Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means:--O mischief, thou art swift 35 To enter in the thoughts of desperate men![1409] I do remember an apothecary, And hereabouts a' dwells, which late I noted[1410] In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks; 40 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,[1411] An alligator stuff'd and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes,[1412] 45 Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.[1413] Noting this penury, to myself I said, An if a man did need a poison now,[1414] 50 Whose sale is present death in Mantua,[1415] 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: 55 Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary![1416] _Enter_ 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[1417] 60 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. 65 _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,[1418] Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,[1419] 70 Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back,[1420] 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. 75 _Rom._ I pay thy poverty and not thy will.[1421] _Ap._ Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. _Rom._ There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls,[1422] 80 Doing more murder in this loathsome world,[1423] Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell:[1424] I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh.[1425] Come, cordial and not poison, go with me 85 To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. [_Exeunt._