will. Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour; for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest, The roses in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, peace in thy mood as any in Italy; and as thou loves me, let the nurse this night a torchbearer And light thee