_Shakespeare’s Revised Version (Third Quarto, 1609)._ _Rom._ I do remember an apothecary And hereabouts he dwells--whom late I noted In tatter’d 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 stuff’d, and other skins, Of ill-shap’d 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 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._ 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 discharg’d 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 wretchedness, And fear’st to die? famine is in thy cheeks. Need and oppression starveth in thy 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. _Ap._ My poverty but not my will consents. _Rom._ I pray thy poverty and not thy will. _Ap._ 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. _Rom._ There is thy gold, worse poison to men’s souls Doing more murders in this loathsome world Than these poor compounds that thou may’st 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 I must use thee. [Illustration: THE APOTHECARY. (Drawn by Miss K. Righton.)]