Imatges de pÓgina

Sam. Let us take the law of our fides, let them


Greg. I will frown as I pafs by, and let them take it as they lift.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is a difgrace to them if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Šir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. Is the law on our fide, if I fay, ay?
Greg. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite
but I bite my thumb, Sir.
Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?
Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I ferve as good

a man, as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir.

Greg. Say, better. kinfmen.


Sam. Yes, better, Sir.

Abr. Youlye.

thumb at you,


Enter Benvolio.

Here comes one of my master's

Sam, Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy fwashing blow.

[They fight. Ben. Part, fools, put up your fwords, you know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless


Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

3 Enter Benvolio.] Much of Spear, fince we find it in that of this fcene is added fince the first the year 1599. edition; but probably by Shake


B 4


Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tyb. What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word




dude wedd



As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee..
Have at thee, coward.

10 195 982


Enter three or four citizens with clubs, 4:3 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!


Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this? give me my long fword, ho!

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La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch. Why call you for a fword?

Cap. My fword, I fay: old Montague is come. And flourishes his blade in spight of me.

Enter old Montague, and Lady Montague.

Mon. Thou villain, Capulet

let me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir a foot to feek a foe.

Hold me not,

Enter Prince with attendants.

Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-ftained steelWill they not hear? what ho! you men, you beafts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

4 give me my long fword.] The in war, which was fometimes long ford was the fword ufed wielded with both hands.

With purple fountains iffuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,

Have thrice disturb'd the Quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient Citizens.
Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the reft depart away,
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.

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La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

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Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary, And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach; I drew to part them. In the inftant came The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He fwung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn, While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 'Till the Prince came, who parted either Part., La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.


Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp❜d Sun
Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
"That weftward rooteth from the City fide,
So early walking did I fee your fon.
Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.
I, measuring his affections by my own,
5 That most are bufied when they're moft alone,
Purfued my humour, not purfuing him;

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs;
But all fo foon as the all-chearing Sun
Should, in the furtheft Eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light steals home my heavy fon,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous muft this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
7 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,

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5 That most are bufted, &c.] E-6 And gladly hunn'd, &c.] The dition 1597 Inftead of which ten lines following, not in ediit is in the other editions thus. tion 1597, but in the next of 1599. POPE.

-by my own.
Which then most fought, where
maft might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary
Purfued my bumour, &c. Fore."

7 Ben. Have you importun'd,
&c.] Thefe two fpeeches alfo
omitted in edition 1597, but in-
ferted in 1


Is to himself, I will not fay, how true,
But to himself fo fecret and fo clofe, i
So far from founding and difcovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his fweet leaves to the Air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow, We would as willingly give Cure, as know.


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Ben. See, where he comes. So please you, step afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy stay To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away.


Ben. Good-morrow, coufin.

Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

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Or dedicate his beauty to the Same.] When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that brings forth, and makes the tender buds fpread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote; Cilk d

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long! -Was that my father that went hence fo faft? Ben. It was... What fadnefs lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes then fhort. Ben. In love? Rom. Out


Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.


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Or, according to the more ob

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folete fpelling, Sunne; which
brings it nearer to the traces of
the corrupted text. THEOB
I cannot but fufpect that fome
lines are loft, which connected
this fimile more closely with the
foregoing fpeech; thefe lines, if
fuch there were, lamented the
danger that Romeo will die of
his melancholy, before his virtues
or abilities are known to the


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