Come, phial--
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I of force be married to the Count?
No, no;--this shall forbid it!--[_Draws a dagger_.]--Lie thou there.--
What, if it be a poison which the friar
Subtly hath ministered to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonoured,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is; and yet, methinks it should not;
For he hath still been tried a holy man.
I will not entertain so bad a thought.--
How, if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be stifled in the vault,
To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in,
And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like,
The horrible conceit of death and night
Together with the terror of the place,--
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for these many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are packed,
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies fest'ring in his shroud; where, as they say,
At some hours in the night spirits resort;--
Oh, if I wake, shall I not be distraught,
Environed with all these hideous fears,
And madly play with my forefathers' joints,--
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud?
And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone,
As with a club, dash out my desperate brains?--
Oh, look! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost
Seeking out Romeo:--Stay, Tybalt, stay!--
Romeo, I come; this do I drink to thee.
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