Part 25

Rom. Is it euen so? Then I denie you Starres. Thou knowest my lodging, get me inke and paper, And hire Post-Horses, I will hence to night

Man. I do beseech you sir, haue patience: Your lookes are pale and wild, and do import Some misaduenture

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiu'd, Leaue me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no Letters to me from the Frier? Man. No my good Lord.

Exit Man.

Rom. No matter: Get thee gone, And hyre those Horses, Ile be with thee straight, Well Iuliet, I will lie with thee to night: Lets see for meanes, O mischiefe thou art swift, To enter in the thoughts of desperate men: I do remember an Appothecarie, And here abouts dwells, which late I noted In tattred weeds, with ouerwhelming browes, Culling of Simples, meager were his lookes, Sharp miserie had worne him to the bones: And in his needie shop a Tortoyrs hung, An Allegater stuft, and other skins Of ill shap'd fishes, and about his shelues, A beggerly account of emptie boxes , Greene earthen pots, Bladders, and mustie seedes, Remnants of packthred, and old cakes of Roses Were thinly scattered, to make vp a shew. Noting this penury, to my selfe I said, An if a man did need a poyson now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here liues a Caitiffe wretch would sell it him. O this same thought did but fore-run my need, And this same needie man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house, Being holy day, the beggers shop is shut. What ho? Appothecarie? Enter Appothecarie.

App. Who call's so low'd? Rom. Come hither man, I see that thou art poore, Hold, there is fortie Duckets, let me haue A dram of poyson, such soone speeding geare, As will disperse it selfe through all the veines, That the life-wearie-taker may fall dead, And that the Trunke may be discharg'd of breath, As violently, as hastie powder fier'd Doth hurry from the fatall Canons wombe

App. Such mortall drugs I haue, but Mantuas law Is death to any he, that vtters them

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchednesse, And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheekes, Need and opression starueth in thy eyes, Contempt and beggery hangs vpon thy backe: The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law: The world affords no law to make thee rich. Then be not poore, but breake it, and take this

App. My pouerty, but not my will consents

Rom. I pray thy pouerty, and not thy will

App. Put this in any liquid thing you will And drinke it off, and if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight

Rom. There's thy Gold, Worse poyson to mens soules, Doing more murther in this loathsome world, Then these poore compounds that thou maiest not sell. I sell thee poyson, thou hast sold me none, Farewell, buy food, and get thy selfe in flesh. Come Cordiall, and not poyson, go with me To Iuliets graue, for there must I vse thee.

Exeunt.

Enter Frier Iohn to Frier Lawrence.

Iohn. Holy Franciscan Frier, Brother, ho? Enter Frier Lawrence.

Law. This same should be the voice of Frier Iohn. Welcome from Mantua, what sayes Romeo? Or if his mind be writ, giue me his Letter

Iohn. Going to find a bare-foote Brother out, One of our order to associate me, Here in this Citie visiting the sick, And finding him, the Searchers of the Towne Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did raigne, Seal'd vp the doores, and would not let vs forth, So that my speed to Mantua there was staid

Law. Who bare my Letter then to Romeo? Iohn. I could not send it, here it is againe, Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearefull were they of infection

Law. Vnhappie Fortune: by my Brotherhood The Letter was not nice; but full of charge, Of deare import; and the neglecting it May do much danger: Frier Iohn go hence, Get me an Iron Crow, and bring it straight Vnto my Cell

Iohn. Brother Ile go and bring it thee. Enter.

Law. Now must I to the Monument alone, Within this three houres will faire Iuliet wake, Shee will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents: But I will write againe to Mantua, And keepe her at my Cell till Romeo come, Poore liuing Coarse, clos'd in a dead mans Tombe, Enter.

Enter Paris and his Page.

Par. Giue me thy Torch Boy, hence and stand aloft, Yet put it out, for I would not be seene: Vnder yond young Trees lay thee all along, Holding thy eare close to the hollow ground, So shall no foot vpon the Churchyard tread, Being loose, vnfirme with digging vp of Graues, But thou shalt heare it: whistle then to me, As signall that thou hearest some thing approach, Giue me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go

Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the Churchyard, yet I will aduenture

Pa. Sweet Flower with flowers thy Bridall bed I strew: O woe, thy Canopie is dust and stones, Which with sweet water nightly I will dewe, Or wanting that, with teares destil'd by mones; The obsequies that I for thee will keepe, Nightly shall be, to strew thy graue, and weepe.

Whistle Boy.

The Boy giues warning, something doth approach, What cursed foot wanders this wayes to night, To crosse my obsequies, and true loues right? What with a Torch? Muffle me night a while. Enter Romeo, and Peter.

Rom. Giue me that Mattocke, & the wrenching Iron, Hold take this Letter, early in the morning See thou deliuer it to my Lord and Father, Giue me the light; vpon thy life I charge thee, What ere thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloofe, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my Ladies face: But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger, A precious Ring, a Ring that I must vse, In deare employment, therefore hence be gone: But if thou iealous dost returne to prie In what I further shall intend to do, By heauen I will teare thee ioynt by ioynt, And strew this hungry Churchyard with thy limbs: The time, and my intents are sauage wilde: More fierce and more inexorable farre, Them emptie Tygers, or the roaring Sea