A dateless bargain to engrossing death. Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark. Here’s to my love! [ Drinks. ] O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.
[Dies.]
Enter, at the other end of the Churchyard, Friar Lawrence, with a lantern, crow, and spade.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Saint Francis be my speed. How oft tonight
Have my old feet stumbled at graves? Who’s there?
Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead?
BALTHASAR.
Here’s one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
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.