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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—music with her silver sound, because such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding :
Then music, with her silder sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.
i Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same?
2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
SCENE 1.—Mantua. A Street.
Enter Romeo. Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his throne; And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead; (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,) And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy
News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar ?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
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 Capel's 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
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.
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; 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 show.
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, bo! apothecary!
Ap. Who calls so loud ?
Rom. Come bither, man.--I see, that thou art poor;
Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have
A drain 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. [Excunt.
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 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