SCENE changes to a Church-yard: In it, a
Monument belonging to the Capulets.

Enter Paris, and his Page, with a light.

Par. GIVE me thy torch, boy; hence, and stand

aloof.

Yet put it out, for I would not be feen:
Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along,
Laying thy ear close to the hollow ground;
So fhall no foot upon the church-yard tread,
(Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
But thou shalt hear it: whiftle then to me,
As fignal that thou hear'ft fomething approach.
Give me those flow'rs. Do as I bid thee; go.
Page. I am almoft afraid to stand alone

Here in the church-yard, yet I will adventure. [Exit.
Par, Sweet flow'r! with flow'rs thy bridal bed Istrew:

[Strewing flowers. Fair Juliet, that with angels doft remain,

Accept this lateft favour at my hand;

That living honour'd thee, and, being dead,

With fun'ral obfequies adorn thy tomb.[The boy whistles.
-The boy gives warning, fomething doth approach;-
What curfed foot wanders this way to night,
To cross my obfequies, and true love's rite?
What! with a torch? muffle me, night, a while.

Enter Romeo and Balthafar with a light (29). Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. Hold,

(29) Enter Romeo and Peter with a light.] But Peter was a fer. want of the Capulets: befides, he brings the mattock and crow to wrench open Juliet's grave, an office hardly to be intrusted with a fervant of that family. We find a little above, at the very beginning of this at, Balthafar is the perfon who brings Romeo the news of his bride's death: and yet, at the close of the play, Peter takes upon him to depofe that he brought thofe tidings. Utri creditis, quirites? In fhort, we hear Balthafar deliver the meffage; and therefore Peter is a lying evidence, fuborn'd by the blundering editors. We must

therefore

Hold, take this letter, early in the morning
See thou deliver it to my lord and father.
Give me the light; upon thy life, I charge thee,
Whate'er thou hear'ft or fee'st, stand all aloof,
And do not interrupt me in my course.
Why I defcend into this bed of death,
Is partly to behold my lady's face :

But cheifly to take thence from her dead finger
A precious ring, a ring that I must use

In dear employment; therefore, hence, be gone:
But if thou, jealous, doft return to pry

In what I further shall intend to do,

By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint,
And ftrew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs ;
The time and my intents are favage, wild,
More fierce and more inexorable far
Than empty tygers, or the roaring fea.

Balth. I will be gone, Sir, and not trouble you. Rom. So fhalt thou fhew me friendship.-Take thou that;

Live and be profp'rous, and farewel, good fellow.

Balth. For all this fame, I'll hide me hereabout; His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt. [Exit Balth. Rom. Thou deteftable maw, thou womb of death, Gorg'd with the dearest morfel of the earth,

Thus I inforce thy rotten jaws to open,

[Breaking open the Monument.

And in defpight I'll cram thee with more food.
Par. This is that banisht haughty Montague,
That murder'd my love's coufin; (with which grief,

It is fuppofed, the fair creature dy'd)

And here is come to do some villainous fhame

To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.

Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague:

Can vengeance be purfu'd further than death?

therefore caskier him, and put Bakthasar on his proper duty. The fource of this error feems eafy to be accounted for; Peter's character ending in the 4th act, 'tis very probable the fame perfon might play Balthafar, and fo be quoted on in the prompter's book as Peter.

Con

Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee;
Obey, and go with me, for thou mult die.

Rom. I must, indeed, and therefore came I hither-
Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man;
Fly hence and leave me: think upon thefe gone,
Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth,
Pull not another fin upon my head,

By urging me to fury. Oh be

gone!
By heav'n, i love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself.
Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say,
A madman's mercy bade thee run away.
Par. I do defy thy commiferation,

And apprehend thee for a felon here.

Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy. [They fight, Paris falls. Page. Oh Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch Par. Oh, I am flain; if thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

[Diese
Rom. In faith, I will? let me perufe this face
Mercutio's kinfman! Noble County Paris!
What faid my man, when my betoffed foul
Did not attend him as we rode? I think,
He told me, Paris should have married Juliet
Said he not fo? or did I dream it fo?
Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,
To think it was fo? Oh give me thy hand,
One writ with me in four Misfortune's book,
I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave.

A grave? O, no; a lanthorn-flaughter'd youth;
For here lies Juliet; and her beauty makes
This vault a feafting prefence full of light.
Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd':

[Laying Paris in the Monument,
How oft, when men are at the point of death,
Have they been merry? which their keepers call
A lightning before death. O, how may I
Call this a lightning-Oh, my love, my wife!
Death, that hath fuckt the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:

Thou

Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's enfign yet
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Tybalt, ly'st thou there in thy bloody fheet?
Oh, what more favour can I do to thee,
Than with that hand, that cut thy youth in twain,
To funder his, that was thy enemy?
Forgive me, coufin.Ah, dear Juliet,
Why art thou yet fo fair? fhall I believe
That unfubftantial Death is amorous,
And that the lean abhorred monster keeps
Thee here in dark, to be his paramour?
For fear of that, will stay with thee;
And never from this palace of dim Night (30)
Depart again: Here, here will I remain,

With worms that are thy chambermaids; oh here
Will I fet up my everlasting reft;

And fhake the yoke of inaufpicious stars

From this world-weary'd flesh. Eyes look your last!
Arms, take your laft embrace! and lips, oh you
The doors of breath, feal with a righteous kifs
A datelefs bargain to engroffing death!
Come, bitter conduct! come, unfav'ry guide!
Thou defp'rate pilot, now at once run on
The dashing rocks my fea-fick, weary bark:
Here's to my love! oh, true apothecary!

[Drinks the poison. Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kifs I die. [Dies.

(30) And never from this palace of dim Night Depart again. (Come, lie thou in my arms; Here's to thy health. O true apothecary!

Thy drugs are quick.)] Mr. Pope's and fome other of the worfer, editions acknowledge abfurdly the lines which I have put into paren thefis here; and which I have expung'd from the text, for this reafon: Romeo is made to confefs the effect of the poifon, before ever he has tafted it. I fuppofe, it hardly was fo favoury that the patient fhould chufe to make two draughts of it. And eight lines after these, we find him taking the poifon in his hand, and making an apoftrophe to it; inviting it to perform its office at once; and then, and not till then, does he clap it to his lips, or can with any probability speak of its inftant force and effects. Befides, Shakespeare would hardly have made Romeo drink to the health of his dead miftrefs.

Enter

Enter Friar Lawrence with lanthorn, crow, and Spade.

Fri. St. Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet ftumbled at graves ? who's there? Enter Balthafar.

Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
Fri. Blifs be upon you! Tell me, good my friend,
What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light
To grubs and eyelefs fculls? as I difcern,
It burneth in the Capulets' monument.
Balth. It doth fo, holy Sir,

And there's my mafter, one you dearly love.
Fri. Who is it?

Balth. Romeo.

Fri. How long hath he been there?

Balth. Full half an hour.

Fri. Go with me to the vault.

Balth. I dare not, Sir..

My mafter knows not, but I am gone hence;
And fearfully did menace me with death,

If I did ftay to look on his intents.

Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone; fear comes upon me; O, much I fear fome ill unlucky thing.

Balth. As I did fleep under this yew-tree here, 1 dreamt my master and another fought,

And that my master flew him.

Fri. Romeo!

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains
The ftony entrance of this fepulchre ?

What means these masterlefs and goary fwords.
To lie difcolour'd by this place of peace?
Romeo! oh pale! who else? what, Paris too?
And steep'd in blood? ah, what an unkind hour
Is guilty of this lamentable chance?

The lady ftirs.

[lord?

Jul. [awaking.] Oh comfortable Friar, where is my

I do remember well where I fhould be;

And there I am; but where is Romeo?

Fri. I hear some noife! Lady, come from that neft

Of