27232680Ro. If I may trust the flattering truth of sleepe,

27242681My dreames presage some ioyfull newes at hand,

27252682My bosomes L. sits lightly in his throne:

27262683And all this day an vnaccustomd spirit,

27272684Lifts me aboue the ground with chearfull thoughts,

27282685I dreamt my Lady came and found me dead,

27292686Strange dreame that giues a deadman leaue to thinke,

27302687And Breathd such life with kisses in my lips,

27312688That I reuiude and was an Emperor.

27322689Ah me, how sweete is loue it selfe possest

27332690When but loues shadowes are so rich in ioy.

27352692Newes from Verona, how now Balthazer,

27362693Dost thou not bring me Letters from the Frier?

27372694How doth my Lady, is my Father well:

27382695How doth my Lady Iuliet? that I aske againe,

27392696For nothing can be ill if she be well.

27402697Man. Then she is well and nothing can be ill,

27412698Her body sleepes in Capels monument,

27422699And her immortall part with Angels liues.

27432700I saw her laid lowe in her kindreds vault,

27442701And presently tooke poste to tell it you:

27452702O pardon me for bringing these ill newes,

27462703Since you did leaue it for my office sir.

27472704Rom. Is it in so? then I denie you starres.

27492705Thou knowest my lodging, get me inke and paper,

27502706And hire post horses, I will hence tonight.

27512707Man. I do beseech you sir, haue patience:

27522708Your lookes are pale and wilde, and do import

27532709Some misaduenture.

27542710Ro. Tush thou art deceiu'd,

27552711Leaue me, and do the thing I bid thee do.

27562712Hast thou no Letters to me from the Frier?

27572713Man. No my good Lord.

27592715Ro. No matter get thee gone,

27602716And hyre those horses, Ile be with thee straight.

27612717Well Iuliet, I will lie with thee to night:

27622718Lets see for meanes, O mischiefe thou art swift,

27632719To enter in the thoughts of desperate men.

27642720I do remember an Appothacarie,

27652721And here abouts a dwells which late I noted,

27662722In tattred weeds with ouerwhelming browes,

27672723Culling of simples, meager were his lookes,

27682724Sharpe miserie had worne him to the bones:

27692725And in his needie shop a tortoyes hung,

27702726An allegater stuft, and other skins

27712727Of ill shapte fishes, and about his shelues,

27722728A beggerly account of emptie boxes,

27732729Greene earthen pots, bladders and mustie seedes,

27742730Remnants of packthred, and old cakes of Roses

27752731Were thinly scattered, to make vp a shew.

27762732Noting this penury, to my selfe I said,

27772733An if a man did need a poyson now,

27782734Whose sale is present death in Mantua,

27792735Here liues a Catiffe wretch would sell it him.

27802736O this same thought did but forerun my need,

27812737And this same needie man must sell it me.

27822738As I remember this should be the house,

27832739Being holy day, the beggers shop is shut.

27842740What ho Appothecarie.

27862741Appo. Who calls so lowd?

27872742Kom. Come hither man, I see that thou art poore.

27882743Hold, there is fortie duckets, let me haue

27892744A dram of poyson, such soone speeding geare,

27902745As will dispearse it selfe through all the veines,

27912746That the life-wearie-taker may fall dead,

27922747And that the Trunke may be dischargd of breath,

27932748As violently, as hastie powder fierd

27942749Doth hurry from the fatall Canons wombe.

27952750 Poti. Such mortall drugs I haue, but Mantuas lawe

27962751Is death to any he that vtters them.

27972752Ro. Art thou so bare and full of wretchednesse,

27982753And fearest to die, famine is in thy cheekes,

27992754Need and oppression starueth in thy eyes,

28002755Contempt and beggerie hangs vpon thy backe:

28012756The world is not thy friend, nor the worlds law,

28022757The world affoords no law to make thee rich:

28032758Then be not poore, but breake it and take this.

28042759Poti. My pouertie, but not my will consents.

28052760Ro. I pray thy pouertie and not thy will.

28062761Poti. Put this in any liquid thing you will

28072762And drinke it off, and if you had the strength

28082763Of twentie men, it would dispatch you straight.

28092764 Ro. There is thy Gold, worse poyson to mens soules,

28112765Doing more murther in this loathsome world,

28122766Then these poore cōpounds that thou maiest not sell,

28132767I sell thee poyson, thou hast sold me none,

28142768Farewell, buy foode, and get thy selfe in flesh.

28152769Come Cordiall and not poyson, go with me

28162770To Iuliets graue, for there must I vse thee.