Give me thy torch, boy. Hence, and stand aloof. Yet put it out for I would not be seen. Under yon yew trees lay thee all along, holding thine ear close to the hollow ground-so shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, but thou shalt hear it. Whistle then to me, as signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee. Go.
Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, and in despite I'll cram thee with more food!
Oh, I am slain! If thou be merciful, open the tomb. Lay me with Juliet.
O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.
Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger, This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.