"What doe I knowe, (quoth she) if that this powder shall Sooner or later then it should or els not woorke at all? And then my craft descride as open as the day,

The peoples tale and laughing stocke shall I remayne for aye.
And what know I, (quoth she,) if serpentes odious,

And other beastes and wormes that are of nature venomous,
That wonted are to lurke in darke caues vnder grounde,
And commonly, as I haue 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 haue in so freshe ayre been bred,
Endure the lothsome stinke of such an heaped store

Of carkases, not yet consumde, and bones that long before
Intombed were, where I my sleping place shall haue,
Where all my auncestors doe rest, my kindreds common graue?
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 thoughtes doth dwell somwhat too long,

The force of her ymagining anon doth waxe so strong,
That she surmysde she saw, out of the hollow vaulte,
(A griesly thing to looke vpon,) the carkas of Tybalt;
Right in the selfe same sort that she few dayes before
Had seene him in his blood embrewde, 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 be layde,
All comfortles, for she shall liuing feere haue none,
But many a rotten carkas, and full many a naked bone;

Her dainty tender partes gan sheuer all for dred,

Her golden heares did stande vpright vpon her chillish hed.
Then pressed with the feare that she there liued in,

A sweate as colde as mountaine yse pearst through her tender

skin,

That with the moysture hath wet euery part of hers:

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

feares,

A thousand bodies dead haue compast her about,

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

By little and little, and in her hart her feare increased 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 heaued vp his seemely hed, And from the East in open skies his glistring rayes dispred, The nurce vnshut 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 vnto the deafe she calles,

She thinkes to speak 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 thunder's 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 vp, and senses thrald;
Wherwith 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 vntimely death.
Wherfore as one distraught she to her mother ranne,

With scratched face, and heare betorne, but no woord speake she can,

At last (with much adoe,) "dead (quoth she) is my childe;"
Now, "out, alas," (the mother cryde);—and as a Tyger wilde,
Whose whelpes, whilst she is gonne out of her denne to pray,
The hunter gredy of his game doth kill or cary away;
So rageing forth she ranne vnto her Juliets bed,
And there she found her derling and her onely comfort ded.
Then shriked she out as lowde as serue 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,
Euen in despite I crye to thee, thy vengeance let thou fall.
Whereto stay I, (alas!) since Juliet is gone?

Whereto liue I since she is dead, except to wayle and mone?
Alacke, dere chylde, my teares for thee shall neuer cease;
Euen as my dayes of life 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 crieth thus, behold, the father at the last,

The County Paris, and of gentilmen a route,

And ladies of Verona towne and country round about,
Both kindreds and alies thether apace haue preast,

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

So much they mournd, that who had seene theyr countnance and theyr cheere,

Might easely have iudgde by that that they had seene,

That day the day of wrath and eke of pity [to] haue beene. But more than all the rest the fathers hart was so

Smit with the heauy newes, and so shut vp with sodain 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, hearyng of her passed life, they iudge 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, vnfortunate and fatall, then I say,

The same was it in which through Veron towne was spred

The wofull newes how Juliet was sterued in her bed.

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

That it might seeme to him that would the commen plaint behold,

That all the commen welth did stand in ieopardy;

So vniversall was the plaint, so piteous was the crye.

For lo, beside her shape and natiue bewties hewe,

With which, like as she grew in age, her vertues prayses grewe,

She was also so wise, so lowly, and so mylde,

That euen from the hory head vnto the witles childe,
She wan the hartes of all, so that there was not one,

Ne great, ne small, but dyd 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 neuer was a better,

He trusted him euen as himselfe to whom he gaue a letter,
In which he written had of euery 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 fauour him,) disguisde in mans aray.
This letter closde he sendes to Romeus by his brother;
He chargeth him that in no case he geue it any other.

Apace our frier John to Mantua him hyes;

And, for because in Italy it is a wonted

gyse

That friers in the towne should seeldome walke alone,

But of theyr couent ay should be accompanide with one
Of his profession, straight a house he fyndeth out,

In mynd to take some frier 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 theyr couent gate,
Bard of theyr felowship 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;

Wherof, 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, differd vntill the morowe; And then he thought in tyme to send to Romeus.

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

About her obsequies, to see theyr darlyng buried.

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

And now the wedding weedes for mourning weedes they chaunge,

And Hymene into a Dyrge;-alas! it seemeth straunge:
Insteade of mariage gloues, now funerall gloues they haue,
And whom they should see maried, they follow to the grave.
The feast that should haue been of pleasure and of ioy,
Hath euery dish and cup fild full of sorow and annoye.
Now throughout Italy this common vse they haue,
That all the best of euery stocke are earthed in one graue;
For every houshold, if it be of any fame;

Doth bylde a tombe, or digge a vault, that beares the houshouldes name;

Wherein, (if any of that kindred hap to dye,)

They are bestowde; els in the same no other corps may lye. The Capilets her corps in such a one dyd lay,

Where Tybalt slayne of Romeus was layde the other day.

An other vse there is, that whosoever dyes,

Borne to their church with open face vpon the beere he lyes, In wonted weede attyrde, not wrapt in winding sheete.

So, as by chaunce he walked abrode, our Romeus man dyd

meete

His maisters wyfe; the sight with sorow straight dyd wounde
His honest hart; with teares he sawe her lodged vnder ground.
And, for he had been sent to Verone for a spye,

The doynges of the Capilets by wisdome to descrye,
And for he knew her death dyd tooch his maister most,
(Alas!) too soone, with heauy 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, vnto you of late is chaunced so great a harme,

That sure, except with constancy you seeke yourselfe to arme,
I feare that strayght you will brethe out your latter breath,
And I, most wretched wight, shalbe thoccasion of your death.
Know syr, that yesterday, my lady and your wyfe,

I wot not by what sodain greefe, hath made exchaunge of life;
And for because on earth she found nought but vnrest,
In heaven hath she sought to fynde a place of quiet rest;
And with these weping eyes my selfe haue seene her layde,
Within the tombe of Capilets :"—and herewithall he stayde.
This sodayne message sounde, sent forth with sighes and teares,
Our Romeus receaued too soone with open listening eares;
And therby hath sonke in 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 leaue the massy corce:
But earnest loue that will not fayle him till his ende,
This fond and sodain fantasy into his head dyd sende;
That if nere vnto her he offred vp his breath,

That then an hundred thousand parts more glorious were his death:

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

seene,

And so his sorow should of euery one be spyde,

Which he with all his care dyd seeke from every one to hyde,
Straight, wery of the house, he walketh forth abrode;
His seruant, at the maisters hest, in chamber styll abode :
And then fro streate to streate he wandreth vp and downe,
To see if he in any place may fynde, in all the towne,
A salue meet for his sore, an oyle fitte for his wounde;
And seeking long, (alac too soone!) the thing he sought, he
founde.

An apothecary sate vnbusied at his doore,

Who by his heauy countenance he gessed to be poore.