(Whose present sale is death in Mantua),
Here he might buy it. This thought of mine
Did but forerune my need; and hereabout he dwells.
Being holiday the beggar’s shop is shut.
What ho! Apothecary! Come forth I say.
Ap. Who calls? What would you, Sir?
Rom. Here’s twenty ducats.
Give me a dram of some such speeding gere
As will despatch the weary taker’s life
As suddenly as powder being fired