The Heav'ns do low'r upon you, for fome Ill; Move them no more, by croffing their high Will. [Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.

Manent Musicians and Nurse. ·

Muf. FAITH, we may put upour pipes and be

gone.

Nurfe. Honeft good fellows: ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful cafe.

[Exit Nurfe. Muf. Ay, by my troth, the cafe may be amended.

Enter Peter.

Pet. Muficians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's ease:

Oh, an you will have me live, play heart's cafe.
Muf. Why, heart's ease?

Pet. O muficians, becaufe my heart itself plays, my heart itself is full of woe.

dump, to comfort me!

O, play me fome merry

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 money, on my faith, but the gleek: I will give you the Minftrel.

Muf. Then will I give you the Serving Creature. Pet. Then will I lay the Serving Creature's Dagger on your Pate. I will carry no Crotchets. 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: I will drybeat you with an iron Wit, and put up my iron

dagger:

dagger:

--anfwer me like men:

When griping grief the heart doth wound,
Then mufic with her filver found·

Why, filver found? why, mufic with her filver found?
What fay you, Simon Catling?

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

2 Muf. I fay, filver found, because musicians found for filver.

Pet. Pretty too! what fay you, Samuel Soundboard?

3 Muf. Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will fay for you. It is mufic with her filver found, becaufe fuch fellows, as you, have no gold for founding. The mufic with her filver found

Doth lend redrefs.

[Exit finging. Muf. What a peftilent knave is this fame?

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

*

I

[Exeunt.

F I may truft the flattering ruth of fleep, My dreams presage fome joyful news at hand : My bofom's Lord fits lightly on his Throne, And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit

Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts. I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead, (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think)

If I may truft the flattering Truth of fleep.] Shakefpear wrote, If I may trust the flattering Ruth of fleep,

i. Pity. The compaffionate Advertisement of Sleep.

Warb.

And

And breath'd fuch life with kiffes in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself poffeft,
When but love's fhadows are fo rich in joy?

Enter Balthasar.

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 fhe be well.

Balth. Then he is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body fleeps in Capulets' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I faw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took poft to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing thefe ill news,
Since you did leave it for my Office, Sir.

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

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

Rom. Tufh, thou art deceiv'd;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Haft thou no letters to me from the Friar?
Balth. No, my good lord.

Rom. No matter: get thee gone,

And hire thofe horfes; I'll be with thee ftraight.

[Exit Balthafar.

Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night;

Let's fee for means- -O mifchief! thou art fwift
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;

K

Sharp

Sharp mifery had worn him to the bones :
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator fluft, and other skins

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

Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of pack thread, and old cakes of rofes
Were thinly scatter'd to make up a fhow.
Noting this penury, to myfelf, I faid,
An if a man did need a poison now,
Whofe fale is prefent 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 must sell it me.
As I remember, this fhould be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's fhop is fhut:
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-fpeeding geer,
As will difperfe itself thro' all the veins,
That the life-weary Taker may fall dead;
And that the Trunk may be discharg'd of breath,
As violently as hafly 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 wretchednefs,
And fear'ft to die? famine is in thy cheeks;
Need and oppreffion ftare within thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang 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.

Ap.

1

Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 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 strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you ftraight, Rom. There is thy gold; worse poifon to men's fouls,

Doing more murders in this loathfome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'ft not
fell:

I fell thee poison, thou haft fold me none.
Farewel, buy food, and get thee into flesh.
Come, cordial, and not poifon; go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there muft I ufe thee.

Enter Friar Lawrence to him.

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 Searchers 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?
John. I could not fend it; here it is again;
Nor get a Meffenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.

K 2

Law.