O my love! my wife!
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there....
Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe
That unsubstantial death is amorous,
Thee here in dark to be his paramour? [kisses her, gives her the ring]
Will I set up my everlasting rest,
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars
From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.
Arms, take your last embrace. and, lips, O you
The doors to breath, seal with a righteous kiss [cries, drinks poison]
dateless bargain to engrossing death.
Romeo. O, what's here?...
Drunk all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them.
lips are warm.
a whisper] Thus with a kiss I die. [dies]
[cries, takes gun, shoots herself]