SCENE I.
Mantua. A Street.
Enter Romeo.
Rom.
If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep8 note
,
-- 216 --
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand* note:
My bosom's lord9 note
sits lightly† note in his throne;
-- 217 --
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
-- 218 --
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,)
-- 219 --
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd1 note
, and was an emperor2 note
.
-- 220 --
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
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 fares my Juliet3 note
? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Bal.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill* note;
-- 221 --
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument4 note
,
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* note,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Rom.
Is it even so? then I defy you, stars5 note
!—
Thou know'st my lodging:
get me ink and paper,
And hire post horses; I will hence to-night† note
.
Bal.
Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus6 note
:
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?
-- 222 --
Bal.
No, my good lord.
Rom.
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses: I'll be with thee straight7 note
.
[Exit Balthasar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means8 note
:—O, mischief! thou art swift
-- 223 --
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary9 note
,—
And hereabouts he dwells,—whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meager were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones1 note
:
-- 224 --
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd2 note
, and other skins
Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes3 note,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,
Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself I said—
An if a man4 note did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
O, this same thought did but fore-run my need;
And this same needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this should be the house:
Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut.—
What, ho! apothecary!
-- 225 --
Enter 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 geer
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 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.
Rom.
Art thou so bare, and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes5 note
,
-- 226 --
Upon thy back hangs ragged misery6 note
,
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law:
The world affords no law to make thee rich;
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 despatch you straight7 note
.
Rom.
There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls,
Doing more murders in this loathsome world,
-- 227 --
Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell:
I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none.
Farewell; buy food, and get thyself in flesh.—
Come, cordial, and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.
[Exeunt.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
