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Rom. Draw, Benvolio, - beat down their weapons
Aler. I am hurt
Ben. What, art thou hurt?
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'tis enough, Where is my page ? go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
Rom. Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much.
Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve : ak for me to-morrow, and you Tall find me a grave man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world: a plague of both your houses ! What? a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death? a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetick? why the devil came you between us. I was hurt under your arm.
Rom. I thought all for the best.
Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I fall faint; a plague o? both your houses ! They have made worms-meat of me, I have it, and foundly too. Plague o' your houses !
[Exeunt Mer. Ben. Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near allie, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's flander; Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my cousin: 0 sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, And in my temper softned valour's steel,
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead; That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth,
Rom. This day's black fate on more days does depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.
Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Rom. Alive ? in triumph ? and Mercutio llain ?
Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didit confort him here,
(They fight, Tybalt falls.
Rom. O! I am fortune's fool.
Ben. There lies that Tybalt,
Cit. Up, Sir, go with me:
Enter. Prince, Montague, Capulet, their Wives, &c.
Ben. O noble Prince, I can discover all
La. Cap. Tybalt, my coufin! O my brother's child! Unhappy fight! alas, the blood is spill'd Of my
dear kinsman -- Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, fhed blood of Montague.
Prin. Benvolio, who began this fray?
Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did say: Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal Your high difpleasare: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could
not take truce with the unruly spleen
La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague.
Prin. Romeo flew him, he slew Mercutio ;
La. Mont. Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend;
Prin. And for that offence,
you fhall all repent the loss of mine.
SCEN E changes to an Apartment in Capulet's
Enter Juliet alone.
Tow'rds Phæbus manfion ; such a waggoner,
(9) Eye, wher: he is found, that hour is bis last.] It is wonderful that Mr. Pope should retort the Want of Ear upon any body, and pass such an inharmonious, unscanning Verse in his own Ear: a Verse, that cannot run off from the Tongue with any Cadence of Musick, the short and long Syllables stand so perversely. We must read,
Elfe, when he's found, that Hour is bis laf. Every diligent and knowing Reader of our Poet must have observed, that Hour and Fire are almost perpetually Dilyllables in the Pronunciation and Scanfion of his Verses.
(10) Spread thy close Curtain, Isve-performing Night,
That runaways Eyes may wink;] What Runaways are these, whose Eyes Juliet is wishing to have stopt? Macbeth, we may remember, makes an Invocation to Night, much in the same Strain :
That th' run-away's eyes may wink; and Romeo
Enter Nurfe with cords.
And the brings news ; and ev'ry tongue, that speaks But Romeo's name, speaks heav'nly eloquence;
-Come, feeling Night, Scarf up the tender Eye of pitiful day, &c. So Juliet here would have Night's Darkness obfcure the great Eye of the Day, the Sun; whom considering in a poetical Light as Pbæbus, drawn in his Carr with fiery-footed Steeds, and posting through the Heav'ns, the very properly calls him, with regard to the Swiftness of his Course, the Runaway. In the like Manner our Poet speaks of the Night, in the Merchant of Venice. For tbe close Night detb play the Runaway. [Mr. Warburton.