There is thy gold: worse poison to men’s souls,ĭoing more murder in this loathsome worldĨ5Than those poor compounds that thou must not sell.
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEOĪPOTHECARY gives him the poison APOTHECARYĪnd drink it off, and if you had the strength Then be not poor, but break it and take this. The world affords no law to make thee rich.
Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,Ĭontempt and beggary hangs upon thy back!ħ5The world is not thy friend, nor the world’s law.
Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua’s lawħ0Is death to any he that utters them! ROMEOĪrt thou so bare and full of wretchednessĪnd fearest to die? Famine is in thy cheeks, And that the trunk° may be discharged of breathĭoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.
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