Imatges de pàgina
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Cap. Ready to go, but never to return.
O fon, the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife : see, there she lies,
Flow'r as she was, deflowered now by him :
Death is my fon-in-law.

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

La. Cap. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour, that Time e'er saw
In lasting 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 sight:

Nurse. O woe! oh woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day! most woful day!
That ever, ever, I did yet behold.
Oh day! oh day! oh day! oh hateful day!!
Never was seen so black a day as this :
Oh woful day, oh woful day!

Par. Beguild, divorced, wronged, spighted, flain,
Moft detettable Death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel, cruel thee quite over-thrown:
O love, O life, not life, but love in death!-

Cap. Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd, -
Uncomfortable Time! why cam'ft thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child ! my soul, 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 mame! Confusion's cure lives

not (26) In these confusions : Heaven and yourself:

Had (26) Peace bo for mame, confufions: Care lives not in these confufions.] This speech, tho' it contains good christian doctrine, tho' it is perfectly in character for the friar, and not the most despicable for its poetry, Mr. Pope has curtail'd io little or nothing, because it has not the sanction of the firft old copy. By the 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 ano.' ther reason, I suspect, for curtailing : certain corruptions ftarled,

D6:

which

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 moft, you sought, was her promotion ;
For 'twas your heaven,, the should be advanc'd ::
And weep you now, seeing the is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as Heav'n himself?
Oh, in this love you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing, that she is well..
She's not well married, that lives married long ; -,
But she's best married, that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair coarse ; and, as the custom is,
And in her best array, bear her to church.
For tho' fond. Nature bids us all lament, (27)
Yet Nature's tears are. Reason's merriment.

Cap. All things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral;
Our instruments to melancholy bells,
Our wedding chear to a fad funeral feast;:
Our folemn hymns to sullen dirges change,
Our bridal flow'rs serve for a buried coarse ;
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 coarse. unto her grave. which requir’d the indulging his private sense to make them intelligibie, and this was an unreasonable labourú As I have reform'd the pailage above quoted, I dare warrant, I have restor’d our Poet's text; and a fine sensible reproof it contains, against immoderate grief: for the friar begins with telling them, that the cure of those confutions, into which the melancholy accident had thrown them, did not live in the confus'd and inordinate exclamations which they express’d on

(27) For ibo' some Nature bids us all lament.] Some Nature? Sure, it is the general rule of Nature, or she could not bid us all lament.. Í have ventur’d to substituie an epithet, which, I suspect, was lost in the idle, corrupted word, Some; and which admirably quadrates with the verfe fucceeding this ; that tho' the fondness of Nature lay such an injunction upon us, yet that Reason does but mock our unavailing forrow,

The

that account.

The Heav'ns do low'r upon you, for some ill ;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.

Manent Musiciansy and Nurse..
Muf. Faith, we may put up, our pipes and be gone..

Nurse. Honest good fellows: ah, put up, put up;. For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. [Exit Nurfea Muf. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Enter Peter: Per. Musicians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's ease; Oh, an you will have me live, why, play heari's ease.

Muf: Why heart's ease?:

Pet. O musicians, because my heart itself plays, my heart itself is full of woe. O, play me some merry dumpen to comfort me!

Muf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now.
Pet. You will not then?"
M.S. No.
Pit. I will then give it you foundly.
Muk What will you give us ?

Peti No money, on my faith, but the gleek : I will give you the minftrel.

Muf. Then will I give you the serving creature.

Pet. Then will I lay the serving creature's dagger on your pate.. I will carry no crotchets. I'll re you, l'll fa you, do you note me?

Muf. An you ve 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-be auf 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 filver found Why, filver found? why, mufick with her filver found? What say you, Simon ( atling?

1. Muf. Marry, Sir, because filver hath a sweet sound. Pet. Pretty! what say you, Hugh Rebecs?

z Muf,

your wit.

2 Mus, I say, silver sound, because musicians found for filver.

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

Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will Jay for you. It is musick with her silver sound, because fúch fellows, as you, have no gold for sounding.

The musick with her silver found
Doth lend redress.

[Exit, finging Mys. 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.

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Enter ROMEO.-
KI may trust the flattering truth of sleep, (28)

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My boom's lord fits lightly on his throne,
And, all this day, an unaccuítom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with chearful thoughts.'-
I dreamtmy lady came and found me dead,
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think)
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an Emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself

poffeft, When but love's fhadows are so rich in joy?

Enter Balthasar,
News from Verona-How now, Balthafar? ":
Dost thou not bring me letters from the Friar?

(28) If I may trust the flatt’ring truth of Deep.] i.e. If I may believe those dreams; if I may confide in their flattering tenour, as in a promise of truth.

How

How doth my lady ? is my father well ?
How doth my Juliet? That I aik again;
For nothing can be ill if she be well.

Balth. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;n
Her body fleeps in Capitleli' 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 ucie ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, Sir.

Rom. Is it even so ? then i dety you, stars !
Thou know'it my lodging, ----get me ink and paper,
And hire polt-horses. I will hence to-night.

Balth. Pardon ine, Sir, I dare not leave you thus.
Your looks are pale and wiid, and do import.
Some misadventure.

Rom. Tush, thou art deceiv'd ;
Leave me, and do the thing i bid thee do ::
Halt thou no letters to me from the Friar?

Balth. No, my good Lord.
Rom. No matter : get

thee

gone, And hire those horses ; I'll be with thee straight.

[Exit Balthafar. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night; Let's see for means-O mischief! thou art swift To enter in the thought of desperate men ! I do remember an Apothecary, And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples ; meager were his looks ; Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator ftuft, and other skins Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes; Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty feeds, Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself, I said, An if a man did need a poison now,

W'hose

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