Romeo and Juliet Translation Act 5, Scene 1
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 unaccustomed 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 to think— And breathed such life with kisses in my lips That I revived and was an emperor. Ah me! How sweet is love itself possessed When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!
If I can trust the favorable truth of sleep, then my dreams foretell some joyful news is on the way. Love sits lightly in my heart, and all day an odd feeling has seemed to lift me up with cheerful thoughts. I had a dream that my lady came and found me dead—what a strange dream, in which a dead man is able to think. And she breathed life back into me by kissing my lips. I revived and became an emperor. Oh! How sweet it would be to be with my love, when my dreams of love alone fill me with so much joy.
ROMEO's servant BALTHASAR enters.
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.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill. Her body sleeps in Capels’ 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.
Is it e’en so? Then I defy you, stars! Thou know’st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,And hire post horses. I will hence tonight.
I do beseech you, sir, have patience.Your looks are pale and wild, and do importSome misadventure.
Tush, thou art deceived.Leave me and do the thing I bid thee do.Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
No, my good lord.
No matter. Get thee gone, And hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee tonight. 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 tattered weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples. Meager were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones, And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuffed, 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 scattered 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.” Oh, 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. What, ho! Apothecary!
Who calls so loud?
The APOTHECARY enters.
Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor. Hold, there is forty ducats. Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead, And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.
Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s lawIs death to any he that utters them.
Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear’st to die? Famine is in thy cheeks. Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes. Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back. The world is not thy friend nor the world’s law. The world affords no law to make thee rich. Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. [Holds out money]
My poverty, but not my will, consents.
I pay thy poverty and not thy will.
[Gives ROMEO poison] Put this in any liquid thing youwillAnd drink it off; and, if you had the strengthOf twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.
[Giving money] There is they gold—worse poison to men'ssouls, Doing more murder in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell, buy food, and get thyself in flesh.
Come, cordial and not poison, go with meTo Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.
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