I fear, it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, The horrible conceit of death and night, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones So early waking,-what with loathsome smells; * The fabulous accounts of the plant called a mandrake, give it a degree of animal life, and when it is torn from the ground it groans, which is fatal to him that pulls it up. + Distracted. Upon a rapier's point:-Stay, Tybalt, stay! [She throws herself on the Bed. JOY CHANGED TO SORROW, All things, that we ordained festival, ACT V. ROMEO'S DESCRIPTION OF, AND DISCOURSE WITH THE APOTHECARY. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. And hereabouts he dwells,-whom late I noted * Herbs. Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. Ap. Enter Apothecary. Who calls so loud? Rom. Come hither, man.-I see that thou art poor; Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have 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 so bare, and full of wretchedness, The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law: * Stuff. HH Rom. There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, 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. THE CONTEST OF ROMEO AND PARIS. Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague; By urging me to fury-O, be gone! And do attach thee as a felon here. Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy. * [They fight. Par. O, Iam slain! [Falls.]-If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. [Dies. Rom. In faith, I will:-Let me peruse this face ;Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris: What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think, He told me, Paris should have married Juliet: * I refuse to do as thou conjurest me to do; i. c. depart. Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, ROMEO'S LAST SPEECH OVER JULIET IN THE TOMB. love! my wife! O, my Death that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; 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 youth 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 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 [last, From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death!— Come, bitter conduct*, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! * Conducter. |