That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well married that lives married long;
But she's best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and as the custom is,
In all her best array bear her to church :
For though some nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

Cap. All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral:
Our instruments to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a burial corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
Fri. Sir, go you in,-and, madam, go with

him ;

And go, sir Paris ;-every one prepare

To follow this fair corse unto her grave. The heavens do lour upon you, for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. [Exeunt CAP., LADY CAP., PARIS, and Friar. 1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone.

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put

up,

For, well yon know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit. 1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be

amended.

Enter PETER.

Pet. Musicians, O, musicians, Heart's ease, heart's ease;

O, an you will have me live, play heart's ease.
I Mus. Why heart's ease?

Pet. O, musicians, because my heart itself

plays-My heart is full of woe! some merry dump, to comfort me.

O, play me

2 Mus. Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play

now.

Pet. You will not then?

Mus. No.

Pet. I will then give it you soundly.

I Mus. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

I Mus. Then will I give you the serving

creature.

Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets : I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? I Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

Pet. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger :-answer me like men:

When griping griefs the heart doth wound,
And doleful dumps the mind oppress,

Then music, with her silver sound:

Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver sound?

What say you, Simon Catling?

I Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

Pet. Pretty! What say you Hugh Rebeck? 2 Mus. I say-silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

Pet. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy! your are the singer : I will say for you. It is-music with her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding

Then music, with her silver sound,
With speedy help doth lend redress.

[Exit singing.

1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same ! 2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here: tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.-Mantua. A Street.

Enter ROMEO.

Romeo.

F 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 unaccustom'd 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 possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

Enter BALTHASAR.

News from Verona !-How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How doth my lady Juliet? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she is well.

Bal. 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.

Rom. Is it even so; then I defy you, stars!— Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and

paper,

And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

Bal. I do beseech you, sir, have patience. Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

Rom.

Tush, thou art deceived;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do:
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
Bal. No, my good lord.

Rom.
No matter: get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.

[Exit BALTHASAR.

Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
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 tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples, meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:

And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, 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 scatter'd 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.
O, this same thought did but fore-run 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!

Ap.

Enter Apothecary.

Who calls so loud?

Rom. 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.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law

Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou so bare, and full of wretched

ness,

And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back,