If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne.
And all this day an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt my lady came and found me dead -
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave
to think! -
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
That I revived, and was an emperor.
Ah me! How sweet is love itself possessed,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!
News from Verona! - How now, Balthasar!
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?
How doth my lady? Is my father well?
How fares my Juliet? that I ask< again
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capel's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you.
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
Is it e'en so? Then I defy you, stars!
Thou know'st my lodging. Get me ink and paper,
And hire posthorses; I will hence tonight.
I do beseech you, sir, have patience.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Tush, thou art deceived.
Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
No, my good lord.
No matter. Get thee gone,
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.Exit Apothecary
Come, cordial and not poison, go with me
To Juliet's grave, for there must I use thee.
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