Jul. What ftorm is this, that blows fo contrary! Is Romeo flaughter'd? and is Tybalt dead? My dear-lov'd coufin, and my dearer lord? Then let the trumpet found the general Doom, For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurfe. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished, Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood? Nurfe. 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) Juft oppofite to what thou juftly feem'ft, Nurfe. There's no truft, No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd; (12) Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven, Wolvish ravening Lamb.] This paffage Mr. Pope has thrown out of the Text, partly, I presume, 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 reftore 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 I Wolvish-ravʼning Lamb! Shame Shame, come to Romeo! Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue, For fuch a wish! he was not born to fhame; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo? Nurfe. Will you fpeak 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 shall smooth 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 would have flain; Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds; Dif Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine fhall be fpent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those Cords; poor Ropes, you are beguil'd; Both You and I; for Romeo is exil'd. He made You for a high-way to my Bed: But I, a maid, dye Maiden widowed. Come, Cord; come, Nurfe; I'll to my wedding. Bed: Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his laft farewel. [Exeunt. 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? Is Fri. Too familiar my der fon with fuch fow'r company. I bring the tidings of the Prince's doom. Rom. What lefs than dooms-day is the Prince's doom? Fri. A genler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. Rom. Ha, banhment! be merciful, fay, death; But But purgatory, torture, hell it felf.. Hence banished, is banifh'd from the world; Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy heav'n is here, O Friar, the Damned ufe that word in hell; A fin-abfolver, and my friend profeft, Rom. O, thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word, Adverfity's fweet milk, philofophy, To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished. Difplant a town, reverse a Prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more Fri. O, then I fee that mad-men have no ears. Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak 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, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. [Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arife, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy felf. [Knock within. Rom. Not I, unless the breath of heart-fick Groans, Mift-like, infold me from the Search of Eyes. [Knock. Fri. Hark, how they knock!-(who's there?)- Romeo, arife. Thou wilt be taken (ftay a while). ftand up; [Knocks. (By and by) God's will! Run to my Study What willfulness is this? I come, I come. [Knock. Who knocks fo hard? whence come you; what's your will? Nurfe. [Within.] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand: I come from lady Juliet. Fri. Welcome then. Enter Nurfe. 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 drunk. Nurfe. O he is even in my mistress' cafe, Juft in her cafe, O woful fympathy! Pitacus PA edicament! even fo lies the, Blubb'ring |