Page 3248 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

Have they been merry! Which their keepers call
A lightning before death. O how may I [90]
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, [95]
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? [100]
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? [105]
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 chambermaids. O here
Will I set up my everlasting rest [110]
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. [115]
Come, bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide,
Thou disperate pilot now at once run on
The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark.
Here’s to my love! (He drinks.) O true apothecary,
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. [120]

(He) falls.

Enter Friar (Laurence) with lantern, crow and spade.

FRIAR LAURENCE

Saint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight
Have my old feet stumbled at graves. Who’s there?

BALT HASAR