The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 470

Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary.

Apoth. 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 mall 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.

Apoth. 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 fearest to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs 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.

Apoth. My poverty but not my will consents.

Rom. I pay thy poverty and not thy will.

Apoth. 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 mayst 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.

Verona. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter Friar John to Friar Laurence.

John. Holy Franciscan friar, brother, ho!

Enter Friar Laurence.

Laur. 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 a.s.sociate 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.

Laur. 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.

Laur. 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. Exit.

Laur. 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! Exit.

Scene III.

Verona. A churchyard; in it the monument of the Capulets.

Enter Paris and his Page with 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 tree 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. [aside] 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.

Whistle Boy.

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? m.u.f.fle me, night, awhile. [Retires.]

Enter Romeo, and Balthasar with a torch, a mattock, and a crow of iron.

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 hearest 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.

Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you.

Rom. So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that.

Live, and be prosperous; and farewell, good fellow.

Bal. [aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout.

His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Retires.]

Rom. Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And in despite I'll cram thee with more food.

Romeo opens the tomb.

Par. This is that banish'd haughty Montague That murd'red my love's cousin- with which grief It is supposed the fair creature died- And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him.

Stop thy unhallowed toil, vile Montague!

Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?

Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee.

Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.

Rom. I must indeed; and therefore came I hither.

Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man.

Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, But not another sin upon my head By urging me to fury. O, be gone!

By heaven, I love thee better than myself, For I come hither arm'd against myself.

Stay not, be gone. Live, and hereafter say A madman's mercy bid thee run away.

Par. I do defy thy, conjuration And apprehend thee for a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? Then have at thee, boy!

They fight.

Page. O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

[Exit. Paris falls.]

Par. O, I am slain! If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies.]

Rom. In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face.

Mercutio's kinsman, n.o.ble County Paris!

What said my man when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet.

Said he not so? or did I dream it so?

Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book!

I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.