If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,

5.1.427242681My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.

5.1.527252682My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne,

5.1.627262683And all this day an unaccustomed spirit

5.1.727272684Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

5.1.827282685I dreamt my lady came and found me dead--

5.1.927292686Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think!--

5.1.1027302687And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,

5.1.1127312688That I revived and was an emperor.

5.1.1227322689Ah me, how sweet is love itself possessed,

5.1.1327332690When but love's shadow's are so rich in joy.

5.1.1527352692News from Verona! How now, Balthasar?

5.1.1627362693Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?

5.1.1727372694How doth my lady? Is my father well?

5.1.1827382695How doth my lady Juliet? That I ask again,

5.1.1927392696For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.

5.1.2127412698Her body sleeps in Capels' monument,

5.1.2227422699And her immortal part with angels lives.

5.1.2327432700I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,

5.1.2427442701And presently took post to tell it you.

5.1.2527452702O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,

5.1.2627462703Since you did leave it for my office, sir.

Is it e'en so? Then I deny you, stars!--

5.1.2827492705[To Balthasar] Thou know'st my lodging; get me ink and paper,

5.1.2927502706And hire post horses. I will hence tonight.

I do beseech you, sir, have patience.

5.1.3127522708Your looks are pale and wild and do import

5.1.3227532709Some misadventure.

Tush, thou art deceived,

5.1.3427552711Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.

5.1.3527562712Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar?

No, my good Lord.

No matter. Get thee gone,

5.1.3927602716And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.

5.1.4027612717Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight.

5.1.4127622718Let's see for means. O mischief, thou art swift

5.1.4227632719To enter in the thoughts of desperate men.

5.1.4327642720I do remember an apothecary,

5.1.4427652721And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted,

5.1.4527662722In tattered weeds with overwhelming brows,

5.1.4627672723Culling of simples. Meager were his looks;

5.1.4727682724Sharp misery had worn him to the bones,

5.1.4827692725And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,

5.1.4927702726An alligator stuffed, and other skins

5.1.5027712727Of ill-shaped fishes, and about his shelves

5.1.5127722728A beggerly account of empty boxes,

5.1.5227732729Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,

5.1.5327742730Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses

5.1.5427752731Were thinly scattered to make up a show.

5.1.5527762732Noting this penury, to myself I said,

5.1.5627772733An if a man did need a poison now,

5.1.5727782734Whose sale is present death in Mantua,

5.1.5827792735Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.

5.1.5927802736O, this same thought did but forerun my need,

5.1.6027812737And this same needy man must sell it me.

5.1.6127822738As I remember, this should be the house,

5.1.6227832739Being holy day, the beggar's shop is shut.

5.1.6327842740What ho, Apothecary!

Who calls so loud?

Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor.

5.1.6727882743Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have

5.1.6927892744A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear,

5.1.7027902745As will disperse itself through all the veins,

5.1.7127912746That the life-weary taker may fall dead,

5.1.7227922747And that the trunk may be discharged of breath

5.1.7327932748As violently as hasty powder fired

5.1.7427942749Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law

5.1.7627962751Is death to any he that utters them.

Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness,

5.1.7827982753And fear'st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks;

5.1.7927992754Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes;

5.1.8028002755Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back.

5.1.8128012756The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;

5.1.8228022757The world affords no law to make thee rich,

5.1.8328032758Then be not poor, but break it and take this.

My poverty, but not my will, consents.

I pay thy poverty and not thy will.

Put this in any liquid thing you will

5.1.8728072762And drink it off, and if you had the strength

5.1.8828082763Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.

There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,

5.1.9228112765Doing more murder in this loathsome world

5.1.9328122766Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell.

5.1.9428132767I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none.

5.1.9528142768Farewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.

5.1.9628152769Come, cordial and not poison, go with me

5.1.9728162770To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.