RALPH: So, Romeo. 

ROMEO: Hello, Ralph. It's good to see you. 

RALPH: It's been a little while since we talked. You're in Mantua now. After the prince banished you from Verona. 

ROMEO: Mm-hmm. 

RALPH: You were forced to leave your family, your friends, and, of course, your new wife, Juliet. Now, the last time we talked, you thought that banishment was worse than death. But you don't seem that distraught. How have you been doing? 

ROMEO: It sucks, Ralph. Believe me. But, I don't know, I had a pretty good dream last night. So I'm doing okay at the moment. 

RALPH: That's right. You say, "If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, my dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosoms lord sits lightly in his throne. And all this day an unaccustomed spirit lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts." Sounds like you think that things might be taking a turn for the better. 

ROMEO: Sure feels that way. I dreamed that Juliet came and found me dead. But then breathed life into me with kisses on my lips. 

RALPH: It's amazing the power a dream has to change your mood. 

ROMEO: Yeah. And that dream was just a shadow of the love it represents. Imagine if Juliet and I were really back together. 

RALPH: Now, didn't Mercutio say that dreams often lie to us? That they just give us what we wish for, instead of what's really going to happen? 

ROMEO: Rather trust my dreams till proven otherwise. Pretty awesome dream. 

RALPH: Yes. Well, I guess we better get this over with. 

ROMEO: Get this over with? 

RALPH: Well, your man Balthasar arrives. 

ROMEO: Yeah? 

RALPH: Apparently he's wearing boots. Is that supposed to mean something? 

ROMEO: Wearing boots? Probably means he's been riding all night. He must be in a hurry. What does he say? Is there a letter from the Friar? There's supposed to be a letter from the Friar. How's my wife? Is my father doing OK? How's Juliet? Tell me about her, first. For nothing can be ill if she be well. 

RALPH: I'm afraid it's bad news, Romeo. Very bad news. According to Balthasar, Juliet is dead and already laid out in the Capulet tomb. He says he saw her there with his very own eyes and then came straight to tell you. 

ROMEO: What? Juliet? Is it true? 

RALPH: Well—

ROMEO: Then I defy you, stars. I need a horse. 

RALPH: What for? 

ROMEO: I'm leaving for Verona this very night. Like, now. 

RALPH: Are you sure you want to leave right away? You know, since this all started, Sarah and I have been noticing a lot of very hasty decisions. 

ROMEO: Ralph, shut it. I've heard all I need to hear from you. And nothing from the Friar? Balthasar doesn't have a letter from the Friar? Where is the letter? 

RALPH: He doesn't have it. Believe me, I wish he did. 

ROMEO: Anyway, it doesn't matter now. 

RALPH: Well, actually—

ROMEO: I've got to go. 

RALPH: And where are you going, exactly? What's your plan? 

ROMEO: To lie with Juliet. 

RALPH: To lie with Juliet. To join her in death? Are you talking about killing yourself? 

ROMEO: Oh, mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men. Is there an apothecary around here? 

RALPH: Apothecary? Like a pharmacist, or something? 

ROMEO: I seem to remember a guy near here. Creepy looking dude. Owns this crummy little store with tortoise shells, and stuffed alligators, and dried herbs, and all that stuff. I bet he sells a deadly poison. 

RALPH: Well, yes. Apparently your memory serves you well. You quickly find the store and you wake the owner up. 

ROMEO: Good. I need some poison. Something that will kill quick. As violently as hastey powdered fire. Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 

RALPH: Yeah. You see, that word right there. "Hasty." Didn't the Friar say—that violent love burns like gunpowder and is gone in a flash? Let's just think this over a little bit, Romeo. I don't know, maybe Balthasar—I don't know. 

ROMEO: Does he have the poison, or not? 

RALPH: Who? The apothecary? Yes he does. But it's illegal to sell it. He could get the death penalty if he's caught. 

ROMEO: I'll pay him well. I must have at least 40 ducats on me. 

RALPH: 40 ducats? Wow, that's a lot of money. 

ROMEO: That's the point. Will he take it? 

RALPH: He will. But he doesn't want to. Because it would be wrong. Really wrong. Because you've made it clear that you're going to kill yourself, which is probably illegal and is a terrible idea. But he's really poor and he really needs the money. 

ROMEO: Fine. He should think of it as helping him with his poverty instead of payment for the poison. 

RALPH: Well, he's convinced by that logic and he sells it to you. And it's pretty strong stuff. He says the amount that he gives you could kill 20 men. 

ROMEO: Gold is the real poison, Ralph. It poisons men's souls. 

RALPH: Now, why would you say that? What's so bad about money? Do you think that the wealth of your two families has somehow played a role in all of this? 

ROMEO: Money has murdered more people in this hateful world than poison ever could. He is the one getting the poisonous as exchange, Ralph. Not me. 

RALPH: Yes. You say, I sell the poison. Thou hast sold me none. 

ROMEO: OK, Ralph. I'm out of here. 

RALPH: Back to Verona. 

ROMEO: To Juliet's grave. Where I will drink my sweet medicine. Not poison, Ralph. Sweet medicine.