Mercutio's Mercurial View

MERCUTIO’S MERCURIAL VIEW

My life’s set course of harrowing discourses cause rivulets to form upon my furrowed brow, before running nimbly down my breast as wax doth a candlestick. This immaterial matter, sweat does cling to skin and stick to hair. A silent scream partakes my lips issuing forth blunt air. I dream. I dream by dreaming through and through the nights of black mares, foreshadowing the rise of dawn.
Fate or fortune, folly fraught with flaws, whatever the dream is, it holds me hostage night in and out. I see and feel from different stations, at times from my eyes and at others from mine friends’. The end is nigh; I feel it beckon, I tense and try to turn away to find myself manacled to the bed, my wrists in cuffs of clay, become taut.

‘A masquerade at Capulet’s hall!’ I say as Romeo, my coz, mutters some excuse to absent himself. I only ask that he will come and dance to lighten the burden of a forlorn love. To that he argues that love be rough to him and makes to leave. Mind running orbs, I ask sir-reverence of his love and flounder away. A dream was dreamt of him he says and I do humour, that dreamers do oft lie. My mirth excels to Queen Mab’s tale and though a little drunk, still vexed is my thought path at this sudden display of emotion. This insolence should not be accepted, though may it just be a passing moment, that’s it ‘twas but a passing interruption by dear Romeo.

What’s that he’s up to now? My boy is hiding at the aft of Capulet’s great hall. Standing staunch, he glides as a predatory beast does after fattening prey. Romeo steps forth taking a feminine hand from the press of thronging masses but to whom the hand belongs I know not though no prize for making guesswork. The lad wastes no time at all. I can only wish that one as quick on his feet as me were as wily as his worship Romeo.
Where have they got to? O heavens, that be the fair Rosaline there, dancing hence with Balthasar, feet flying in lambent. Shattered must Romeo be; she hath left him at this time so early in the eve when he took her hand in haste only to find the back in the face.

The good chap Benvolio has pre-empted my thoughts once more; asking that we make haste from Capulet’s good grace, wearing thin. Tybalt, a sporadic young man, pulls loose the veils of welcome between Capulet and Romeo, parting way for violence and bloodshed. I usher a man of Montague over to fulfil my obligation to my friend by saying, ‘Go forth Balthasar, servant of Montague and fetch thy master from the clutch of despair. Tell his person we leave at once and would appreciate his presence. Then of course take his leave and satisfy the desire that doth lay dormant within your tunic; take pleasure in the company of the harlot Rosaline for as fair is she, she is no spinster.’

‘Romeo moves ahead I can see him standing as though hesitating.’ muses my close friend. What eagle-eyes have the gentle sir Benvolio, to see a man is anyone’s game to mark him is all the more skilful. This does not feel at peace as the lad was here less than a minute ago, what witchcraft is this; a miracle, mirage, bluffery or ploy, is it art or gag? Benvolio asks plainly, ‘Where hath he gone? Call, good Mercutio.’ Nay to what purpose I think, instead I suggest that I too will conjure and proceed to invoke his presence through love’s book of incantations. My efforts entice no approbation on the benign Benvolio’s palate.

My generous cousin’s hospitality has provided me with a wealth of knowledge to pun with humour upon young Romeo. I also learned Escalus’ view of the feudal tidings on both the Montague’s and Capulet’s doorstep. The prince then beseeches me to hold my tongue for news of Romeo; Montague’s son and Juliet, first daughter of Capulet’s marriage would only serve to further violence on the streets. Thus said the news should only be revealed at the righteous moment. This burden as it now feels cannot be forestalled for my withholding information is a disservice to Benvolio and my fellow kinsman just as releasing it is a disservice to Romeo and my highest ranking kin in Verona walls, Escalus. I worry that some vile foreordained temper is about to unleash itself.

How have I come to this, trading blows with a duellist of the very first house, the King of Cats himself? My lips sealed shut when news of the challenge between the newly to be made kin, Romeo and lawful brother Tybalt, reached me.

A day of wit’s grandeur ‘tis with many a tale and false chivalry. Romeo’s demeanour is one of merry humour as he argues the goose-chase. A pompous servant, a nurse by her misgiving looks comes seeking the lad for a word; she is just begging to be harassed with her fan and fanciful trappings, her sail, a sail with boat and girders. So upon eyes-set on her I make mirth by jesting openly of her figure’s disfigurement and fashionable senselessness. Discovering her means to be there, Romeo does chastise us for my ill-conceived laughter and seeks a place to converse. Conceited, selfish boy!

I parry with a jest and strike with sir-reverence. The filth hits Tybalt cleanly though at the last he parries with snide remarks and derogatory terms. All the while the approbation of our hosts, the city men, rises to a tumultuous roar. Romeo and good Benvolio appeal this duel for peace. My gambit was gallant though not a speck on Tybalt’s white duellist gauntlet, now my hapless mind is throbbing to the frenzied rush. What, whose arms are those that hold me? Argh, a spiteful blow, what cause this pain to lay me low. The fool, dolt, spineless imbecile, that Romeo which held me to be pierced. I turn to trusted friend Benvolio for assistance and to hold my death watch. I utter my last pained words, ‘A plague on both your houses, by Zounds I pass.’

In my slumber I see the end form clearly this morn. I know now I dream this dreamer’s last. My day has come for fated blows and shall I see another day a miracle befalls. Not to caitiffs cause or cowards case may I turn from life’s last, I must stand and fight or else embrace death’s past. This dream was to portend.

This the future flashes by. Listless past;
Holds bereft Earth on Her course, strong and straight.
Increase rapidity and canny qualms last,
Until perturb-ed speed hath rouse-ed hate.

At the first it be as if slow motion.
Thus Romeo in Juliet’s chamber;
Spouse gone, Juliet consumes sleep’s potion.
Heralding exiles return in amber.

The message is sent through the Friar’s sect,
Romeo waiting, no letters arrived.
Outbreak of disease forced the city kept
Closed so Friar John’s message, there deprived.

Gilding hopes do stand afore, Horizon;
What comes of these is death in unison.

I wake. Though I dreamt, what the dream was is yet uncertain. This feeling of regret holds captive dreamers thoughts glazed over. Let this day come to what it will as I feel that no portentous good shall come knocking at my door.

By A.R Leyshon

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>>>I wrote this while studying english in year ten I was fifteen...I am now 18