Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night
Have my old feet stumbled at graves! — Who's there?
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?
Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern,
It burneth in the Capels' monument.
It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master,
One that you love.
Who is it?
How long hath he been there?
Full half an hour.
Go with me to the vault.
I dare not, sir;
My master knows not but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death
If I did stay to look on his intents.
Stay then; I'll go alone: — fear comes upon me;
O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing.
As I did sleep under this yew tree here,
I dreamt my master and another fought,
And that my master slew him.
Alack, alack! what blood is this which stains
The stony entrance of this sepulchre? —
What mean these masterless and gory swords
To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?
[Enters the monument.]
Romeo! O, pale! — Who else? what, Paris too?
And steep'd in blood? — Ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance! — The lady stirs.
[Juliet wakes and stirs.]
O comfortable friar! where is my lord? —
I do remember well where I should be,
And there I am: — where is my Romeo?
I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest
Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep:
A greater power than we can contradict
Hath thwarted our intents: — come, come away!
Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead;
And Paris too: — come, I'll dispose of thee
Among a sisterhood of holy nuns:
Stay not to question, for the watch is coming.
Come, go, good Juliet [noise within], — I dare no longer stay.
Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. —
[Exit Friar Lawrence.]
What's here? a cup, clos'd in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: —
O churl! drink all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after? — I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make me die with a restorative.
Thy lips are warm!
[Within.] Lead, boy: — which way?
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