Being holiday, the beggar’s shop is shut—
What ho! 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 gear
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
As violently as hasty powder fired