Friar Laurence. Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris. Wednesday is to-morrow.
To-morrow night look that thou lie alone;
Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber.
[Take thou this vial], being then in bed,
And this distilled liquor drink thou off;
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress but [surcease].
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;