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SCENE I.--Mantua. A street. Enter Romeo.

Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at band:
My bosom's Tordi 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

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 possessid,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

Enter Balthasar.
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.

. 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
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

Tush, thou art deceiv'd;
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:

(1) i. e. Love.


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 ;' 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 mosty 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 an must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house : Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary. Ap.

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 geera 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 (1) Herbs.

(2) Stuff.


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. (Exe. SCENE II.-Friar Laurence's cell. Enter Friar

John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

Enter Friar Laurence.
Lau. This same should be the voice of friar

Welcome from Mantua : What
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 bim, the searchers of the town,
Suspecting that we both were in a house

says Romeo?

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