| ACT V SCENE I | Mantua. A street. | |
| | Enter ROMEO | |
| ROMEO | If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, | |
| | My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: | |
| | My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; | |
| | And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit | 5 |
| | Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. | |
| | I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- | |
| | Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave | |
| | to think!-- | |
| | And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, | 10 |
| | That I revived, and was an emperor. | |
| | Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, | |
| | When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! | |
| | Enter BALTHASAR, booted | |
| | News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! | |
| | Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? | 15 |
| | How doth my lady? Is my father well? | |
| | How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; | |
| | For nothing can be ill, if she be well. | |
| BALTHASAR | Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: | |
| | Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, | 20 |
| | 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. | 25 |
| ROMEO | 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. | |
| BALTHASAR | I do beseech you, sir, have patience: | |
| | Your looks are pale and wild, and do import | 30 |
| | Some misadventure. | |
| ROMEO | Tush, thou art deceived: | |
| | Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. | |
| | Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? | |
| BALTHASAR | No, my good lord. | 35 |
| ROMEO | No matter: get thee gone, | |
| | And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. | |
| | Exit BALTHASAR | |
| | Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. | |
| | Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift | |
| | To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! | 40 |
| | I do remember an apothecary,-- | |
| | And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted | |
| | In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, | |
| | Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, | |
| | Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: | 45 |
| | And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, | |
| | An alligator stuff'd, and other skins | |
| | Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves | |
| | A beggarly account of empty boxes, | |
| | Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, | 50 |
| | 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 man did need a poison now, | |
| | Whose sale is present death in Mantua, | 55 |
| | Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' | |
| | O, this same thought did but forerun 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. | 60 |
| | What, ho! apothecary! | |
| | Enter Apothecary | |
| Apothecary | Who calls so loud? | |
| ROMEO | Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: | |
| | Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have | |
| | A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear | 65 |
| | As will disperse itself through all the veins | |
| | That the life-weary taker may fall dead | |
| | And that the trunk may be discharged of breath | |
| | As violently as hasty powder fired | |
| | Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. | 70 |
| Apothecary | Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law | |
| | Is death to any he that utters them. | |
| ROMEO | Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, | |
| | And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, | |
| | Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, | 75 |
| | Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; | |
| | 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. | |
| Apothecary | My poverty, but not my will, consents. | 80 |
| ROMEO | I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. | |
| Apothecary | 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. | |
| ROMEO | There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, | 85 |
| | Doing more murders in this loathsome world, | |
| | Than these poor compounds that thou mayst 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 | 90 |
| | To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. | |
| | Exeunt | |