Peter.Pretty too!—What say you, James Soundpost?
3 Musician. Faith, I know not what to say.
Peter.
O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you.
It is ‘music with her silver sound’ because musicians have no
gold for sounding:—
‘Then music with her silver sound
With speedy help doth lend redress.’
[Exit.]
1 Musician. What a pestilent knave is this same!
2 Musician. Hang him, Jack!—Come, we’ll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V.
SCENE I. Mantua. A Street.
[Enter Romeo.]
Romeo.
If I may trust the flattering eye 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
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 breath’d such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv’d, 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.]
News from Verona!—How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
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,
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.
Romeo.
Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!—
Thou know’st my lodging: get me ink and paper,
And hire posthorses. I will hence tonight.
Balthasar.
I do beseech you, sir, have patience:
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.
Romeo.
Tush, thou art deceiv’d:
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Balthasar.
No, my good lord.
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 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 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;
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,
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,
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.—
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
As will disperse itself through all the veins
That the life-weary taker mall fall dead;
And that the trunk may be discharg’d of breath
As violently as hasty powder fir’d
