_Iohn_: Well I will presently go fetch thee them. _Exit._ _Laur_: Now must I to the Monument alone, Least that the Ladie should before I come Be wakde from sleepe. I will hye To free her from that Tombe of miserie. _Exit._ 20 [Sidenote: [SC. XXII.]] _Enter Countie Paris and his Page with flowers_ _and sweete water._ _Par_: Put out the torch, and lye thee all along Vnder this Ew-tree, keeping thine eare close to the hollow ground. And if thou heare one tread within this Churchyard, Staight giue me notice. 5 _Boy_: I will my Lord. _Paris strewes the Tomb with flowers._ _Par_: Sweete Flower, with flowers I strew thy Bridale bed: Sweete Tombe that in thy circuite dost containe, The perfect modell of eternitie: Faire _Iuliet_ that with Angells dost remaine, 10 Accept this latest fauour at my hands, That liuing honourd thee, and being dead With funerall praises doo adorne thy Tombe. _Boy whistles and calls._ My Lord. _Enter Romeo and Balthasar, with a torch, a_ _mattocke, and a crow of yron._ _Par_: The boy giues warning, something doth approach. 15 What cursed foote wanders this was to night, To stay my obsequies and true loues rites? What with a torch, muffle me night a while. _Rom_: Giue mee this mattocke, and this wrentching Iron. And take these letters, early in the morning, 20 See thou deliuer them to my Lord and Father. So get thee gone and trouble me no more. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my Ladies face, But chiefly to take from her dead finger, 25 A precious ring which I must vse In deare imployment: but if thou wilt stay, Further to prie in what I vndertake, By heauen Ile teare thee ioynt by ioynt, And strewe thys hungry churchyard with thy lims 30 The time and my intents are sauage, wilde. _Balt_: Well, Ile be gone and not trouble you. _Rom_: So shalt thou win my fauour, take thou this, Commend me to my Father, farwell good fellow. _Balt_: Yet for all this will I not part from hence. 35 _Romeo opens the tombe._ _Rom_: Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorde with the dearest morsell of the earth. Thus I enforce thy rotten iawes to ope. _Par_: This is that banisht haughtie _Mountague_, That murderd my loues cosen, I will apprehend him. 40 Stop thy vnhallowed toyle vile _Mountague_. Can vengeance be pursued further then death? I doe attach thee as a fellon heere. The Law condemnes thee, therefore thou must dye,