Going from the monastery, she met the young Count Paris and, modestly dissembling, promised to become his bride. This was joyful news to the Lord Capulet and his wife. It seemed to put youth into the old man; and Juliet, who had displeased him by her refusal of the count, was his darling again. No cost was spared to prepare such festival rejoicings as Verona had never before witnessed.
On the Wednesday night Juliet drank the potion. She thought of the terror of the place, a vault full of
dead Capulets' bones, and of Tybalt, all bloody, recently deceased. Again, she thought of all the stories she had heard of spirits haunting the places where their bodies were resting. But then her love for Romeo and her aversion for Paris returned, and she desperately swallowed the liquid and fell asleep.
When young Paris came early in the morning with music to awaken his bride, he faced a horrible surprise. What death to his hopes! What confusion then reigned through the whole house! Poor Paris was lamenting his bride, whom had divorced from him even before their hands were joined. Now all things that were in place for the festival were turned around to prepare for a funeral. Now, instead of a priest to marry her, a priest was needed to bury her, and she was brought to church indeed, not to satisfy the cheerful hopes of the living, but to add one more to the numbers of the dead.
