ROMEO: Come here, man, I see that you are poor. Here is forty ducats. Let me have a shot of poison.
...Something that speeds so quickly through the veins that the drinker falls dead immediately.
APOTHECARY: I have such poisons, but Mantua law promises death to the man who sells them.
ROMEO: So poor and so wretched, yet you're still afraid to die? Your cheeks are gaunt.
Oppression stares at me from your eyes. You wear your debasement on your back for all to see.
The world is not your friend, and neither is the law. The world provides no law to make you rich.
So don't be poor. Break the law and take this money.
APOTHECARY: ...My poverty makes me do this against my will.
ROMEO: I pay your poverty and not your will.