Now, nurfe, what news? what haft thou there? Nurfe. Ay, ay, the cords. ful. Ah me, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurfe. Ah welladay, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead. Nurfe. Romeo can, Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo! Who ever would have thought it, Romeo? Jul. What devil art thou, that doft torment me thus ? This torture fhould be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo flain himself? fay thou but, I; And that bare vowel, I, fhall poifon more (11) Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice. Nurfe. I faw the wound, I faw it with mine eyes, (God fave the mark,) here on his manly breast. A piteous coarse, a bloody piteous coarse; Pale, pale as afhes, all bedawb'd in blood, All in gore blood; I fwooned at the fight. Jul.O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break at once! To prifon, eyes! ne'er look on liberty; Vile earth to earth refign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo prefs one heavy bier! Nurfe. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had: O courteous Tybalt, honeft gentleman, That ever I fhould live to fee thee dead! Jul. What ftorm is this, that blows so contrary! 3 (11) And that bare vowel, ay, fhall poifon more Than the death-darting Eye of Cockatrice.] I queftion much whether the Grammarians will take this new Vowel on Truft from Mr. Pope, without fulpecting it rather for a Dipthong. In fhort, we must reftore the Spelling of the old Books, or we lofe the Poet's Conceit. At his Time of day, the affirmative Adverb Ay was geneTally written, I: and by this means it both becomes a Vowal, and anfwers in Sound to Eye, upon which the Conceit turns in the Second Line. Is Romeo flaughter'd? and is Tybalt dead? Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical! Dove feather'd raven! wolvish-rav'ning lamb! (12) Nurfe. There's no truft, No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd; (12) Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven, Wolvifh ravening lamb.] This paffage Mr. Pope has thrown out of the Text, partly, I prefume, because these two noble Hemiftichs are, indeed, inharmonious: [But chiefly, because they are obfcure and unintelligible at the firft view.] But is there no fuch Thing as a Crutch for a labouring, halting, Verfe? I'll venture to reftore to the Poet a Line that was certainly his, that is in his own Mode of Thinking, and truly worthy of him. The firft word, ravenous, I have no doubt, was blunderingly coined out of Raven and ravening, which follow; and, if we only throw it out, we gain at once an harmonious Verfe, and a proper Contraft of Epi thets and Images. Dove-feather'd Raven! Wolvish-rav'ning Lamb↓ Jul. Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue, For fuch a wish! he was not born to shame; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd O, what a beast was I to chide him fo? Nurfe. Will you fpeak well of him, that kill'd your coufin? Jul. Shall I fpeak ill of him, that is my husband? Ah, poor my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it! But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my coufin? That villain coufin would have kill'd my husband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, miftaking offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain; Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds; Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wafh they his wounds with tears? mine fhall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up thofe cords;-poor ropes, you are beguil'd; Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd. He made you for a high-way to my bed: But I, a maid, die maiden widowed. Come, cord; come, nurfe; I'll to my wedding-bed: Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his laft farewel. Fri. [Exeunt. SCENE changes to the Monaftery. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo. Omeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man; And thou art wedded to calamity. Rom. Father, what news? what is the Prince's doon? What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? Fri. Too familiar Is my dear on with fuch fow'r company. I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom? Rom. What lefs than dooms-day is the Prince's doom? Fri. A gentler jugdment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay, death; For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death. Do not fay, banishment. Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished: the Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. Rom. There is no world without Kerona's walls, But But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence banished, is banifh'd from the world; And turn'd that black word death to banishment. Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here, More honourable state, more courtship lives Hadft tho no poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife, O Friar, the damned ufe that word in hell; A fin-abfolver, and my friend profeft, Rom. O, thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished. Rom. Yet, banished hang up philofophy: Unless |