Juliet: Good night! I’ll tuck myself; again good night!
I have an icy portent in my veins;
What if this unguent doesn’t work at all?
Shall Gloucester wed me then. Forbid it, no!
This dagger shall prevent it.
(She shows a blade in her thigh garter.)
Sit thee there.
What if this be a poison! Ponder that.
Belike the Friar turneth murderous
For what he thinks I know of legal suits
Allegéd by those former alter boys.
I think it not; he is a holy man.
But how if — here’s a fearful point — how if
I waken in the crypt before the hour
That Romeo come to claim me. Holy shrift!
To slowly perish bolted in a tomb,
Where frisky risen ghouls seal thy doom,
As dancing deadmen romp in search of blood
To terrorize y’awl’s neighborhood!
Holy Saint Michael, no! Romeo I come!
My husband and my lord, I drink to thee.

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