FRIAR LAWRENCE: Peace, then. Go home. Be merry. Tell them you agree to marry Paris.
Tomorrow night is Wednesday. Be sure to sleep alone—don't let the nurse stay with you in your chamber.
When you are in bed, take this vial and drink down the distilled liquid inside.
Then a cold, drowsy fluid will run through your veins, and your pulse will stop.
There will be no warmth, no breath to show you that you are alive. The roses in your lips and cheeks will fade to pale ash, and your eyes will shut like a corpse's.
Every part of you will turn stiff and stark and cold, and you'll continue in this death's disguise for two and forty hours, then wake as if from a pleasant sleep.
When the bridegroom comes to fetch you Thursday morning, he'll find you dead.
Then, as tradition demands, you'll be dressed in your best clothes, laid on a funeral bier, and carried to the tomb where your kinsmen lie.