Tybalt would have slain. Then came fresh tears, and they were altogether of grief for Romeo’s banishment96. That word was more terrible to her than the death of many Tybalts.
Romeo, after the fray, had taken refuge in Friar Lawrence’s cell, where he was first made acquainted with the prince’s sentence, which seemed to him far more terrible than death. To him it appeared there was no world out of Verona’s walls, no living out of the sight of Juliet. Heaven was there where Juliet lived, and all beyond was purgatory97, torture, hell. The good friar would have applied98 the consolation99 of philosophy to his griefs: but this frantic100 young man would hear of none, but like a madman he tore his hair, and threw himself all along upon the ground, as he said, to take the measure of his grave. From this unseemly state he was roused by a message from his dear lady, which a little revived him; and then the friar took the advantage to expostulate with him on the unmanly weakness which he had shown. He had slain Tybalt, but would he also slay101 himself, slay his dear lady, who lived but in his life? The noble form of man, he said, was but a shape of wax, when it wanted the courage which should keep it firm. The law had been lenient102 to him, that instead of death, which he had incurred103, had pronounced by the prince’s mouth only banishment. He had slain Tybalt, but Tybalt would have slain him: there was a sort of happiness in that. Juliet was alive, and (beyond all hope) had become his dear wife; therein he was most happy. All these blessings104, as the friar made them out to be, did Romeo put from him like a sullen105 misbehaved wench. And the friar bade him beware, for such as despaired (he said) died miserable106. Then when Romeo was a little calmed, he counselled him that he should go that night and secretly take his leave of Juliet, and thence proceed straightways to Mantua, at which place he should sojourn107, till the friar found fit occasion to publish his marriage, which might be a joyful108 means of reconciling their families; and then he did not doubt but the prince would be moved to pardon him, and he would return with twenty times more joy than he went forth109 with grief. Romeo was convinced by these wise counsels of the friar, and took his leave to go and seek his lady, proposing to stay with her that night, and by daybreak pursue his journey alone to Mantua; to which place the good friar promised to send him letters from time to time, acquainting him with the state of affairs at home.
That night Romeo passed with his dear wife, gaining secret admission to her chamber110, from the orchard in which he had heard her confession of love the night before. That had been a night of unmixed joy and rapture24; but the pleasures of this night, and the delight which these lovers took in each other’s society, were sadly allayed111 with the prospect112 of parting, and the fatal adventures of the past day. The unwelcome daybreak seemed to come too soon, and when Juliet heard the morning song of the lark113, she would have persuaded herself that it was the nightingale, which sings by night; but it was too truly the lark which sang, and a discordant114 and unpleasing note it seemed to her; and the streaks115 of day in the east too certainly pointed116 out that it was time for these lovers to part. Romeo took his leave of his dear wife with a heavy heart, promising117 to write to her from Mantua every hour in the day; and when he had descended118 from her chamber-window, as he stood below her on the ground, in that sad foreboding state of mind in which she was, he appeared to her eyes as one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Romeo’s mind misgave119 him in like manner: but now he was forced hastily to depart, for it was death for him to be found within the walls of Verona after daybreak.
This was but the beginning of the tragedy of this pair of star-crossed lovers. Romeo had not been gone many days, before the old Lord Capulet proposed a match for Juliet. The husband he had chosen for her, not dreaming that she was married already, was Count Paris, a gallant120, young, and noble gentleman, no unworthy suitor to the young Juliet, if she had never seen Romeo.
The terrified Juliet was in a sad perplexity at her father’s offer. She pleaded her youth unsuitable to marriage, the recent death of Tybalt, which had left her spirits too weak to meet a husband with any face of joy, and how indecorous it would show for the family of the Capulets to be celebrating a nuptial121 feast, when his funeral solemnities were hardly over: she pleaded every reason against the match, but the true one, namely, that she was married already. But Lord Capulet was deaf to all her excuses, and in a peremptory122 manner ordered her to get ready, for by the following Thursday she should be married to Paris: and having found her a husband, rich, young, and noble, such as the proudest maid in Verona might joyfully123 accept, he could not bear that out of an affected124 coyness, as he construed125 her denial, she should oppose obstacles to her own good fortune.
In this extremity126 Juliet applied to the friendly friar, always her counsellor in distress127, and he asking her if she had resolution to undertake a desperate remedy, and she answering that she would go into the grave alive rather than marry Paris, her own dear husband living; he directed her to go home, and appear merry, and give her consent to marry Paris, according to her father’s desire, and on the next night, which was the night before the marriage, to drink off the contents of a phial which he then gave her, the effect of which would be that for two-and-forty hours after drinking it she should appear cold and lifeless; and when the bridegroom came to fetch her in the morning, he would find her to appearance dead; that then she would be borne, as the manner in that country was, uncovered on a bier, to be buried in the family vault128; that if she could put off womanish fear, and consent to this terrible trial, in forty-two hours after swallowing the liquid (such was its certain operation) she would be sure to awake, as from a dream; and before she should awake, he would let her husband know their drift, and he should come in the night, and bear her thence to Mantua. Love, and the dread129 of marrying Paris, gave young Juliet strength to undertake this horrible adventure; and she took the phial of the friar, promising to observe his directions.
Going from the monastery, she met the young Count Paris, and modestly dissembling, promised to become his bride. This was joyful news to the Lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into the old man; and Juliet, who had displeased130 him exceedingly, by her refusal of the count, was his darling again, now she promised to be obedient. All things in the house were in a bustle131 against the approaching nuptials132. No cost was spared to prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before witnessed.
On the Wednesday night Juliet drank off the potion. She had many misgivings133 lest the friar, to avoid the blame which might be imputed134 to him for marrying her to Romeo, had given her poison; but then he was always known for a holy man: then lest she should awake before the time that Romeo was to come for her; whether the terror of the place, a vault full of dead Capulets’ bones, and where Tybalt, all bloody135, lay festering in his shroud136, would not be enough to drive her distracted: again she thought of all the stories she had heard of spirits haunting the places where their bodies were bestowed. But then her love for Romeo, and her aversion for Paris returned, and she desperately137 swallowed the draught138, and became insensible.
When young Paris came early in the morning with music to awaken139 his bride, instead of a living Juliet, her chamber presented the dreary140 spectacle of a lifeless corse. What death to his hopes! What confusion then reigned141 through the whole house! Poor Paris lamenting142 his bride, whom most detestable death had beguiled143 him of, had divorced from him even before their hands were joined. But still more piteous it was to hear the mournings of the old Lord and Lady Capulet, who having but this one, one poor loving child to rejoice and solace144 in, cruel death had snatched her from their sight, just as these careful parents were on the point of seeing her advanced (as they thought) by a promising and advantageous145 match. Now all things that were ordained146 for the festival were turned from their properties to do the office of a black funeral. The wedding cheer served for a sad burial feast, the bridal hymns147 were changed for sullen dirges148, the sprightly149 instruments to melancholy150 bells, and the flowers that should have been strewed151 in the bride’s path, now served but to strew152 her corse. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was needed to bury her; and she was borne to church indeed, not to augment153 the cheerful hopes of the living, but to swell154 the dreary numbers of the dead.
Bad news, which always travels faster than good, now brought the dismal155 story of his Juliet’s death to Romeo, at Mantua, before the messenger could arrive, who was sent from Friar Lawrence to apprise156 him that these were mock funerals only, and but the shadow and representation of death, and that his dear lady lay in the tomb but for a short while, expecting when Romeo would come to release her from that dreary mansion157. Just before, Romeo had been unusually joyful and light-hearted. He had dreamed in the night that he was dead (a strange dream, that gave a dead man leave to think), and that his lady came and found him dead, and breathed such life with kisses in his lips, that he revived, and was an emperor! And now that a messenger came from Verona, he thought surely it was to confirm some good news which his dreams had presaged158. But when the contrary to this flattering vision appeared, and that it was his lady who was dead in truth, whom he could not revive by any kisses, he ordered horses to be got ready, for he determined that night to visit Verona, and to see his lady in her tomb. And as mischief159 is swift to enter into the thoughts of desperate men, he called to mind a poor apothecary160, whose shop in Mantua he had lately passed, and from the beggarly appearance of the man, who seemed famished161, and the wretched show in his show of empty boxes ranged on dirty shelves, and other tokens of extreme wretchedness, he had said at the time (perhaps having some misgivings that his own disastrous163 life might haply meet with a conclusion so desperate), “If a man were to need poison, which by the law of Mantua it is death to sell, here lives a poor wretch162 who would sell it him.” These words of his now came into his mind, and he sought out the apothecary, who after some pretended scruples164, Romeo offering him gold, which his poverty could not resist, sold him a poison, which, if he swallowed, he told him, if he had the strength of twenty men, would quickly despatch67 him.
With this poison he set out for Verona, to have a sight of his dear lady in her tomb, meaning, when he had satisfied his sight, to swallow the poison, and be buried by her side. He reached Verona at midnight, and found the churchyard, in the midst of which was situated165 the ancient tomb of the Capulets. He had provided a light, and a spade, and wrenching166 iron, and was proceeding167 to break open the monument, when he was interrupted by a voice, which by the name of vile Montague, bade him desist from his unlawful business. It was the young Count Paris, who had come to the tomb of Juliet at that unseasonable time of night, to strew flowers and to weep over the grave of her that should have been his bride. He knew not what an interest Romeo had in the dead, but knowing him to be a Montague, and (as he supposed) a sworn foe to all the Capulets, he judged that he was come by night to do some villanous shame to the dead bodies; therefore in an angry tone he bade him desist; and as a criminal, condemned168 by the laws of Verona to die if he were found within the walls of the city, he would have apprehended169 him. Romeo urged Paris to leave him, and warned him by the fate of Tybalt, who lay buried there, not to provoke his anger, or draw down another sin upon his head, by forcing him to kill him. But the count in scorn refused his warning, and laid hands on him as a felon170, which Romeo resisting, they fought, and Paris fell. When Romeo, by the help of a light, came to see who it was that he had slain, that it was Paris, who (he learned in his way from Mantua) should have married Juliet, he took the dead youth by the hand, as one whom misfortune had made a companion, and said that he would bury him in a triumphal grave, meaning in Juliet’s grave, which he now opened: and there lay his lady, as one whom death had no power upon to change a feature or complexion171, in her matchless beauty; or as if Death were amorous172, and the lean abhorred173 monster kept her there for his delight; for she lay yet fresh and blooming, as she had fallen to sleep when she swallowed that benumbing potion; and near her lay Tybalt in his bloody shroud, whom Romeo seeing, begged pardon of his lifeless corse, and for Juliet’s sake called him cousin, and said that he was about to do him a favour by putting his enemy to death. Here Romeo took his last leave of his lady’s lips, kissing them; and here he shook the burden of his cross stars from his weary body, swallowing that poison which the apothecary had sold him, whose operation was fatal and real, not like that dissembling potion which Juliet had swallowed, the effect of which was now nearly expiring, and she about to awake to complain that Romeo had not kept his time, or that he had come too soon.
For now the hour was arrived at which the friar had promised that she should awake; and he, having learned that his letters which he had sent to Mantua, by some unlucky detention174 of the messenger, had never reached Romeo, came himself, provided with a pickaxe and lantern, to deliver the lady from her confinement175; but he was surprised to find a light already burning in the Capulets’ monument, and to see swords and blood near it, and Romeo and Paris lying breathless by the monument.
Before he could entertain a conjecture58, to imagine how these fatal accidents had fallen out, Juliet awoke out of her trance, and seeing the friar near her, she remembered the place where she was, and the occasion of her being there, and asked for Romeo, but the friar, hearing a noise, bade her come out of that place of death, and of unnatural176 sleep, for a greater power than they could contradict had thwarted177 their intents; and being frightened by the noise of people coming, he fled: but when Juliet saw the cup closed in her true love’s hands, she guessed that poison had been the cause of his end, and she would have swallowed the dregs if any had been left, and she kissed his still warm lips to try if any poison yet did hang upon them; then hearing a nearer noise of people coming, she quickly unsheathed a dagger178 which she wore, and stabbing herself, died by her true Romeo’s side.
The watch by this time had come up to the place. A page belonging to Count Paris, who had witnessed the fight between his master and Romeo, had given the alarm, which had spread among the citizens, who went up and down the streets of Verona confusedly exclaiming, A Paris! a Romeo! a Juliet! as the rumour179 had imperfectly reached them, till the uproar180 brought Lord Montague and Lord Capulet out of their beds, with the prince, to inquire into the causes of the disturbance181. The friar had been apprehended by some of the watch, coming from the churchyard, trembling, sighing, and weeping, in a suspicious manner. A great multitude being assembled at the Capulets’ monument, the friar was demanded by the prince to deliver what he knew of these strange and disastrous accidents.
And there, in the presence of the old Lords Montague and Capulet, he faithfully related the story of their children’s fatal love, the part he took in promoting their marriage, in the hope in that union to end the long quarrels between their families: how Romeo, there dead, was husband to Juliet; and Juliet, there dead, was Romeo’s faithful wife; how before he could find a fit opportunity to divulge182 their marriage, another match was projected for Juliet, who, to avoid the crime of a second marriage, swallowed the sleeping draught (as he advised), and all thought her dead; how meantime he wrote to Romeo, to come and take her thence when the force of the potion should cease, and by what unfortunate miscarriage183 of the messenger the letters never reached Romeo: further than this the friar could not follow the story, nor knew more than that coming himself, to deliver Juliet from that place of death, he found the Count Paris and Romeo slain. The remainder of the transactions was supplied by the narration184 of the page who had seen Paris and Romeo fight, and by the servant who came with Romeo from Verona, to whom this faithful lover had given letters to be delivered to his father in the event of his death, which made good the friar’s words, confessing his marriage with Juliet, imploring185 the forgiveness of his parents, acknowledging the buying of the poison of the poor apothecary, and his intent in coming to the monument, to die, and lie with Juliet. All these circumstances agreed together to clear the friar from any hand he could be supposed to have in these complicated slaughters186, further than as the unintended consequences of his own well meant, yet too artificial and subtle contrivances.
And the prince, turning to these old lords, Montague and Capulet, rebuked187 them for their brutal188 and irrational189 enmities, and showed them what a scourge190 Heaven had laid upon such offences, that it had found means even through the love of their children to punish their unnatural hate.
And these old rivals, no longer enemies, agreed to bury their long strife in their children’s graves; and Lord Capulet requested Lord Montague to give him his hand, calling him by the name of brother, as if in acknowledgment of the union of their families, by the marriage of the young Capulet and Montague; and saying that Lord Montague’s hand (in token of reconcilement) was all he demanded for his daughter’s jointure: but Lord Montague said he would give him more, for he would raise her a statue of pure gold, that while Verona kept its name, no figure should be so esteemed191 for its richness and workmanship as that of the true and faithful Juliet. And Lord Capulet in return said that he would raise another statue to Romeo. So did these
poor old lords, when it was too late, strive to outgo
each other in mutual55 courtesies: while so deadly
had been their rage and enmity in past
times, that nothing but the fearful
overthrow192 of their children (poor
sacrifices to their quarrels and
dissensions) could remove
the rooted hates and
jealousies193 of the
noble families.
each other in mutual55 courtesies: while so deadly
had been their rage and enmity in past
times, that nothing but the fearful
overthrow192 of their children (poor
sacrifices to their quarrels and
dissensions) could remove
the rooted hates and
jealousies193 of the
noble families.
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1 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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2 brawls | |
吵架,打架( brawl的名词复数 ) | |
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3 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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4 disdained | |
鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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5 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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6 requited | |
v.报答( requite的过去式和过去分词 );酬谢;回报;报复 | |
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7 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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8 bragged | |
v.自夸,吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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10 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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11 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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12 profaned | |
v.不敬( profane的过去式和过去分词 );亵渎,玷污 | |
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13 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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14 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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15 conceits | |
高傲( conceit的名词复数 ); 自以为; 巧妙的词语; 别出心裁的比喻 | |
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16 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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17 dissuade | |
v.劝阻,阻止 | |
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18 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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19 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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20 ruminating | |
v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 );反复考虑;反刍;倒嚼 | |
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21 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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22 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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23 enraptured | |
v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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25 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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26 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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27 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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28 chiding | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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29 displeasing | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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30 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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31 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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32 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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33 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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34 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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35 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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36 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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37 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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38 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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39 impute | |
v.归咎于 | |
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40 levity | |
n.轻率,轻浮,不稳定,多变 | |
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41 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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42 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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43 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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44 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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45 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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46 dishonour | |
n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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47 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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48 retract | |
vt.缩回,撤回收回,取消 | |
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49 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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51 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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52 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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53 hop | |
n.单脚跳,跳跃;vi.单脚跳,跳跃;着手做某事;vt.跳跃,跃过 | |
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54 loath | |
adj.不愿意的;勉强的 | |
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55 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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56 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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57 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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58 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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59 conjectured | |
推测,猜测,猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 imputing | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的现在分词 ) | |
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61 privy | |
adj.私用的;隐密的 | |
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62 doting | |
adj.溺爱的,宠爱的 | |
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63 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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65 lamented | |
adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 mediation | |
n.调解 | |
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67 despatch | |
n./v.(dispatch)派遣;发送;n.急件;新闻报道 | |
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68 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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69 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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70 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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71 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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72 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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73 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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74 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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75 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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76 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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77 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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78 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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79 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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80 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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81 slain | |
杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去分词 ); (slay的过去分词) | |
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82 broil | |
v.烤,烧,争吵,怒骂;n.烤,烧,争吵,怒骂 | |
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83 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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84 offenders | |
n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 );犯规者;罪犯;妨害…的人(或事物) | |
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85 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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86 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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87 exhorted | |
v.劝告,劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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89 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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91 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92 everlastingly | |
永久地,持久地 | |
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93 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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94 ravenous | |
adj.极饿的,贪婪的 | |
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95 contradictory | |
adj.反驳的,反对的,抗辩的;n.正反对,矛盾对立 | |
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96 banishment | |
n.放逐,驱逐 | |
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97 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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98 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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99 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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100 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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101 slay | |
v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮 | |
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102 lenient | |
adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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103 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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104 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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105 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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106 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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107 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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108 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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109 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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110 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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111 allayed | |
v.减轻,缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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113 lark | |
n.云雀,百灵鸟;n.嬉戏,玩笑;vi.嬉戏 | |
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114 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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115 streaks | |
n.(与周围有所不同的)条纹( streak的名词复数 );(通常指不好的)特征(倾向);(不断经历成功或失败的)一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 );使布满条纹 | |
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116 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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117 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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118 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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119 misgave | |
v.使(某人的情绪、精神等)疑虑,担忧,害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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120 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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121 nuptial | |
adj.婚姻的,婚礼的 | |
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122 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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123 joyfully | |
adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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124 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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125 construed | |
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的过去式和过去分词 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
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126 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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127 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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128 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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129 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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130 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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131 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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132 nuptials | |
n.婚礼;婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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133 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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134 imputed | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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136 shroud | |
n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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137 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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138 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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139 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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140 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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141 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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142 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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143 beguiled | |
v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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144 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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145 advantageous | |
adj.有利的;有帮助的 | |
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146 ordained | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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147 hymns | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
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148 dirges | |
n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 );忧伤的歌,哀歌 | |
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149 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
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150 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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151 strewed | |
v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 );散落于;点缀;撒满 | |
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152 strew | |
vt.撒;使散落;撒在…上,散布于 | |
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153 augment | |
vt.(使)增大,增加,增长,扩张 | |
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154 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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155 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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156 apprise | |
vt.通知,告知 | |
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157 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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158 presaged | |
v.预示,预兆( presage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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160 apothecary | |
n.药剂师 | |
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161 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
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162 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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163 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
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164 scruples | |
n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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165 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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166 wrenching | |
n.修截苗根,苗木铲根(铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土)v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的现在分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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167 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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168 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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169 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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170 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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171 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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172 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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173 abhorred | |
v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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174 detention | |
n.滞留,停留;拘留,扣留;(教育)留下 | |
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175 confinement | |
n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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176 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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177 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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178 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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179 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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180 uproar | |
n.骚动,喧嚣,鼎沸 | |
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181 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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182 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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183 miscarriage | |
n.失败,未达到预期的结果;流产 | |
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184 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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185 imploring | |
恳求的,哀求的 | |
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186 slaughters | |
v.屠杀,杀戮,屠宰( slaughter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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187 rebuked | |
责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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188 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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189 irrational | |
adj.无理性的,失去理性的 | |
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190 scourge | |
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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191 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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192 overthrow | |
v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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193 jealousies | |
n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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