[Sc. XX.]
Enter Romeo.
Rom: If I may trust the flattering Eye of Sleepe,
My Dreame presagde some good euent to come.
My bosome Lord sits chearfull in his throne,
And I am comforted with pleasing dreames.
Me thought I was this night alreadie dead: 5
(Strange dreames that giue a dead man leaue to thinke)
And that my Ladie Iuliet came to me,
And breathd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reuiude and was an Emperour.
Enter Balthasar his man booted.
Newes from Verona. How now Balthasar, 10
How doth my Ladie? Is my Father well?
How fares my Juliet? that I aske againe:
If she be well, then nothing can be ill.
Balt: Then nothing can be ill, for she is well,
Her bodie sleepes in Capels Monument, 15
And her immortall parts with Angels dwell.
Pardon me Sir, that am the Messenger of such bad tidings.
Rom: Is it euen so? then I defie my Starres.
Goe get me incke and paper, hyre post horse,
I will not stay in Mantua to night. 20
Balt: Pardon me Sir, I will not leaue you thus,
Your lookes are dangerous and full of feare:
I dare not, nor I will not leaue you yet.
Rom: Doo as I bid thee, get me incke and paper,
And hyre those horse: stay not I say. 25
Exit Balthasar.
Well Iuliet, I will lye with thee to night.
Lets see for meanes. As I doo remember
Here dwells a Pothecarie whom oft I noted
As I past by, whose needie shop is stufft
With beggerly accounts of emptie boxes: 30
And in the same an Aligarta hangs,
Olde endes of packthred, and cakes of Roses,
Are thinly strewed to make vp a show.
Him as I noted, thus with my selfe I thought:
And if a man should need a poyson now, 35
(Whose present sale is death in Mantua)
Here he might buy it. This thought of mine
Did but forerunne my need: and here about he dwels.
Being Holiday the Beggers shop is shut.
What ho Apothecarie, come forth I say. 40
Enter Apothecarie.
Apo: Who calls, what would you sir?
Rom: Heeres twentie duckates,
Giue me a dram of some such speeding geere,
As will dispatch the wearie takers life,
As suddenly as powder being fierd 45
From forth a Cannons mouth.
Apo: Such drugs I haue I must of force confesse,
But yet the law is death to those that sell them.
Rom: Art thou so bare and full of pouertie,
And doost thou feare to violate the Law? 50
The Law is not thy frend, nor the Lawes frend,
And therefore make no conscience of the law:
Vpon thy backe hangs ragged Miserie,
And starued Famine dwelleth in thy cheekes.
Apo: My pouertie but not my will consents. 55
Rom: I pay thy pouertie, but not thy will.
Apo: Hold take you this, and put it in anie liquid thing
you will, and it will serue had you the liues of twenty men.
Rom: Hold, take this gold, worse poyson to mens soules
Than this which thou hast giuen me. Goe hye thee hence, 60
Goe buy the cloathes, and get thee into flesh.
Come cordiall and not poyson, goe with mee
To Iuliets Graue: for there mvst I vse thee. Exeunt.