FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?
FRIAR JOHN.
I could not send it, — here it is again, —
Nor get a messenger to bring it thee,
So fearful were they of infection.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood,
The letter was not nice, but full of charge
Of dear import; and the neglecting it
May do much danger. Friar John, go hence;
Get me an iron crow and bring it straight
Unto my cell.
FRIAR JOHN.
Brother, I'll go and bring it thee.
[Exit.]
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Now must I to the monument alone;
Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake:
She will beshrew me much that Romeo
Hath had no notice of these accidents;
But I will write again to Mantua,
And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; —
Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb!
[Exit.]
