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How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet ? That I ask again ;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Bal. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ;
Her body sleeps in Capels' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives;
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since 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.
Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus:
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Tush, thou art deceiv'd;
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Bal. No, my good lord.
No matter : get thee gone, And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight.
[Exit BALTHASAR. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to night. Let's see for means:-0, mischief: thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,And hereabouts he dwells,—whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples ;8 meager were his looks, And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones :
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 show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said
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 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, ho! apothecary!
Who calls so loud?
Rom. Come hither, 'man.--I see, that thou art
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.
Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth 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 may'st 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.
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,
the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd.
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't 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;
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb !
ii.l. On a trivial or idle subject.
A Church-Yard; in it, a Monument belonging to
the Capulets. Enter Paris, and his Page, bearing Flowers and a
Par. Give me thy torch, boy: Hence, and stand
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 churchyard 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
Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain
The perfect model of eternity;
Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hands ;
That living honour'd 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,