Cap. Oh brother Montague, give me thy hand,
This is my daughter's jointure: for no more,
Can I demand.

Mount. But I can give thee more,

For I will raise her ftatute in pure gold.
That while Verona by that name is known.
There shall no figure at that rate be priz'd,
As that of true and faithful Juliet.

Cap. As rich fhall Romeo by his lady lie.
Poor facrifices of our enmity!

Prin. A gloomy peace this morning with it brings,
Let Romeo's man and let the boy attend us:

We'll hence and farther scan these fad difafters:
Well may you mourn, my Lords, (now wife too late)
These tragic iffues of your mutual hate :
From private feuds, what dire misfortunes flow
Whate'er the cause, the sure effect is WOE.

Printed for ANN and CHARLES CORBETT, Bookfellers and Publishers, directly oppofite St. Dunstan's Church, Fleet-street; and the rest of the Proprietors. M.DCC.LXI.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. BETTERTON.

F dying Lovers yet deferve a Tear,
If a fad Story of a Maid's Defpair
Yet move Compaffion in the pitying Fair;
This Day the Poet does his Arts employ,
The foft Acceffes of your Souls to try.
Nor let the Stoic boaft his Mind unmov'd;
The Brute Philofopher, who ne'er has prov'd
The Joy of Loving and of being Lov'd;
Who fcorns his Human Nature to confefs,
And friving to be more than Man, is tefs.
Nor let the Men the weeping Fair accuse,
Thofe kind Protectors of the Tragic Muse,
Whofe Tears did moving Otway's Labors crown,
And made the poor Monimia's Grief their own:
Thofe Tears their Art, not Weakness, has confeft,
Their Grief approv'd the Niceness of their Tafe,
And they wept most, because they judg’d the best.
O could this Age's Writers hope to find
An Audience to Compaffion thus inclin'd,
The Stage would need no Farce, nor Song, nor Dance.
Nor Capering Monfieur brought from active France;
Clinch, and his Organ-Pipe, his Dogs and Bear,
To native Barnet might again repair,

Or breathe with Captain Otter Bankside Air:

A 2

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Majestic

Majeftic Tragedy fhould once again
In purple Pomp adorn the fwelling Scene.
Her Search fhould ranfack all the Ancients Store,
The Fortunes of their Loves and Arms explore,
Such as might grieve you, but fhou'd pleafe you more.
What Shakespear durft not, this bold Age fhou'd do,
And famous Greek and Latin Beauties fhew:
Shakespear, whofe Genius to itself a Law,
Could Men in every Height of Nature draw,
And copy'd all but Women that he faw.

Thofe ancient Heroines your Concern fhou'd move,
Their Grief and Anger much, but most their Love;
For in the Account of every Age we find
The best and faireft of that Sex were kind,
To Pity always and to Love inclin'd.
Affert, ye Fair Ones, who in Judgment fit,
Your ancient Empire over Love and Wit;
Reform your Senfe, and teach the Men t'obey:
They'll leave their Tumbling, if you lead the Way.
Be but what thofe before to Otway were:

O were you but as kind! we know you are as fair.

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Dramatis

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