Ber. Part, fools! put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords.

Enter TYBALT.
Tyb. What! art thou drawn among these heart-

less binds ?
Turn thee, Benvolio; look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace : put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tyb. What! drawn, and talk of peace? I hate

the word,
As I hate the word, mo
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
Have at thee, coward.

[They fight. Enter several Partisans of both Houses, who join the

Fray; then enter Citizens, with Clubs. 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans ! ' strike! beat

them down! Down with the Capulets ! down with the Monta

gues ! "

instead of swashing. The latter is undoubtedly the right word. Ben Jonson, in his Staple of News, has the phrase swashing blow. Baret, in his Alvearie, 1580, says that “10 swash is to make a poise with swords against targets." See As You Like It, Act i. sc. 3, note 8.

H. & The old custom of crying out, Clubs, clubs! in case of any lumult occurring in the streets of London, has been made familiar 10 most readers by Scott in The Fortunes of Nigel. See As You Like It, Act v. sc. 2, note 3. - Bills and partizans were weapons used by watchmen and foresters. See As You Like It, Act i. se. 2, pcie 5. – This transferring of London costoms to an Italian city is thus justified by Knight : “ The use by Shakespeare of nome phrases, in the mouths of foreign characters, was a part of his art. It is the same thing as rendering Sancho's Spanish prov. erbs into the corresponding English proverbs, instead of literally translating them. The cry of clubs by the citizens of Verona expressed an idea of popular movement, which could not have heen conveyed half so emphatically in a foreigu phrase " H.

If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the prace.
For this time, all the rest depart away :
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Frec-town, our common judgment-place."
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Erkunt all but MONTAGUE, Lady MONTAGUE,

and BENVOLIO. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ?Spcak, nephew, were you by when it began.

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : I drew to part them ; in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about bis head, and cut the winds, Wbo, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd bim in scorn. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part.

10 In Brooke's poem Free-town is the name of a castle belonging to Capulet. - Upon the foregoing part of this scene Coleridge bas the following : “ With his accustomed judgment, Shakespeare has begun by placing before us a lively picture of all the impulses of the play ; and, as nature ever presents two sides, one for Heraclitus, and one for Democritus, he bas, by way of prelude, shown the laughable absurdity of the evil by the contagion of it reaching the servants, who have so little to do with it, but who are under the necessity of letting the superfluity of sensoreal power fly off through the escape-valve of wit-combats, and of quarrelling with weapons of sharper edge, all in humble imitation of their masters. Yet there is a sort of unbired fidelity, an ourishness about all this, that makes it rest pleasant on one's feelings. All the first scene, down to the conclusion of the Prince's speech, is a motley dance of all ranks and ages to one tune, as if the born of Huon had been playing behind the scenes.”

Lady M. U! where is Romeo ?- saw you him

to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. .

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I made ; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood :
1, measuring his affections by my own, -
Which then most sought, where most might not be

found,
Being one too many by my weary self," —
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ?

Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means ?

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends • But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself - I will not say, how true But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is ‘he bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun."? Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo, at a distance.
Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step

aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.

Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away.

[Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom.

Is the day so young ?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom

Ah me! sad hours seem long,
Was that my father that went hence so fast ?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's

hours ?
Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them

short.
Ben. In love?

19 The old copies weve same instead of sun, or sunne, as it was formerly written. The happy emendation was made by Theo. bald, and is sustained by a passage in Daniel's Sonnets, 1594 :

“ And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sunne

The fairest flower that cver saw the light.”