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How oft when men are at the point of death |
Have they been merry! which their keepers call |
A lightning before death: O, how may I |
Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! |
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 still will stay with thee; |
And never from this palace of dim night |
Depart again: here, here will I remain |
With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here |
Will I set up my everlasting rest, |
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars |
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! |
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! |
Here's to my love! |
O true apothecary! |
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night |
Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? |
BALTHASAR: |
Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, |
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light |
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, |
It burneth in the Capel's monument. |
BALTHASAR: |
It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, |
One that you love. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Who is it? |
BALTHASAR: |
Romeo. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
How long hath he been there? |
BALTHASAR: |
Full half an hour. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Go with me to the vault. |
BALTHASAR: |
I dare not, sir |
My master knows not but I am gone hence; |
And fearfully did menace me with death, |
If I did stay to look on his intents. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: |
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. |
BALTHASAR: |
As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, |
I dreamt my master and another fought, |
And that my master slew him. |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
Romeo! |
Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains |
The stony entrance of this sepulchre? |
What mean these masterless and gory swords |
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? |
Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? |
And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour |
Is guilty of this lamentable chance! |
The lady stirs. |
JULIET: |
O comfortable friar! where is my lord? |
I do remember well where I should be, |
And there I am. Where is my Romeo? |
FRIAR LAURENCE: |
I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest |