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Cap. Stay, let me see, all pale and wan. Accursed time, vnfortunate olde man.

Enter Fryer and Paris.

Par. What is the bride ready to goe to church?

Cap. Ready to goe, but neuer to returne.
O sonne the night before thy wedding day,
Hath death laine with thy bride, flower as the is,
Deflowerd by him, see, where she lyes,
Death is my fonne in law, to him I giue all that I haue.

Par. Haue I thought long to see this mornings face,
And doth it now present such prodegies ?
Accurft, vnhappy, miserable man,
Forlorne, forsaken, destitute I am :
Borne to the world to be a Naue in it.
Distreft, remediles, and vnfortunate.
O heauens, O nature, wherefore did you make me,
To liue so vile, so wretched as I shall.

Cap. O heere she lies that was our hope, our ioy,
And being dead, dead sorrow nips vs all.

All at once cry out and wring their hands.

All cry. And all our ioy, and all our hope is dead, Dead, loft, undone, absented, wholly fled.

Cap. Cruel, vniust, impartiall destinies, Why to this day haue you preferu'd my life? To see my hope, my stay, my joy, my life, Depriude of sence, of life, of all by death, Cruell, vniust, impartiall destinies.

Cap. O sad fac'd sorrow map of misery, Why this sad time haue I desird to see. This day, this vniust, this impartiall day Wherein I hop'd to see my comfort full, To be depriude by suddaine destinie.

Moth,

Moth. O woe, alacke, distrest, why should I live?
To fee this day, this miserable day.
Alacke the time that euer I was borne.
To be partaker of this destinie.
Alacke the day, alacke and welladay.

Fr. O peace for fame, if not for charity.
Your daughter liues in peace and happines,
And it is vaine to wish it otherwise.
Come sticke your rosemary in this dead coarse,
And as the custome of our country is,
In all her best and sumptuous ornaments,
Conuay her where her ancestors lie tomb'd.

Cap. Let it be fo, come wofull sorrow mates,
Let vs together taste this bitter fate.
They all but the nurse goe foorth, cafting rosemary on her and

Soutting the curtens.

Enter Mufitions.

Nur. Put vp, put vp, this is a wofull case.

Exit. 1. I by my troth mistresse is it, it had need be mended.

Enter feruingman. Ser. Alack alack what shal I doe, come fidlers play me some mery dumpe.

1. A fir, this is no time to play.
Ser. You will not then?
1. No marry will wee.
Ser. Then will I giue it you, and soundly to.
1. What will you giue vs ?
Ser. The fidler, Ile re you, Ile fa you, Ile sol you.

you re vs and fa vs, we will note you. Ser. I will put vp my iron dagger, and beate you with my wodden wit. Come on Simon found pot, Ile pose you. VOL. IV.

E

1. If y

.1. Lets 1. Lets heare.

Ser. When griping griefe the heart doth wound,
And dolefull dumps the minde oppresse :
Then musique with her siluer sound,
Why filuer sound? Why filuer sound ?

1. I thinke because musicke hath a sweet sound.
Ser. Pretie, what say you Mathew minikine ?
2. I thinke because musitions found for siluer
Ser. Prettie too : come, what say you?
3. I say nothing.

Ser. I thinke so, Ile speake for you because you are the singer. I saye siluer sound, because such fellowes as you haue sildome golde for founding. Farewell fidlers, farewell. Exit.

1. Farewell and be hangd : come lets goe. Exeunt.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. If I may trust the flattering eye of Neepe,
My dreame presagde some good euent to come,
My bosome lord sits chearfull in his throne,
And I am comforted with pleasing dreames.
Methought I was this night alreadie dead :
(Strange dreames that giue a dead man leaue to thinke)
And that my ladie Iuliet came to me,
And breathd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reuiude and was an emperour.

Enter Balthasar his man booted.

Newes from Verona. How now Balthafar,
How doth my ladie ? Is my father well ?
How fares my Juliet ? that I aske againe :
If she be well, then nothing can be ill.

Balt. Then nothing can be ill, for she is well,
Her bodie sleepes in Capels monument,

And starres.

And her immortall parts with angels dwell.
Pardon me fir, that am the messenger of such bad tidings.
Rom. Is it euen so ? then I defie

my
Goe get me incke and paper, hyre post horse,
I will not stay in Mantua to night.

Balt. Pardon me fir, I will not leaue you thus,
Your lookes are dangerous and full of feare :
I dare not, nor I will not leaue you yet.

Rom. Doo as I bid thee, get me incke and paper,
And hyre those horse : stay not I say.

Exit Balthafar.

Well Iuliet, I will lye with thee to night.
Lets see for meanes. As I doo remember
Here dwells a pothecarie whom oft I noted
As I past by, whose needie shop is stufft
With beggerly accounts of emptie boxes :
And in the same an Aligarta hangs,
Olde endes of packthred, and cakes of roses,
Are thinly strewed to make vp a show.
Him as I noted, thus with my felfe I thought :
And if a man should need a poyson now,
(Whose present file is death in Mantua)
Here he might buy it. This thought of mine
Did but forerunne my need : and here about he dwels.
Being holiday the beggers Mop is shut.
What ho apothecarie, come forth I say.

Enter Apothecarie.
Apo. Who calls, what would you sir ?

Rom. Heeres twentie duckates,
Giue me a dram of some such speeding geere,
As will dispatch the wearie takers life,

As suddenly as powder being fierd
From forth a cannons mouth.

Apo. Such drags I haue I must-of force confesse,
But yet the law is death to those that fell them,

Rom. Art thou so bare and full of pouertie,
And doost thou feare to violate the law ?
The law is not thy frend, nor the lawes frend,
And therefore make no conscience of the law :
V pon thy backe hangs ragged miserie,
And starued famine dwelleth in thy cheekes.

Apo. My pouertie but not my will consents.
Rom. I pay thy pouertie, but not thy will.

Apo. Hold take you this, and put it in anie liquid thing you will, and it will ferue had you the lives of twenty men.

Rom. Hold, take this gold, worse poyson to mens soules Than this which thou hast giuen me. Goe hye thee heace, Goe buy the cloathes, and get thee into flesh. Come cordiall and not poylon, goe with mee To luliets graue : for there mvít I vse thee.

Exeunt.

Enter Frier Iohn.

John. What frier Laurence, brother, ho?

Laur. This fame should be the voyce of frier lohn.
What newes from Mantua, what will Romeo come ?

lohn. Going to seeke a barefoote brother out,
One of our order to associate mee,
Here in this cittie visiting the sick,
Whereas the infectious pestilence remainde:
And being by the searchers of the towne
Found and examinde, we were both shut yp,

Laur. Who bare my letters then to Romeo ?
lohn. I haue them still, and here they are.

Laur. Now by my holy order,
The letters were not nice, but of great weight.

Goc

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