ACT FIVE Scene One Romeo : Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. Let?s see for means: O, mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men ! I do remember an apothecary, and hereabouts a?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 : Noting this penury, to myself I said, An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. As I remember, this should be the house : What ho, 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 spending gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead. 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 thy eyes, 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. 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 Doing more murder in this this loathesome world 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. Scene Two Friar Laurence : (reading) ??and finding hom, 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 stay?d. I could not send it, Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of the infection.? Unhappy fortune ! The letter was not nice, but full of charge Or dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Now must I to the monument alone ; Within this 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 corse, closed in a dead man?s tomb ! Scene Three Romeo : O my love, my wife ! Death that has sucked the honey of your breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty Thou art not conquered ; beauty?s ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks And death?s pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet ? O, what more favour can I do to thee Than with that hand that cut thy throat in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy ? Forgive me cousin ! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair ? Shall I 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. Here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chambermaids ; O, here, Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Here?s to my love ! (he drinks) Come bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide ! Juliet : (waking) What?s here ? a cup, closed in my true love?s hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end O, churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after ? Romeo : Eyes, look your last ! Arms, take your last embrace ! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! Juliet : I will kiss thy lips ; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm. Romeo : O true apothecary ! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. Juliet : Yea, noise ? Then I?ll be brief. O happy dagger ! This is thy sheath. there rust, and let me die. Friar Laurence : Capulet ! Montague ! See what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love ! A glooming peace this morning with it brings ; The sun for sorrow will not show his head : Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things ; Some shall be pardoned and some punished : For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. FIN ©Daniel Soulier