And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possest,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy? Enter Balthasar.
News from Verona—How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?
How doth my lady? is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.

Balth.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body sleeps in Capulets' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my Office, Sir.

Rom.
Is it even so? then I defy you, Stars!
Thou know'st my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses. I will hence to night.

Balth.
Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

Rom.
Tush, thou art deceiv'd;
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar?

Balth.
No, my good lord.

Rom.
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. [Exit Balthazar.
Well, Juliet, I will lye with thee to night;
Let's see for means—O mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thought of desperate men!
&plquo;I do remember an Apothecary,
&plquo;And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
&plquo;In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,

&plquo;Culling of simples; meager were his looks;
&plquo;Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
&plquo;And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
&plquo;An alligator stuft, and other skins
&plquo;Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves
&plquo;^{2 note}

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 geer,
As will disperse itself thro' 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 fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap.
Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.

&plquo;Rom.
&plquo;Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,
&plquo;And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks;
&plquo;Need and oppression stare within thine eyes,
&plquo;Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back:
&plquo;The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
&plquo;The world affords no law to make thee rich,
&plquo;Then be not poor, but break it and take this.

Ap.
My poverty, but not my will, consents.

Rom.
I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Ap.
Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off, and if you had the strength
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.

Rom.
There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murthers in this loathsom world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.—
Farewel, buy food, and get thee into flesh.
Come, cordial, and not poison; go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt.

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