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| Apothecary |
Who calls so loud? |
| Romeo |
Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: |
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Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have |
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A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear |
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As will disperse itself through all the veins |
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That the life-weary taker may fall dead |
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And that the trunk may be discharged of breath |
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As violently as hasty powder fired |
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Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. |
| Apothecary |
Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law |
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Is death to any he that utters them. |
| Romeo |
Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, |
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And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, |
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Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, |
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Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; |
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The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; |
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The world affords no law to make thee rich; |
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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, |
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And drink it off; and, if you had the strength |
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Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. |
| Romeo |
There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, |
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Doing more murders in this loathsome world, |
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Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. |
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I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. |
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Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. |
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Come, cordial and not poison, go with me |
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To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. |
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