Enter Romeo.
If I may trust the ^{a note}flattery of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne,
^{b note}And all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think)
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love it self possest,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy? Enter Romeo's Man.
News from Verona—How now Balthazar?
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,

Man.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill,
Her body sleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I saw her laid low in her kindreds vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news.

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.

Man.
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?

Man.
No, good my lord.

Rom.
No matter: Get thee gone,
And hire those horses, I'll be with thee straight. [Exit Man.
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;A beggarly account of empty boxes;
&plquo;Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
&plquo;Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
&plquo;Were thinly scattered, to make up a shew.
Noting this penury, to my self I said,
And if a man did need a poison now,
Whose sale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.
Oh 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 holy-day, the beggar's shop is shut.
What ho! apothecary! 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 spreading geer,
As will disperse it self 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 on 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 mens souls,
Doing more murther 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 ^{c note}thee into flesh.

Come cordial, and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Monastery at Verona. Enter Friar John to Friar Lawrence.

John.
Holy Franciscan Friar! brother! ho!

Law.
This same should be the voice of Friar John.
Welcome from Mantua; what says Romeo?
Or if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

John.
Going to find a bare-foot brother out,
One of our order, to associate me,
Here in this city visiting the sick;
And finding him, the searchers of the town
Suspecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious pestilence did reign,
Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua there was staid.

Law.
Who bore my letter then to Romeo?

John.
I could not send it; here it is again,
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

Law.
Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge,
Of dear import, and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence,
Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight
Unto my cell.

John.
Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit.

Law.
Now must I to the monument alone:
Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will beshrew me much, that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents:
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell 'till Romeo come.
Poor living coarse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit. SCENE III. A Church-yard: In it, a Monument belonging to the Capulets. Enter Paris and his Page, with a light.

Par.
Give me thy torch, boy; hence, and stand aloof.
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen:
Under yond ^{d note}yew-trees lay thee all along,
Laying thy ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me,
As signal that thou hear'st something approach.
Give me those flow'rs. Do as I bid thee; go.

Page.
I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the church-yard, yet I will adventure. [Exit.

Par.
Sweet flow'r! with flow'rs thy bridal bed I strew; [Strewing flowers.
^{e note}Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hand,
That living honour'd thee, and being dead
With fun'ral obsequies adorn thy tomb. [The Boy whistles.
—The boy gives warning, something doth approach,—
What cursed foot wanders this way to-night,

To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites?
What with a torch? muffle me, night, a while. SCENE IV. Enter Romeo and Peter with a light.

Rom.
Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron.
Hold, take this letter, early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light; upon thy life I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I descend into this bed of death,
Is partly to behold my lady's face:
But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring, a ring that I must use
In dear employment, therefore hence be gone:
But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry
In what I further shall intend to do,
By heaven I will tear thee joint by joint,
And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs;
The time and my intents are savage, wild,
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tygers, or the roaring sea.

Pet.
I will be gone Sir, and not trouble you.

Rom.
So shalt thou win my favour. Take thou that,
Live and be prosp'rous, and farewel good fellow.

Pet.
For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout;
His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Exit.

Rom.
Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death,
Gorg'd with the dearest morsel of the earth;
Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, [Breaking open the monument.

And in despight I'll cram thee with more food.

Par.
This is that banisht haughty Mountague
That murther'd my love's cousin; (with which grief
It is supposed the fair creature dy'd,)
And here is come to do some villanous shame
To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.
Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Mountague:
Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death?
Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee;
Obey, and go with me, for thou must die.

Rom.
I must indeed, and therefore came I hither—
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desp'rate man,
Fly hence and leave me: think upon those gone,
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Pull not another sin upon my head,
By urging me to fury. Oh be gone!
By heav'n I love thee better than my self;
For I come hither arm'd against my self.* ^note

Par.
I do defie thy commiseration,
And apprehend thee for a felon here.

Rom.
Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee boy. [They Fight, Paris falls.

Page.
Oh lord they fight! I will go call the watch.

Par.
Oh I am slain; if thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

Rom.
In faith I will: let me peruse this face—
Mercutio's kinsman! Noble County Paris!
What said my man, when my betossed soul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think
He told me Paris should have married Juliet.
Said he not so? or did I dream it so?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet;

To think it was so? Oh give me thy hand,
One writ with me in sour misfortunes's book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.
For here lyes Juliet—Oh my love, my wife
Death that hath suckt the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquer'd, beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloody sheet?
Oh what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,
To sunder his that was thy enemy?
Forgive me, cousin.—Ah dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? I will believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark, to be his paramour:
For fear of that, I still will stay with thee,
And never from this palace of dim night
Depart again: come lye thou in my arms,
Here's to thy health.—Oh true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Here, here will I remain,
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; oh here
Will I set up my everlasting rest;
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-weary'd flesh. Eyes, look your last!
Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, oh you
The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death!
Come bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide,
Thou desp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks ^{f note}my sea-sick weary bark:

Here's to my love! oh true apothecary!
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Enter Friar Lawrence with lanthorn, crow, and spade.

Fri.
St. Francis be my speed, how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at graves? who's there?

Pet.
Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.

Fri.
Bliss be upon you. Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless sculls? as I discern,
It burneth in the Capulets monument.

Pet.
It doth so, holy Sir,
And there's my master, one you dearly love.

Fri.
Who is it?

Pet.
Romeo.

Fri.
How long hath he been there?

Pet.
Full half an hour.

Fri.
Go with me to the vault.

Pet.
I dare not, Sir.
My master knows not but I am gone hence,
And fearfully did menace me with death,
If I did stay to look on his intents.

Fri.
Stay, then I'll go alone; fear comes upon me;
O much I fear some ill unlucky thing.

Pet.
As I did sleep under this yew-tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.

Fri.
Romeo!
Alack, alack, what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre?
What mean these masterless and goary swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?
Romeo! oh pale! who else? what Paris too?

And steep'd in blood? ah what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance?
The lady stirs.

Jul. [awaking.]
Oh comfortable Friar, where's my lord?
I do remember well where I should be;
And there I am; but where is Romeo?

Fri.
I hear some noise! Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep;
A greater Power than we can contradict.
Hath thwarted our intents; come, come away;
Thy husband in thy bosom there lyes dead,
And Paris too—Come, I'll dispose of thee,
Among a sisterhood of holy Nuns:
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming. [Exit.

Jul.
Go, get thee hence, for I will not away.
What's here? a cup clos'd in my true love's hand?
Poison I see hath been his timeless end.
Oh churl, drink all, and leave no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips,
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them;
Thy lips are warm. Enter Boy and Watch.

Watch.
Lead boy, which way?

Jul.
Yea, noise?
Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! [Finding a dagger.
^{g note}This is thy sheath, there rust and let me die. [Kills herself.

Boy.
This is the place, there where the torch doth burn.

Watch.
The ground is bloody. Search about the church-yard,
Go some of you, whom e'er you find attach.
Pitiful sight! here lies the County slain,
And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead,
Who here hath lain these two days buried.

Go tell the Prince, run to the Capulets,
Raise up the Mountagues, some others search— Enter some of the watch with Romeo's man.

2 Watch.

Here's Romeo's man, we found him in the churchyard.

1 Watch.

Hold him in safety 'till the Prince comes hither.

3 Watch.
Here is a Friar that trembles, sighs and weeps:
We took this mattock and this spade from him,
As he was coming from this church-yard side.

1 Watch.
A great suspicion: stay the Friar too. SCENE V. Enter the Prince and attendants.

Prince.
What misadventure is so early up,
That calls our person from our morning's rest? Enter Capulet and lady Capulet.

Cap.
What should it be that they so shriek abroad?

La. Cap.
The people in the street cry Romeo,
Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run
With open out-cry tow'rd our monument.

Prince.
What fear is this which startles in your ears?

Watch.
Sovereign, here lyes the County Paris slain,
And Romeo dead, and Juliet (dead before)
Warm and new kill'd.

Prince.
Search, seek, and know how this foul murther comes.

Watch.
Here is a Friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man,
With instruments upon them, fit to open
These dead mens tombs.

Cap.
Oh heav'n! oh wife, look how our daughter bleeds!

This dagger hath mista'en, for loe ^{f note}


the sheath
Lies empty on the back of Mountague,
The point mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom.

La. Cap.
Oh me, this sight of death is as a bell,
That warns my old age to a sepulcher. Enter Mountague.

Prince.
Come Mountague, for thou art early up,
To see thy son and heir now early ^{g note}fallen.

Moun.
Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night,
Grief of my son's exile hath stop'd her breath:
What further wo conspires against my age?

Prince.
Look, and thou shalt see.

Moun.
Oh thou untaught, what manners is in this,
To press before thy father to a grave?

Prince.
Seal up the mouth of out-rage for a while,
'Till we can clear these ambiguities,
And know their spring, their head, their true descent;
And then will I be general of your woes,
And lead you ev'n to death. Mean time forbear,
And let mischance be slave to patience.
Bring forth the parties of suspicion.

Fri.
I am the greatest, able to do least,
Yet most suspected, as the time and place
Doth make against me, of this direful murther;
And here I stand both to impeach and purge
My self condemned, and my self excus'd.

Prince.
Then say at once what thou dost know in this.

Fri.
I will be brief, for my short date of breath
Is not so long as is a tedious tale.
Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet;
And she there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife:

I married them; and their stoln marriage day
Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death
Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from this city,
For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd.
You, to remove that siege of grief from her,
Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce
To County Paris. Then comes she to me,
And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means
To rid her from this second marriage,
Or in my cell there would she kill her self.
Then gave I her (so tutor'd by my art)
A sleeping potion, which so took effect
As I intended, for it wrought on her
The form of death. Mean time I write to Romeo,
That he should hither come, as this dire night,
To help to take her from her borrowed grave,
Being the time the potion's force should cease.
But he which bore my letter, Friar John,
Was staid by accident, and yesternight
Return'd my letter back; then all alone,
At the prefixed hour of her awaking,
Came I to take her from her kindreds vault;
Meaning to keep her closely at my cell,
'Till I conveniently could send to Romeo.
But when I came (some minute ere the time
Of her awaking) here untimely lay
The noble Paris, and true Romeo dead.
She wakes, and I intreat her to come forth,
And bear this work of heav'n with patience:
But then a noise did scare me from the tomb,
And she too desp'rate would not go with me,
But, as it seems, did violence on her self.
All this I know, and to the marriage

Her nurse is privy: but if ought in this
Miscarried by my fault, let my old life
Be sacrific'd, some hour before its time,
Unto the rigour of severest law.

Prince.
We still have known thee for an holy man.
Where's Romeo's man? what can he say to this?

Peter.
I brought my master news of Juliet's death,
And then in post he came from Mantua
To this same place, to this same monument.
This letter he early bid me give his father,
And threatned me with death, going to the vault,
If I departed not, and left him there.

Prince.
Give me the letter, I will look on it.
Where is the County's page that rais'd the watch?
Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

Page.
He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave,
And bid me stand aloof, and so I did:
Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb,
And by and by my master drew on him,
And then I ran away to call the watch?

Prince.
This letter doth make good the Friar's words,
Their course of love, the tidings of her death:
And here he writes, that he did buy a poison
Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal
Came to this vault to die, and lye with Juliet.
Where be these enemies? Capulet! Mountague!
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heav'n finds means to kill your joys with love!
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd!

Cap.
Oh brother Mountague, give me thy hand,
This is my daughter's jointure; for no more
Can I demand.

Moun.
But I can give thee more,
For I will raise her statue in pure gold,
That while Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at that rate be set,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap.
As rich shall Romeo by his lady lye,
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prince.
A gloomy peace this morning with it brings,
  The sun for sorrow will not shew his head;
Go hence to have more talk of these sad things;
  Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished.
For never was a story of more woe,
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt omnes.

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