| |
| |
A street, but a different street than we have seen before. This street is in Mantua. There are several buildings in the background. |
| 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 |
| |
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, |
| |
That I revived, and was an emperor. |
| |
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, |
| |
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! |
| |
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 |
| Romeo |
Tush, thou art deceived: |
| |
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. |
| |
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-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. |
|
