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La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child Unhappy sight! alas, the blood is spilld
dear kinsman -Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
Prin. Benvolio, who began this fray?
Ben. Tybalt here Nain, whom Romeo's hand did slay : Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt, deaf to peace; but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast ; Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than his
La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague:
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio ;
friend ; His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
Prin. And for that offence,
the loss of mine.
5 CENE changes to an Apartment in Capulet's
Enter Juliet alone.
Jul. G Tow'rds
Phebus manfion ; fuch a waggoner,
As Phaeton, would whip you to the west,
That (9) Else, when he is found, that hour is his 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 Itand so perversely. We must read,
Elfe, when he's found, that Hour is his last. Every diligent and knowing Reader of our Poet must have observ'd, that Hour and Fire are almost perpetually disyllables in the pronounciation and Scanfion of his Verses.
(10) Spread thy close Curtain, love 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 Romea
-Come, feeling Night, Scarf up the tender Eye of pitiful day, &c. So Juliet here would have Night's Darkness obscure the great Eye of the Day, the Sun; whom considering in a poetical Light as Phæbus, drawn in his Carr with fiery-footed Steeds, and posting thro' the Heav'ns, She 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 the close Night doth play the Runaway. Mr. Warburton.
Now, nurse, what news? what haft thou there?
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.
Nurse. 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.
Jul. Can heaven be so envious ?
Nurfe. Romeo can,
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,
-poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes! ne'er look.on liberty ; Vile earth to earth resign, end motion here, And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier !
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had : 0.courteous Tybalt, honeft gentleman, That ever I should live to see thee dead!.
(11) And that bare vowel, ay, shall poison more
Than the death-darting Eye of Cockatrice.) I question much whe. ther the Grammarians will take this new Vowel on Trust from Mr. Pope, without suspecting it rather for a Diphthong. In short, we mult restore the Spelling of the Old Books, or We lote the Poet's Conceit. Ac his Time of day, the affirmative Adverb Ay was generally written, I: and by this means it both becomes a Vowel, and antwers in Sound to Eye, upon which the Conceit turns in the Second Line,
Jul. What storm is this, that blows fo contrary !
Nurse. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
Jul. O. God ! did Romeo's hand thed Tybalts blood ? Nurfe. It did, it did, alas, the day! it did.
Jul. O ferpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face!
Nurse. There's no trust,
(12) Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven,
Wolvis ravening Lamb.] This passage Mr. Pope has thrown out of the Text, partly, I presume, because these two noble Hemistichs are, indeed, inharmonious: [ But chiefly, because they are obscure and unintelligible at the first view.) But is there no such thing as a Crutch for a labouring, halting, Verse ? I'll venture to restore to the Poet a Line that was certainly his, that is in his own Mode of Thinking, and truly worthy of him. The first word, ravenous, I have no Doubt, was blunder. ingly coin'd out of Raven and ravening, which follow; and, if we only throw it out, we gain at once an harmonious Verse, and a proper Coneraft of Epithets and Images. Dove-feather'd Raven i Wolvilh-rav’ning Lamb!