Imatges de pàgina
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La. Cap. Oh me, oh me, my child, my only life! Revive, look up, or I will die with thee; Help, help! call help.· ́

Enter Capulet.

Cap. For fhame, bring Juliet forth; her Lord is come. Nurfe. She's dead, deceas'd, fhe's dead: alack the day! Cap. Ha! let me fee her-Out, alas! fhe's cold; Her blood is fettled, and her joints are ftiff; Life and thefe lips have long been feparated: Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the fweeteft flow'r of all the field. Accurfed time! unfortunate old man! Nurfe. O lamentable day!

La. Cap. O woeful time!

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 Muficians.

Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.

O fon, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath death lain with thy wife: fee, there fhe lies,
Flow'r as he was, deflowred now by him:
Death is my fon-in-law.-

Par. Have I thought long to fee this morning's face, And doth it give me fuch a fight as this!

La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Moft miferable hour, that time e'er faw

In lafting labour of his pilgrimage!

But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and folace in,

And cruel death hath catch'd it from my fight.
Nurfe. O woe! oh woful, wofu!, woful day!
Most lamentable day! moft woful day!
That ever, ever, I did yet behold.

Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!

Never was feen fo black a day as this:
Oh woful day, oh woful day!

Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, fpighted, flain, Moft deteftable death, by thee beguil'd,

By cruel, cruel thee quite over-thrown :
O love, O life,--not life, but love in death!
Cap. Defpifs'd, diftreffed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd,
Uncomfortable time! why cam'ft thou now
To murder, murder our folemnity!

O child! O child! my foul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! dead; alack! my child is dead;
And, with my child, my joys are buried.

Fri. Peace, ho, for fhame! Confufion's cure lives not (13)

In thefe confufions: Heaven and yourself

Had part in this fair maid; now heav'n hath all;
And all the better is it for the maid.

Your part in her you could not keep from death;
But heav'n keeps his part in eternal life.
The most, you fought, was her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven, the fhould be advanc'd:
And weep you now, feeing fhe is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heav'n himself?-

(13) Peace, bo, for shame, confufions: Care lives not in theft Confufions,] This Speech, though it contains good Christian Doctrine, though it is perfectly in Character for the Friar, and not the most defpicable for its Poetry, Mr. Pope has curtailed to little or nothing, because it has not the Sanction of the firft old Copy. By the fame Rule, had he purfued it throughout, we might have loft fome of the fineft additional Strokes in the two Parts of K. Henry IV. But there was another Reafon, fufpect for curtailing: Certain Corruptions started, which fhould have required the indulging his private Senfe to make them intelligible, and this was an unreafonable Labour. As I have reformed the Paffage above quoted, I dare warrant, I have restored our Poet's Text; and a 'finc fenfible Reproof it contains against immoderate Grief: for the Friar begins with telling them, that the Cure of thofe Confufions, into which the melancholy Accident had thrown 'em, did not live in the confus'd and inordinate Exclamations which they expreffed on that Account,

Oh,

Oh, in this love you love your child fo ill,
That you run mad, feeing, that fhe is well.
She's not well married, that lives married long;
But fhe's best married, that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and ftick your rosemary
On this fair coarse; and, as the custom is,
And in her beft array, bear her to church.
For tho' fond nature bids us all lament, (14)
Yet nature's tears are reafon's merriment.

Cap. All things, that we ordained feftival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our inftruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding chear to a fad funeral feaft;
Our folemn hymns to fullen dirges change,
Our bridal flow'rs ferve for a buried coarfe;
And all things change them to the contrary.

Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him;
And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare
To follow this fair coarfe unto her grave.
The heav'ns do low'r upon you, for fome ill;
Move them no more, by croffing their high will.

[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris and Friar.

Manent Muficians, and Nurfe.

Muf. 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 Nurfe. Muf. Ay, by my troth, the cafe may be amended.

(14) For tho' fome Nature bid us all lament.] Some Nature? Sure, it is the general Rule of Nature, or the could not bid us all lament. I have ventured to fubftitute an Epithet, which, I fufpect, was loft in the idle, corrupted Word, Some; and which admirably quadrates with the Verfe fucceeding this; that though the fondnels of nature lay fuch an injunction upon us, yet that Reafon does but mock our Lavelling forrow.

Enter

Enter Peter.

Pet. Muficians, oh muficians, heart's eafe, heart's safe: Oh, an you will have me live, why, play heart's safe. Muf. Why, beart's ease?

Pet. O muficians, becaufe my heart itfelf plays, my beart itself is full of voe. O, play me fome merry dump, to comfort me!

Muf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.
Pet. You will not then?

Muf. No.

Pet. I will then give it you foundly.

Muf. What will you give us?

Pet. No money, on my faith, but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

Muf. Then will I give you the ferving 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 your wit.

Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger: anfwer me like men:

When griping grief the heart doth wound,

Then mufic with her filver found.

:

Why, filver found? why, mufick with her filver found?
What fay you, Simon Catling?

1 Muf. Marry, Sir, becaufe filver hath a fweet found. Pet. Pretty! what fay you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Muf. I fay, filver found, because musicians found for filver.

Pet. Pretty too! what fay you, Samuel Sound-Board? 3 Muf. 'Faith, I know not what to fay.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will Say for you. It is mufick with her filver found, because fuch fellows, as you, have no gold for founding.

The mufick with her filver found
Dotb lend redrefs.

[Exit finging.

Muf.

Muf. What a peftilent knave is this fame?

2 Muf. Hang him, Jack; come, we'll in here, tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

[Exeunt.

A CT V.

SCENE, in MANTUA.

Enter ROM E O.

F I may truft the flattering truth of fleep,

I'My dreams prefage fome joyful news at hand:

My bofom's Lord fits lightly on his throne,
And, all this day, an unaccuftom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think).
And breath'd fuch life with kiffes in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.

Ah me! how sweet is love itfelf poffeft,
When but love's fhadows are fo rich in joy?

Enter Balthafar.

News from Verona- -How now, Balthafar?
Doft thou not bring me letters from the Friar?
How doth my Lady is my father well?
How doth my Juliet? That I afk again;
For nothing can be ill, if the be well.

Baltha. Then fhe is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body fleeps in Capulets' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives:
I faw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And prefently took poft to tell it you:
O, pardon me for bringing thefe ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, Sir.

Rom. Is it even fo? then I defy you, ftars! Thou know'ft my lodging,get me ink and paper, And hire poft-horfes. I will hence to-night.

Baltha

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