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The nurce departed once, the chamber doore shut close,
Assured that no living wight her doing might disclose,
She powred forth into the vyoll of the fryer,

Water, out of a silver ewer, that on the boorde stoode by her.
The slepy mixture made, fayre Juliet doth it hyde
Under her bolster soft, and so unto her bed she hyed:
Where divers novel thoughts arise within her hed,
And she is so invironed about with deadly dred,
That what before she had resolved undoubtedly

That same she calleth into doute: and lying doutefully
Whilst honest love did strive with dred of dedly payne,
With handes y-wrong, and weeping eyes, thus gan she to com-
plaine:

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What, is there any one, beneth the heavens hye,

So much unfortunate as I so much past hope as I?

What, am I not my selfe, of all that yet were borne,

The depest drenched in dispayre, and most in Fortunes skorne ?
For loe the world for me hath nothing els to finde,

Beside mishap and wretchednes and anguish of the mynde;
Since that the cruell cause of my unhapines

Hath put me to this sodayne plonge, and brought to such distres.
As, to the end I may my name and conscience save,

I must devowre the mixed drinke that by me here I have,
Whose working and whose force as yet I do not know."
And of this piteous plaint began an other doute to growe:
"What do I know, (quoth she) if that this powder shall
Sooner or later then it should or els not woorke at all?
And then my craft descryde as open as the day,
The peoples tale and laughing stocke shall I remayne for
And what know I, quoth she, if serpentes odious,

aye.

And other beastes and wormes that are of nature venomous,
That wonted are to lurke in darke caves under grounde,
And commonly, as I have heard, in dead mens tombes are found,
Shall harme me, yea or nay, where I shall lye as ded?---
Or how shall I that alway have in so freshe ayre been bred,
Endure the loathsome stinke of such an heaped store
Of carcases, not yet consumde, and bones that long before
Intombed were, where I my sleping place shall have,
Where all my ancestors do rest, my kindreds common grave ?
Shall not the fryer and my Romeus, when they come,
Fynd me, if I awake before, y-stifled in the tombe ?"

And whilst she in these thoughts doth dweli somwhat too long,
The force of her ymagining anon doth waxe so strong,
That she surmisde she saw, out of the hollow vaulte,
A grisly thing to looke upon, the carkas of Tybalt:
Right in the selfe same sort that she few dayes before

Had seene him in his blood embrewed, to death eke wounded

sore.

And then when she agayne within her selfe had wayde

That quicke she should be buried there, and by his side he layde, All comfortles, for she shall living feere have none,

But many a rotten carkas, and full many a naked bone;

Her daynty tender partes gan shever all for dred,

Her golden heares did stande upright upon her chillish hed.
Then pressed with the feare that she there lived in,

A sweate as colde as mountayne yse pearst through her slender

skin,

That with the moysture hath wet every part of hers:

And more besides, she vainely thinkes, whilst vainly thus she feares,

A thousand bodies dead have compast her about,

And lest they will dismember her she greatly standes in doute.
But when she felt her strength began to weare away,

By little and little, and in her heart her feare encreased ay,
Dreading that weaknes might, or foolish cowardise,
Hinder the execution of the purposde enterprise,

As she had frantike been, in hast the glasse she cought,
And up she dranke the mixture quite, withouten farther thought.
Then on her brest she crost her armes long and small,

And so, her senses fayling her, into a traunce did fall.

And when that Phoebus bright heaved up his seemely hed, And from the East in open skies his glistring rayes dispred, The nurce unshut the doore, for she the key did keepe,

And douting she had slept to long, she thought to breake her

slepe;

Fyrst softly dyd she call, then lowder thus did crye,

"Lady, you slepe to long, the earle will rayse you by and by." But wele away, in vayne unto the deafe she calles,

She thinkes to speake to Juliet, but speaketh to the walles.
If all the dredfull noyse that might on earth be found,
Or on the roaring seas, or if the dredfull thunders sound,
Had blowne into her eares, I thinke they could not make
The sleping wight before the time by any meanes awake;
So were the sprites of lyfe shut up, and senses thrald;
Wherewith the seely carefull nurce was wondrously apalde.
She thought to daw her now as she had donne of olde,

But loe, she found her parts were stiffe and more than marble colde;

Neither at mouth nor nose found she recourse of breth;

Two certaine argumentes were these of her untimely death.
Wherefore as one distraught she to her mother ranne,

With scratched face, and heare betorne, but no word speake she

can,

At last with much adoe, " Dead (quoth she) is my childe;"
Now, "Out, alas," the mother cryde;-and as a tiger wilde,
Whose whelpes, whilst she is gonne out of her den to pray,
The hunter gredy of his game doth kill or cary away;
So raging forth she ran unto her Juliets bed,

And there she found her derling and her onely comfort ded.
Then shriked she out as lowde as serve her would her breth,
And then, that pity was to heare, thus cryde she out on death:
"Ah cruell death (quoth she) that thus against all right,
Hast ended my felicitie, and robde my hartes delight,

Do now thy worst to me, once wreake thy wrath for all,
Even in despite I crye to thee, thy vengeance let thou fall.
Whereto stay I, alas! since Juliet is gonne?

Whereto live I since she is dead, except to wayle and mone? Alacke, dere chylde, my teares for thee shall never cease; Even as my dayes of lyfe increase, so shall my plaint increase: Such store of sorow shall afflict my tender hart,

That dedly panges, when they assayle, shall not augment my. smart."

Then gan she so to sobbe, it seemde her hart would brast;
And while she cryeth thus, behold, the father at the last,
The County Paris, and of gentlemen a route,

And ladies of Verona towne and country round about,

Both kindreds and alies thether apace have preast,

For by theyr presence there they sought to honor so the feast; But when the heavy news the byden geastes did heare,

So much they mournd, that who had seene theyr count'nance and theyr cheere,

Might easely have judgde by that that they had seene,
That day the day of wrath and eke of pity to have beene.

But more then all the rest the fathers hart was so

Smit with the heavy newes, and so shut up with sodayn woe,
That he ne had the powre his daughter to bewepe,

Ne yet to speake, but long is forsd his teares and plaint to kepe.
In all the hast he hath for skilfull leaches sent;

And, hearing of her passed life, they judge with one assent
The cause of this her death was inward care and thought;

And then with double force againe the doubled sorowes wrought.
If ever there hath been a lamentable day,

A day, ruthfull, unfortunate and fatall, then I say,

The same was it in which through Veron town was spred

The wofull newes how Juliet was sterved in her bed.

For so she was bemonde both of the young and olde,

That it might seeme to him that would the common plaint behold,
That all the common welth did stand in jeopardy;

So universal was the plaint, so piteous was the crye.
For lo, beside her shape and native bewties hewe,

With which, like as she grew in age, her vertues prayses grew,
She was also so wise, so lowly, and so mylde,

That, even from the hory head unto the witles chylde,

She wan the hartes of all, so that there was not one,

Ne great, ne small, but did that day her wretched state bemone. Whilst Juliet slept, and whilst the other wepen thus,

Our fryer Lawrence hath by this sent one to Romeus,

A frier of his house, (there never was a better,

He trusted him even as himselfe) to whom he gave a letter,
In which he written had of every thing at length,

That past twixt Juliet and him, and of the powders strength;
The next night after that, he willeth him to comme
To helpe to take his Juliet out of the hollow toombe,
For by that time, the drinke, he saith, will cease to woorke,
And for one night his wife and he within his cell shall loorke;

Then shall he cary her to Mantua away,

(Till fickell Fortune favour him,) disguysde in mans aray.
This letter closde he sendes to Romeus by his brother;
He chargeth him that in no case he geve it any other.
Apace our frier John to Mantua him byes;

And, for because in Italy it is a wonted gyse

That friers in the towne should seldome walke alone,

But of theyr covent aye should be accompanide with one

Of his profession, straight a house he fyndeth out,

In mynd to take some fryer with him, to walke the towne about. But entred once, he might not issue out agayne,

For that a brother of the house a day before or twayne

Dyed of the plague, a sicknes which they greatly feare and hate:
So were the brethren charged to kepe within their covent gate,
Bard of theyr fellowship that in the towne do wonne;
The towne folke eke commaunded are the fryers house to shonne,
Till they that had the care of health theyr fredome should renew;
Whereof, as you shall shortly heare, a mischeefe great there grewe.
The fryer by this restraint, beset with dred and sorow,

Not knowing what the letters held, differed untill the morowe;
And then he thought in time to send to Romeus.

But whilst at Mantua, where he was, these doinges framed thus, The towne of Juliets byrth was wholly busied

About her obsequies, to see theyr darling buried.

Now is the parentes myrth quite chaunged into mone,
And now to sorow is retornde the joy of every one;

And now the wedding weades for mourning weades they chaungé,
And Hymene into a dyrge;-alas! it seemeth straunge:
Insteade of mariage gloves, now funerall gownes they have,
And whom they should see married, they follow to the grave.
The feast that should have been of pleasure and of joy,
Hath every dish and cup fild full of sorow and annoye.
Now throughout Italy this common use they have,

That all the best of every stocke are earthed in one grave;
For every houshold, if it be of any fame;

Doth bylde a tombe, or digge a vault, that bears the houshouldes

name;

Wherein, if any of that kyndred hap to dye,

They are bestowde; els in the same no other corps may lye.

The Capilets her corps in such a one did lay,

Where Tybalt slaine of Romeus was layde the other day.

An other use there is, that whosoever dyes,

Borne to their church with open face upon the beere he lyes,

In wonted weede attyrde, not wrapt in winding sheet.

So, as by chaunce he walked abrode, our Romeus man did meete His masters wife; the sight with sorowe straight did wounde His honest heart; with teares he saw her lodged under ground. And, for he had been sent to Verone for a spye,

The doinges of the Capilets by wisdom to descrye,

And, for he knew her death dyd tooch his maister most,
Alas! too soone, with heavy newes, he hyed away in post;

And in his house he found his maister Romeus,

Where he, besprent with many teares, began to speake him

thus:

"Syr, unto you of late is chaunced so great a harme,

That sure, except with constancy you seeke yourselfe to arme,
I feare that straight you will breathe out your latter breath,
And I, most wretched wight, shall be thoccasion of your death.
Know syr, that yesterday, my lady and your wife,

I wot not by what sodain greefe, hath made exchaunge of life;
And for because on earth she found nought but unrest,
In heaven hath she sought to fynde a place of quiet rest;
And with these weping eyes my selfe have seene her layde.
Within the tombe of Capilets:"-and herewithall be stayde.
This sodayne message sounde, sent forth with sighes and teares,
Our Romeus receaved too soone with open listening eares;
And therby hath sonke such sorow in his hart,

That loe, his sprite annoyed sore with torment and with smart,
Was like to break out of his prison-house perforce,

And that he might flye after hers, would leave the massy corce:
But earnest love that will not fayle him till his ende,

This fond and sodain fantasy into his head dyd sende;
That if nere unto her he offred up his breath,

That then an hundred thousand parts more glorious were his

death:

Eke should his painfull hart a great deale more be eased,
And more also, he vainely thought, his lady better pleased.
Wherefore when he his face hath washt with water cleane,
Lest that the staynes of dryed teares might on his cheekes be

seene,

And so his sorow should of every one be spyde,

Which he with all his care did seeke from every one to hyde,
Straight, wery of the house, he walketh forth abrode;

His servant, at the masters hest, in chaumber still abode:
And then fro streate to streate he wandreth up and downe,

To see if he in any place may fynde, in all the towne,

A salve meet for his sore, an oyle fit for his wounde;

And seeking long, alac too soone! the thing he sought, he founde. An apothecary sate unbusied at his doore,

Whom by his heavy countenance he gessed to be poore.

And in his shop he saw his boxes were but few,

And in his window of his wares there was so small a shew;

Wherefore our Romeus assuredly hath thought,

What by no friendship could be got, with money could be bought; For nedy lacke is like the poor man to compell

To sell that which the cities lawe forbiddeth him to sell.

Then by the hand he drew the nedy man apart,

And with the sight of glittering gold inflamed hath his hart: "Take fiftie crownes of gold (quoth he) I geve them thee, So that, before I part from hence, thou straight deliver me Somme poyson strong, that may in lesse than halfe an howre Kill him whose wretched hap shall be the potion to devowre." VOL. XII.

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