And if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
O, this same thought did but forerun my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house;
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.-
What, ho! apothecary.

Ap.

Enter Apothecary.

Who calls so loud?

Rom. Come hither, man.-I see that thou art poor; Hold, there is forty ducats; let me have

A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;

And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
As violently, as hasty powder fired

Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have: but Mantua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks;
Need and oppression stareth in thy eyes;
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery;

The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law.
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off; and, if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.

Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world,

Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial; and not poison; go with me

To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. Friar Laurence's Cell.

Enter FRIAR JOHN.

John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE.

Lau. This same should be the voice of friar John. Welcome from Mantua; what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. John. Going to find a barefoot brother out, One of our order to associate me,

Here in this city visiting the sick,

And finding him, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Sealed up the doors, and would not let us forth;
So that my speed to Mantua there was stayed.
Lau. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
John. I could not send it,-here it is again,-
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

Lau. Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge,
Of dear import; and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.
Lau. Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake.
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents;
But I will write again to Mantua,

And keep her at my cell till Romeo come,

[Exit.

Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! [Exit.

SCENE III. A Church-yard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.

Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and a torch.

Par. Give me my torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof;— Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread, (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) But thou shalt hear it; whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go.

Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone

Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure. [Retires. Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal bed. Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain

The perfect model of eternity;

Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favor at my hands;

That living honored thee, and, being dead,

With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb! [The boy whistles.
The boy gives warning, something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,

o cross my obsequies, and true-love's rites?

What, with a torch!-muffle me, night, a while. [Retires.
Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, &c.
Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching-iron.
Hold, take this letter; early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.

Give me the light. Upon thy life, I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or see'st, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is, partly, to behold my lady's face;

But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring; a ring that I must use

In dear employment; therefore hence, be gone;—
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry

In what I further shall intend to do,

By Heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,

And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs.
The time and my intents are savage-wild;

More fierce, and more inexorable far,

Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea.

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship.-Take thou that; Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow. Bal. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout; His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

[Retires.

Rom. Thou détestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[Breaking open the door of the monument.
And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!
Par. This is that banished, haughty Montague,
That murdered my love's cousin ;-with which grief,
It is supposed the fair creature died,-

And here is come to do some villanous shame

To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him. [Advances.
Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague;

Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.

Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

Rom. I must, indeed; and therefore came I hither.Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;

Fly hence and leave me;-think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee.-I beseech thee, youth,
Heap not another sin upon my head,

By urging me to fury.-O, be gone!

By Heaven, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither armed against myself.

Stay not; begone;-live, and hereafter say-
A madman's mercy bade thee run away.
Par. I do defy thy conjurations,

And do attach thee as a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy.

[They fight.

Page. O Lord! they fight. I will go call the watch.

[Exit Page.

Par. O, I am slain! [Falls.]-If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

[Dies.

Rom. In faith, I will.-Let me peruse this face;
Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris.
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet.
Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was so?-0, give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave;-
A grave? O, no; a lantern, slaughtered youth;
For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes
This vault a feasting presence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interred.

[Laying PARIS in the monument.
How oft, when men are at the point of death,
Have they been merry! which their keepers call
A lightning before death; O, how may I Ι
Call this a lightning?-O my love! my wife!
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty.
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet

Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.-
Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet?
O, what more favor can I do to thee,

Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To sunder his that was thine enemy?
Forgive me, cousin!-Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous;
And that the lean, abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark to be his paramour?
For fear of that, I will still stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again; here, here will I remain
With worms that are thy chambermaids; O, here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars

From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O, you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!—
Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide!
Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark!
Here's to my love! [Drinks.]-O true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

[Dies.

Enter, at the other end of the church-yard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade.

Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves!-Who's there? Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. Fri. Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond' that vainly lends his light

To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,

It burneth in the Capels' monument.

Bal. It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love.

Fri.

Bal.

Who is it?

Romeo.

Fri. How long hath he been there?

Bal.

Fri. Go with me to the vault.
Bal.

Full half an hour.

I dare not, sir.

My master knows not but I am gone hence;