« ElőzőTovább »
Enter Peter. Pet. Musicians, o, musicians, Heart's ease, heart's
ease; O, an you will have me live, play-heart's ease. 370
Mus. Why heart's ease ?
Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays My heart is full of woe : 0, play me some merry dump, to comfort me.
Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play now.
Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek : I will give you the minstrel.
381 Mus. Then will I give you the serving-creature.
Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I'll re you, I'll fa you; Do you note me?
Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.
2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.
Pet. Then have at you with my wit; I will drybeat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger :-Answer me like men :
391 When griping grief the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,
Then musick with her silver sound, Why, silver sound? why, musick with her silver sound?
What say you, Simon Catling? 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver, hath a sweet
sound, Pet. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck ?
2 Mus. I say-silver sound, because inusicians sound for silver,
400 Pet. Pretty too!-What say you, James Soundpost?
3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.
Pet. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you, It is--musick with her silver sound, because such fellows as you have no gold for sounding :
Then musick with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress. [ Exit, singing, 1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same? 410
2 Mus. Hạng him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Mantua. A Street. Enter RomEO.
F I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne; And, all this day an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
News from Verona! -How now, Balthasar ?
Balth. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ;
you did leave it for my office, sir. Rom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post horses; I will hence to-night.
Balth. Pardon me, sir, I dare not leave you thus : Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd;
39 Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do :
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Balth. No, my good lord.
Rom. No matter : Get thee gone,
40 In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meager were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a shew.
SO Noting this penury, to myself I said An 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 fore-run 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, hol apothecary!
Ap. Who calls so lourd ?
60 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 geer As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath As violently, as hasty powder fir'd 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.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world,