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