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3 Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish rav'ning Lamb!
Despised substance, of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned Saint, an honourable villain !
O nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell,
When thou didit bower the Spirit of a fiend
In mortal Paradise of such sweet flesh ?
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace !
Nurse. There's no trust,
No faith, no honesty, in men; all perjur'd;
All, all forsworn; all naught; and all dissemblers.
Ah, where's my man? Give me some Aqua vita-
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old !
Shame come to Romeo!
Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue,
For such a with! he was not born to shame
Upon his brow shame is alham'd to fit:
For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the univerfal earth.
O, what a beast was I to chide him so ?
Nurse. Will you speak well of him, that kill'd
Jul. Shall I spiak ill of him, that is my husband?
3 In old editions.
as a crutch for a labouring, haltRavenous Duve, fealherid Ra. ing verse? I'll venture to restore
ven, &c.] The four fol to the Poet a line that is in his lowing lines rot in the first edi own mode of thinking, and trution, as well as some o!hers ly worthy of him. Ravenous was which I have omitted. POPE. blunderingly coin'd out of raven Ravencus Dove, feather'd Re- and ravening; and, if we only
throw it out, we gain at once an Wolvilh rarening Lomb!] This harmonious verse, and a proper pafiage Mr. Pope has thrown out contrait of epithets and images. of the text, because these two Dove feather'd Raven! wolunoble henijiic's are in harmoni ifb-rav'ning Lamb! ous: But is ihere no such ching
Ah, poor my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy
When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it!
But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ?
That villain cousin 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 Nain ;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have kill'd
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then ?
Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death,
That murder'd me; I would forget it, fain ;
But, oh! it presses to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished !
That banished, that one word banished,
4 Hath Nain ten thousand Tybalts.
Was woe enough, if it had ended there;
Or if sou’r woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both ?
s Which modern lamentation might have mov’d:
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished to speak that word,
Is, father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All Nain, all dead ! Romeo is banished!
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe found.
4 Hath fiain ten thousand Ty- the editors did not remember
balts.] Hath put Tybalt out that 'Shakespeare uses modern for of my mind as if out of being. common, or fight: I believe it
5 Which modern lamentation, was in his cime confounded in &c:) This line is left out of the colloquial language with modeJater editions, I suppose because rate.
Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's coarse, Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Walh they his wounds with tears? mine shall
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up those Cords ;
-poor Ropes, you are be-
Both you and I ; for Romeo is exild.
He made you for a high-way to my bed:
But I, a maid, die Maiden widowed.
Come, Cord; come, nurse ; I'll to my wedding-Bed:
And Death, not Romeo, take my Maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well, where he is.
Hark ye. Your Romeo will be here at night,
I'll to him, he is hid at Lawrence' cell.
Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true
And bid him come, to take his last farewel.
Fri. ROMEO, come forth; come forth, thou
Afiction is enamourd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news ? what is the Prince's
What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand,
That I yet know not?
Fri. Too familiar
dear fon with such fou'r company. I bring the tidings of the Prince's doom? Rom. What less than dooms-day is the Prince's
Fri. A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips,
Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, say, death;
For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death. Do not say, banishment.
Fri. Here from Verona, art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished, is banith'd from the world;
And world-exil'd, is death. That banishment
Is death mis-term’d; calling death banishment,
Thou cur'st my head off with a golden ax,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.
Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness !
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rusht aside the law,
And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heay'n is
Where Juliet lives ; and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Lives here in heayen, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not.
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo ; they may seize
to mean, worth, or dignity;, and More honourable Bate, more courtship the state of a courtier courtship lives
permitted to approach the highIn carrion flies, than Roc eft presence. meo,-) Validity seems here
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessings from her lips;
Which ev'n in
pure and veltal modesty
Still blush, as thinking her own kisses fin.
This may fies do, when I from this must fly;
And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death?
But Romeo may not ; he is banished.
Hadft thou no Poison mixt, no sharp-ground knife,
No sudden mean of death, tho' ne'er fo mean,
But banished to kill me ? banished ?
O Friar, the Damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it : how hast thou the heart,
Being a Divine, a ghostly Confeffor,
A fin-abfolver, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word, banishment ?
Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak.
Ron. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word,
Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished.
Rom. Yet, banished ? hang up philosophy:
Unless philosophy can make a Juliet,
Displant a town, reverse a Prince's doom,
It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more-
Fri, o, then I see that mad men have no ears.
Rom. How should they, when that wise men have
no eyes ?
Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour bur married, Tybalt murdered,
Doating like me, and like me banished ;
Then might'st thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
[Throwing himself on the ground.