Shakespeare's Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet

ACT V Scene I.

William Shakespeare

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

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 post-horses. I will hence to-night.

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 to-night.

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-shap'd 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 may fall dead,

And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath

As violently as hasty powder fir'd

Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

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,

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 murthers 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

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

Scene II.

Friar Laurence's Cell

Enter Friar John

Friar John. Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

Enter Friar Laurence

Friar Laurence. This same should be the voice of Friar John.—

Welcome from Mantua; what says Romeo?

Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter.

Friar John. Going to find a barefoot brother out,

One of our order, to associate me,

Here in this city visiting the sick,

And finding him, 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.

Friar Laurence. Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?

Friar John. I could not send it,—here it is again,—

Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,

So fearful were they of infection.

Friar Laurence. 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. Friar John, go hence;

Get me an iron crow and bring it straight

Unto my cell.

Friar John. Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. [Exit.

Friar Laurence. 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, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! [Exit.

Scene III.

A Churchyard; in it a Tomb belonging to the Capulets

Enter Paris, and his Page bearing flowers and a torch

s="i0">Or in my cell there would she kill herself.

Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art,

A sleeping potion, which so took effect

As I intended, for it wrought on her

The form of death; meantime I writ to Romeo

That he should hither come as this dire night,

To help to take her from her borrow'd grave,

Being the time the potion's force should cease.

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But he which bore my letter, Friar John,

Was stay'd by accident and yesternight

Return'd my letter back. Then all alone,

At the prefixed hour of her waking,

Came I to take her from her kindred's vault,

Meaning to keep her closely at my cell

Till I conveniently could send to Romeo;

But when I came, some minute ere the time

Of her awaking, here untimely lay

The noble Paris and true Romeo dead.

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She wakes, and I entreated her come forth

And bear this work of heaven with patience;

But then a noise did scare me from the tomb,

And she too desperate would not go with me,

But, as it seems, did violence on herself.

All this I know, and to the marriage

Her nurse is privy; and, if aught in this

Miscarried by my fault, let my old life

Be sacrific'd some hour before his time

Unto the rigour of severest law.

Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man.—

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Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this?

Balthasar. I brought my master news of Juliet's death,

And then in post he came from Mantua

To this same place, to this same monument.

This letter he early bid me give his father,

And threaten'd me with death, going in the vault,

If I departed not and left him there.

Prince. Give me the letter; I will look on it.—

Where is the county's page that rais'd the watch?—

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Sirrah, what made your master in this place?

Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave

And bid me stand aloof, and so I did.

Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb,

And by and by my master drew on him;

And then I ran away to call the watch.

Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words,

Their course of love, the tidings of her death;

And here he writes that he did buy a poison

Of a poor pothecary, and therewithal

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Came to this vault to die and lie with Juliet.—

Where be these enemies?—Capulet!—Montague!

See, what a scourge is aid upon your hate,

That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!

And I, for winking at your discords too,

Have lost a brace of kinsmen; all are punish'd.

Capulet. O brother Montague, give me thy hand;

This is my daughter's jointure, for no more

Can I demand.

Montague.But I can give thee more;

For I will raise her statue in pure gold,

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That while Verona by that name is known

There shall no figure at such rate be set

As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Capulet. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie,

Poor sacrifices of our enmity!

Prince. 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 pardon'd and some punished;

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For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exeunt.

The Nurse and Peter

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