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La. Cep. What's the matter?
moh heavy day!
Cap. Ha!, let me see her---Out, alas ! she's cold ;
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Cap. Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar Lawrence, and Paris with Musicians.
fon, the night before thy wedding-day
Par. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this !
La. Cap. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Nurfe. O woe! oh woful, wofu!, woful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spighted, flain,
Cap. Defpiss'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd,
(13) Peace, bo, for name, confusions: Care lives not in these Confufions,] This Speech, though it contains good Christian Doctrine, though it is perfectly in Character for the Friar, and not the moit despicable for its Poetry, Mr. Pope has curtailed to little or ncibing, because it has not the Sanction of the first old Cory. By ihe same Rule, had he pursued it throughout, we might have lost some of the finest additional Strokes in the two parts of K. Henry IV. But there was another Reason, I suspect for curtailing: Ceriain Corruptions started, which should have required the indulging his Erivate Sense to make them intelligible, and this was an unreasonable Labour. As I have reformed the Pafiage above quoted, I dare warrant, I have reitored our Poet's Text; and a finc fentible Reproof it contains against immoderate Grief: for the Friar begins with telling them, that the Cure of those Confufions, into which the melancholy Accident had thrown 'em, did not live in the confus'd and inordinate Exclamations which they exprefled on that Account,
Oh, in this love you love your child fo ill,
Cap. All things, that we ordained festival,
Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him ;
[Ełceunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar.
Manent Maficians, and Nurse. 17:1f. Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone.
Nurfe. Honeft good fellows: ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful cafe.
[Exit Nurse. Muf. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.
(14) For tho’some Nature bid 11s a!l lamert.] Some Nature ? Sure, it is the general Rule of Nature, or she could not bid us all lament. I have ventured io fubftitute an Epithet, which, I suspect, was loft in the idle, corrupted Word, 'Some; and which admirably quadrates with the Verfe fucceeding this; that though the fondness of nature lay fuch an injunction upon us, yet that Realon does but mock our , vuavailing lostow. .
Enter Peter. Pet. Musicians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's ease: Oh, an you will have me live, why, play heart's ease.
Muf. Why, beart's ease?
Pet. O musicians, because my heart itfelf plays, my heart itself is full of woe. O, play me fome merry dump, to comfort me !
Muf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.
Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.
Muf. Then will I give you the serving creature.
Pet. Then will I lay the ferving creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?
Muf. An you re us, and fa us, you note us. 2 Muf. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out
Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger : answer me like men : When griping grief the heart doth wound, Then mufic with her silver found Why, filver found? why, mufick with her flver found? What say you, Simon Catling?
1 Muf. Marry, Sir, because silver hath a sweet found. Pet. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebeck ?
2 Muf. I say, silver sound, because musicians found for silver.
Pet. Pretty too! what say you, Samuel Sound-Board? 3 Muf. 'Faith, I know not what to fay.
Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I wilt say for you. It is mufick with her silver sound, because fuch fellows, as you, have no gold for sounding.
The musick with her filver found
Muf. What a peftilent knave is this same?
2 Muf. Hang him, Jack; come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.
Enter ROM E O.
father well! How doth my Juliet ? That I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
Baltha. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ; Her body sleeps in Capulets' monument, And her immortal part with angels lives :I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you : O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, Sir.
Rom. Is it even for thin I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging,-- get me ink and paper, And hire. poft-horses. I will hence to-night.