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Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will drybeat you with an iron Wit, and put up my iron dagger: -answer me like men:

When griping grief the heart doth wound,

Then mufick 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. Prateft! What fay you, Hugh Rebeck?

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

Pet. Prateft too! What fay you, Samuel SoundBoard?

3 Muf. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

Pet. O, I cry you mercy, you are the finger, I will fay for you. It is mufick with her filver found, becaufe muficians have no gold for founding.

Then mufick with her filver found

With Speedy help doth lend redress.

[ Exit finging.

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.

ACT

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SA CT V. SCENE I,

MANTUA

Enter ROMEO.

FI may truft the flattering Truth of sleep,
My dreams prefage fome joyful news at hand :

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5 The acts are here properly enough divided, nor did any better diftribution than the edi-, tors have already made, occur to me in the perufal of this play; yet it may not be improper to remark, that in the firft folio, and I fuppofe the foregoing editions are in the fame ftate, there is no divifion of the acts, and there. fore fome future editor may try, whether any improvement can be made, by reducing them to a length more equal, or interrupting the action at more proper intervals.

If I may truft the flattering TRUTH of fleep,] This man was of an odd compofition to be able to make it a queftion, whether he fhould believe what he confeffed to be true. Tho' if he thought Truth capable of Flattery, he might indeed fuppofe her to be turn'd apoftate. But none of this nonfenfe came from Shakespear. He wrote,

If I may truft the flattering RUTH of fleep, i. e. Pity. The compaffionate

advertisement of fleep. This was a reasonable question; and the epithet given to Ruth fuits its nature. But, above all, the character which the poet always gives us of Sleep is here well defcribed in this reading; that it is pitiful, compaffionate, the

Balm of burt minds, great Nature's fecond courfe, Chief nourisher of life's feaft,But because I had corrected it,

-the flattering Ruth of fleep, the Oxford Editor would be even with me, and reads it,

-the flattery of fleep: And he has done it. For tho' a reasonable man might make it a question, whether he should believe a compaffionate advertisement, yet who would hefitate whether he should believe a flatterer. WARBURTON.

This feems to be a favourite correction, but it is not neceffary. The fenfe is, If I may only truft the honefty of fleep, which I know however not to be fo nice as not often to practise flattery.

My

"My bofom's Lord fits lightly on his throne, And, all this day, an unaccuftom'd fpirit

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 itself poffeft,
When but love's fhadows are so 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 fhe be well.

Balth. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body fleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently 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, Stars! Thou know'ft my lodging,-get me ink and paper, And hire post-horfes. I will hence to-night. Balth. Pardon me, Sir, I dare not leave you thus. Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure.

9 My bofom's Lord-] Thefe three lines are very gay and pleafing. But why does ShakeJpeare give Romeo this involuntary cheerfulness juft before the extremity of unhappiness? Perhaps

to fhew the vanity of trusting to thofe uncertain and cafual exaltations or depreffions, which many confider as certain foretokens of good and evil.

Rom.

Rom. Tufh, thou art deceiv'd.

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do.
Haft 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.

-O

[Exit Balthafar.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night;
Let's fee for means mifchief! thou art fwift
To enter in the thought of defperate men!
I do remember an Apothecary,

And hereabouts he dwells, whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of fimples; meager were his looks;
Sharp mifery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung,
An alligator ftuft, and other fkins
Of ill-fhap'd fishes, and about his fhelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes;
Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of rofes
Were thinly fcatter'd to make up a show.
Noting this penury, to myself, I said,
An if a man did need a poifon now,
Whose fale is prefent death in Mantua,

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Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.
Oh, this fame thought did but fore-run my need,
And this fame needy man must sell it me.
As I remember, this fhould be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's fhop is fhut.
-What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary.

Ap. Who calls fo loud?

Rom. Come hither, man. I fee, that thou art poor.
Hold. There is forty ducats. Let me have
A dram of poison, fuch foon-speeding geer,
As will difperfe itself thro' all the veins,
That the life-weary Taker may fall dead;
And that the Trunk may be discharg'd of breath,
As violently, as hafty powder fir'd

Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have, but Mantua's law
Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou fo bare and full of wretchedness,
And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks,
Need and oppreffion ftare within thine eyes,
Contempt and beggary hang upon thy back,
The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law;
The world affords no law to make thee rich,
Then be not poor, but break it and take this.
Ap. My poverty, but not my will, confents:
Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.
Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will,
And drink it off, and if you had the ftrength
Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight.
Rom. There is thy gold; worfe poifon to men's

fouls,

Doing more murders in this loathfome world,
Than these poor compounds that thou may'ft not fell.
I fell thee poison, thou haft fold me none.

Farewel,

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