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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 discharged of breath |
As violently as hasty powder fired |
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 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. |
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me |
To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. |
FRIAR JOHN: |
Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! |
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 bare-foot 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. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Now must I to the monument alone; |
Within 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! |
PARIS: |
Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: |
Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. |
Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, |
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; |
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, |
Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, |
But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, |
As signal that thou hear'st something approach. |
Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. |
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Subsets and Splits