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 e'en 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. I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

Rom.

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.
Rom.

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: O, mischief! thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!

I do remember an apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells, which late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples: meagre 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.

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, ho! apothecary!

Apothecary.

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 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, Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back, 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 dispatch you straight.

Rom. There is thy gold; worse poison to men's

souls,

Doing more murther 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. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Friar LAURENCE'S Cell.

Enter Friar JOHN.

John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother! ho!

Laurence.

John.

Enter Friar Laurence.

This same should be the voice of Friar

Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo?
Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.
John. Going to find a bare-foot 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,
Seal'd up 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 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,

[Exit.

And keep her at my cell till Romeo come:
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Churchyard: in it a Monument belonging to the

Capulets.

Enter PARIS, and his Page, bearing flowers and a

torch.

Par. Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand

aloof;

Yet put it out, for I would not be seen.
Under yond' 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 churchyard; yet I will adventure.

[Retires.

Par. Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I

strew.

O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones, Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,

Or wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep, Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep!

[The Boy whistles.

The boy gives warning something doth approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,
To cross my obsequies, and true love's rite?
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 seest, 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 farther shall intend to do,

By Heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,

And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs. The time and my intents are savage, wild;

More fierce, and more inexorable far,

Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea.