Romeo and Juliet, Act 5, Scene 1

If I may trust the flattering eye 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 breath’d such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviv’d, and was an emperor. Ah me, how sweet is love itself possess’d, When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy.

If I can trust the flattering eye of sleep, my dreams predict some joyful news is coming. The lord of my heart sits easily on his throne, and all day long an unfamiliar spirit has been lifting me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamed my lady came and found me dead — a strange dream, that lets a dead man think! — and breathed such life into my lips with her kisses that I came back to life, and was an emperor. Oh, how sweet love itself must be to possess, when even love's shadows are so full of joy.

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.

News from Verona! What is it, Balthasar? Don't you bring me letters from the Friar? How is my lady? Is my father well? How is my Juliet? I ask that again, because nothing can be wrong if she is well.

Then she is well, and nothing can be ill. Her body sleeps in Capel’s 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.

Then she is well, and nothing can be wrong. Her body sleeps in Capel's tomb, and her immortal part lives with the angels. I saw her laid low in her family's vault, and immediately took horse to tell you. Oh, forgive me for bringing this bad news, since you left the task to me, sir.

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 tonight.

Is that really so? Then I defy you, stars! You know where I'm staying. Get me ink and paper, and hire post-horses. I'm leaving here tonight.

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

I beg you, sir, be patient. You look pale and wild, and that suggests some disaster.

Tush, thou art deceiv’d. Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the Friar?

Nonsense, you're mistaken. Leave me, and do the thing I told you to do. Have you no letters for me from the Friar?

No, my good lord.

No, my good lord.

No matter. Get thee gone, And hire those horses. I’ll be with thee straight.

It doesn't matter. Go, and hire those horses. I'll be with you right away.

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 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, And 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 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!

Well, Juliet, I will lie with you tonight. Let me look for the means. Oh mischief, how quickly you get into the thoughts of desperate men! I remember an apothecary — and he lives somewhere around here — whom I noticed recently in ragged clothes, with heavy overhanging eyebrows, picking out medicinal herbs. His looks were thin; harsh misery had worn him down to the bones. And in his poor shop there hung a tortoise, a stuffed alligator, and other skins of ugly fish; and around his shelves a beggarly collection of empty boxes, green earthenware pots, bladders, and stale seeds, scraps of string, and old pressed rose-cakes were thinly spread out to make some kind of display. Noticing this poverty, I said to myself, if a man needed poison now — which it's death to sell in Mantua — here lives a miserable wretch who would sell it to him. Oh, that same thought only came ahead of my need, and this same needy man must sell it to me. As I remember, this should be the house. Since it's a holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. Hello there! Apothecary!

Who calls so loud?

Who is shouting so loudly?

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 discharg’d of breath As violently as hasty powder fir’d Doth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.

Come here, man. I can see that you are poor. Here, take these forty ducats. Let me have a dose of poison, something so fast-working that it will spread itself through all the veins, so that the taker, weary of life, may drop dead, and the body be emptied of breath as violently as gunpowder, quickly lit, rushes out of the deadly cannon's womb.

Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s law Is death to any he that utters them.

I do have such deadly drugs, but Mantua's law is death for anyone who sells 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.

Are you so stripped bare and full of misery, and still afraid to die? Starvation is in your cheeks, need and hardship starve in your eyes, contempt and beggary hang on your back. The world is not your friend, nor is the world's law; the world offers no law to make you rich. So don't stay poor — break the law and take this.

My poverty, but not my will consents.

My poverty agrees, but not my will.

I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

I'm paying your poverty, not your will.

Put this in any liquid thing you will And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight.

Put this in any liquid you like and drink it down; and even if you had the strength of twenty men, it would finish you off at once.

There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls, 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 me To Juliet’s grave, for there must I use thee.

There's your gold — a worse poison to men's souls, committing more murder in this hateful world than these poor mixtures you are forbidden to sell. I am the one selling you poison; you have sold me none. Goodbye, buy food, and put some flesh on yourself. Come, medicine and not poison, go with me to Juliet's grave, for that's where I must use you.