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Jul. What ftorm is this, that blows fo contrary!
Nurfe. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood? Nurse. It did, it did, alas, the day! it did.
Jul. O ferpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep fo fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! Wolvifh-rav'ning Lamb! (12) Defpifed fubftance, of divineft show! Juft oppofite to what thou juftly seem'ft, A damned Saint, an honourable villain! O nature! what hadft thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the Spirit of a fiend In mortal Paradife of fuch fweet flesh? Was ever book, containing fuch vile matter, So fairly bound? O, that deceit fhould dwell In fuch a gorgeous palace!
Nurfe. There's no truft,
No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd;
(12) Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven,
Wolvih 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 first view.] But is there no fuch 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 blunderingly coin'd 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 Epithers and Images.
Dove-feather'd Raven ! Wolvish-ravʼning Lamb'
Shame, come to Romeo!
Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue,
For fuch a wish! he was not born to fhame;
O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo?
Nurfe. Will you speak 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 fhall fmooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it! But wherefore, villain, didft 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, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt wo have liain ; And Tybalts dead, that would have kill'd my All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death, That murther'd me; I would forget it, fain; But, oh! it preffes to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds; Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished! That banished, that one word banished, Hath flain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or if fow'r woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs Why follow'd not, when the faid Tybalt'dead, Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both But with a rear-ward following Tybalt death, Romeo is banished-to fpeak that word, Is, father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All flain, all dead!Romeo isanished! There is no end, no limit, meare, bound, In that word's death; no wors can that woe found. Where is my father, and m/mother,_nurse?
Nurfe. Weeping and wing over Tybalt's coatre,
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
poor Ropes, you are beguil'd;
Come, Cord; come, Nurfe; I'll to my wedding. Bed:
Nurfe. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo
Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewel.
SCENE changes to the Monaftery.
Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.
Fri. ROMEO, come forth; come forth, thou fearful
Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.
Rom. Father, what news? what is the Prince's doom ? What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not?
Fri. Too familiar
Is my der fon with fuch fow'r company.
Ron. What lefs than dooms-day is the Prince's doom?
Rom. Ha, banrhment! be merciful, fay, death;
Pom. There is no world without Verona's wails,
But purgatory, torture, hell it felf..
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy heav'n is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Lives here in heaven, and may look on her; But Romeo may not. More validity, More honourable ftate, more courtship lives In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may feize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, And steal immortal bleffings from her lips; (Which even in pure and veftal modesty Still blufh, as thinking their own kiffes fin.) This may flies do, when I from this must fly; (And fay'ft thou yet, that exile is not death ?) But Romeo may not; he is banished. Hadft thou no Poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife, No fudden mean of death, tho' ne'er fo mean, But banished to kill me? banished ?
O Friar, the Damned use that word in hell;
Rom. Yet, banished? hang up philofophy:
Difplant a town, reverse a Prince's doom,
Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate.
Rom. Thou canst not fpeak of what thou doft not feel : Wert thou as young as 1, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murthered, Doating like me, and like me banished; Then might'ft thou fpeak, then might'ft thou tear thy hair,
And fall upon the ground as I do now,
(ftay a while).
Thou wilt be taken
[Knocks. God's will!
(By and by)
I come, I come. [Knock. Who knocks fo hard? whence come you; what's your
Run to my Study-
Nurfe. [Within.] Let me come in, and you fhall know my errand :
I come from lady Juliet.
Nurfe. O holy Friar, oh, tell me, holy Friar, Where is my lady's lord? where's Romeo?
Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made
Nurfe. O he is even in my mistress' cafe, Juft in her cafe, O woful fympathy! Piteous predicament! even fo lies the,