Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris with Muficians.
Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
O fon, the night before the wedding-day
Hath death fain with thy wife: fee, there the lyes,
Flower as the was, deflower'd now by him:
Death is my fon-in-law.

Par. Have I thought long to fee this morning's face,
And doth it give me fuch a fight as this?

La. Cap. Accurft, unhappy, wretched, hateful day,
Moft miferable hour, that Time e'er faw
In lafting labour of his pilgrimage!

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and folace in,
And cruel death hath catcht it from my fight.

Nurfe. Oh woe! oh woful, woful, woful day!
Moft lamentable day! moft woful day,

That ever, ever, I did yet behold!

Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!
Never was feen fo black a day as this:

Oh woful day! oh woful day!

Fri. Oh peace for fhame- your daughter lives in peace And happiness, and it is vain to with

It otherwise. Heav'n and your felf had part
In this fair maid, now heaven hath her all
Come stick your rosemary on this fair corpfe,
And, as the cuftom of our country is,
In all her beft and fumptuous ornaments
Convey her where her ancestors lye tomb'd.
Cap. All things that we ordained feftival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our inftruments, to melancholy bells;
Our wedding chear, to a fad burial feaft
Our folemn hymns to fullen dirges change;
And bridal flow'rs ferve for a buried coarfe.

[Exeunt. SCENE VI. Manent Musicians and Nurse. Muf. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone. Nurfe. Honeft good fellows: ah, put up, put up, Exit Nurfe Muf. Ay, by my troth, the cafe may be amended.

For well you know this is a pitiful cafe."

Enter

Enter Peter, sms. ybel von 37 Pet. Muficians, oh musicians, beart's ease, beart's ease: oh, an you will have me live, play beart's cafe.nts

Muf. Why beart's cafe?

Pet. Oh muficians, because my heart it self plays my beart is full of woe. O play me some merry dump, to comfort me!

Muf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now."

Pet. You will not then?

Muf. No.

Pet. I will then give it you foundly.

Muf. What will you give us?

Pet. No mony, on my faith ; I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me ?

Muf. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2 Muf. Pray you put up your dagger, and put out your wit! Pet. Then have at you with my wit, answer me like men: When griping grief the heart doth wound,

Then mufick with ber filver found

Why filver found why mufick with her filver found on I What fay you, Simon Catling?i

Muf. Marry, Sir, because filver hath a sweet found.
Pet. Pretty! what fay you, Hugh Rebeck?

2Muf. I fay filver found, because musicians found for filver?
Pet. Pretty too! what fay you, Samuel Sound-board?
3 Muf. 'Faith, I know not what to fay.

Pet. OI cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will fay for you. It is mufick with ber filver found, becaufe fuch fellows as you have no gold for founding.

Muf. What a peftilent knave is this fame?

[Exit.

2 Muf. Hang him, Jack! come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

ACT V.

SCENE İ.

MANTUA. Enter Romeo.!

[FI may truft the flattery of fleep,~~

news at hand a

My bofom's lord fits lightly on his throne,

And all this day, an unaccuftom'd fpirit

Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.

[Exeunt

I dreamt my Lady came and found me dead,

(Strange dream that gives a dead man leave to think)
And breath'd fuch life with kiffes in my lips,
That I revivid, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love it felf poffeft,
When but love's fhadows are fo rich in joy?
Enter Balthafar.

News from Verona How now, Balthafar?
Doft 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 the be well.

Bal. Then the is well, and nothing can be illa
Her body fleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I faw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And prefently took poft to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing thefe ill news.

Rom. Is it even fo? then I defy you, ftars!
Thou know'ft my lodging, get me ink and paper,
And hire poft-horfes. I will hence to-night.

Bal. Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus,
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.or

Rom. Tushy thou art deceiv'd ;'

Leave me, and do the thing 1 bid thee do:
Haft thou no letters to me from the Friar?
Bal No, good my Lord."

Rom. No matter: Get thee gone,

1

And hire those horses, I'll be with thee ftraight. [Exis Bak Well, Juliet, I will lye with thee to-night;

Let's fee for means O mifchief! thou art swift

To enter in the thought of defperate men.
I do remember an Apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of fimples; meager were his looks,
Sharp mifery had worn him to the bones :
And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung,
An alligator fluft, and other skins

L

Of ill-fhap'd fishes, and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes;

Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rofes
Were thinly scattered, to make up a fhew.
Noting this penury, to my felf I faid,
An if a man did need a poifon now,
Whose fale is present death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.
Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need,
And this fame needy man muft fell it me.
As I remember, this fhould be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's fhop is shut.
What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary.

Ap. Who calls fo loud?

Rom. Come hither, man, I fee that thou art poor ;
Hold, there is forty ducats, let me have

A dram of poifon, fuch foon-speeding geer,
As will difperfe it felf thro' all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;
And that the trunk may be difcharg'd of breath,
As violently, as hafty 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.

Rom. Art thou fo bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'ft to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppreffion ftare within thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang on 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.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, confents,
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 ftrength
Of twenty men it would dispatch you straight.
Rom. There is thy gold, worfe poifon to mens fouls,
Doing more murther in this loathfome world,

Than

Than these poor compounds that thou may'ft not fell:
I fell thee poifon, thou haft fold me noné.
Farewel, buy food, and get thee into flesh."
Come, cordial, and not poifon, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there muft Infe thee.
SCENE H The Monaftery at Verona.
i. Enter Friar John. *

Jobn. Holy Francifcan Friar! brother! ho!
Enter Friar Lawrence to him.

: [Exeunt

Law. This fame fhould be the voice of Friar John. -
Welcome from Mantua; what fays 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 affociate me,
Here in this city vifiting the fick ;/ !
And finding him, the fearchers of the town
Sufpecting that we both were in a house
Where the infectious peftilence did reign,

Seal'd up
the doors, and would not let us forth,
So that my speed to Mantua there was flaid.
Law. Who bore my letter then to Romeo?
Jobn. I could not fend it; here it is again;
Nor get a meffenger 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. Frjar John, go hence,
Get me an iron crow, and bring it ftraight
Unto my cell.

John, Brother, I'll go and bring it.

Law. Now muft I to the monument alone:

Within these three hours will fair Juliet wake;
She will befhrew me much, that Romeo

Hath had no notice of thefe accidents:

But I will write again to Mantua,

And keep her at my cell 'till Romeo come."

[Exit.

Poor living coarfe, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit.

By nice here is meant thin, flight, of little substance.

SCENE