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Mantua. A street.
[Enter ROMEO]
ROMEO
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If I | may trust | the flat|tering truth | of
sleep,
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My dreams | presage | some joy|ful news | at
hand:
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My bos|om's lord | sits^light|ly in | his throne:
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And all | this day | an un|accust|omed spirit,
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Lifts me | above | the ground | with cheer|ful
thoughts.
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I dreamt | my la|dy came | and found | me dead,
T
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(Strange dream that gives | a dead | man leave |
to think)
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And breathed | such^life | with kis|ses in | my
lips,
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That I | revived | and was | an emp|eror.
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Ah me,| how sweet | is love | itself | possessed,
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When but | love's shad/ows are | so rich | in
joy.
[Enter BALTHASAR, booted]
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News from Ve|rona,| how now Balth|asar?
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Dost^thou | not bring | me let|ters from | the
friar?
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How doth | my la|dy? Is | my fath|er well?
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How fares my lady Juliet? That I ask again, ????
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For noth|ing can | be ill,| if she | be well.
BALTHASAR
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Then she | is well,| and noth|ing can | be ill.
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Her bo|dy sleeps | in Cap|el's mon|ument,
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And her | immort|al part | with ang|els live,
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I saw | her laid | low in | her kind|red's vault,
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And pres|ently / took post | to tell | it you:
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O pard|on me | for bring|ing these^/ill news,
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Since^you | did leave | it for | my of|fice sir.
ROMEO
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Is it ev|en so?
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Then I | deny | you stars.
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Thou knowst | my lod|ging: get | me ink | and paper,
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And hire | post-hors/es, I | will hence |
tonight.
BALTHASAR
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I do | beseech | you sir,| have pa|tience:
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Your looks | are pale | and wild,| and do |
import
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Some^mis|advent|ure.
ROMEO
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Tush,| thou art | deceived,
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Leave me,| and do | the thing | I bid | thee do.
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Hast thou | no let|ters to | me from | the friar?
BALTHASAR
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No my | good lord.
ROMEO
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No mat|ter: get | thee gone,
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And hire | those hors|es, I'll | be with | thee
straight.
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Well Jul|iet,| I will lie | with thee | tonight:
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Let's^see | for means:| O mis|chief thou | art
swift,
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To ent|er in | the thoughts | of des|perate men:
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I do | remem|ber an | apoth|ecary,
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And here|abouts | dwells, which | late I | noted
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In tat|tered weeds,| with ov|erwhelm|ing brows,
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Culling | of simp|les, meag|er were | his looks,
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Sharp mis/ery | had worn | him to | the bones:
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And in | his nee|dy shop | a tort|oise hung,
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An al|ligat|or stuffed,| and oth|er skins
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Of ill-shaped fish|es, and | about | his shelves,
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A beg|garly | account | of em|pty boxes,
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Green earthen pots,| bladders,| and mus|ty seeds,
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Remnants | of pack|thread, and | old cakes of
ros||es
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Were thin|ly scat|tered, to / make up | a show.
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Noting | this pen|ury,| to myself | I said,
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And if | a man | did need | a pois|on now,
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Whose^sale | is pres|ent death | in Man|tua,
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Here lives a cait|iff wretch | would sell | it
him.
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O this / same thought | did but | forerun |
my need,
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And this / same nee|dy man | must sell | it me.
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As I | remem|ber, this | should be | the house,
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Being hol|iday,| the beg|gar's shop | is shut.
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What ho?| Apoth|ecary?
[Enter Apothecary]
APOTHECARY
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Who calls | so loud?
ROMEO
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Come hith|er man,| I see | that thou | art poor,
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Hold, there^|is for|ty duc|ats, let | me have
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A dram | of poison,| such soon-speed|ing gear,
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As will | disperse | itself | through all | the
veins,
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That the / life-wea|ry tak|er may / fall dead,
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And that | the trunk | may be | discharged | of
breath,
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As vi|olently,| as has|ty pow|der fired
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Doth hur|ry from | the fat|al can|non's womb.
APOTHECARY
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Such mort|al drugs | I have,| but Man|tua's law
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Is death | to an|y he,| that ut|ters them.
ROMEO
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Art thou | so bare | and full | of wretch|edness,
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And fearst | to die?| Famine | is in | thy
cheeks,
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Need and | oppres|sion starv|eth in | thine^eyes,
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Contempt | and beg|gary 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
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My pov|erty,| but not | my will | consents.
ROMEO
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I pay | thy pov|erty,| and not | thy will.
APOTHECARY
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Put this | in an|y li|quid thing | you will
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And drink | it off,| and if | you had | the
strength
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Of twen|ty men,| it would | dispatch | you
straight.
ROMEO
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There's thy | gold,
T T
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Worse pois|on to / men's
souls,
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Doing | more murd/er in | this loath|some world,
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Than these / poor com|pounds 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 cor|dial, and / not pois|on, go | with me
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To Jul|iet's grave,| for there | must I / use
thee.
[Exeunt]