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The most, you fought, was her Promotion;
For 'twas your Heaven, fhe fhould be advanc'd;
And weep you now, feeing fhe is advanc'd,
Above the Clouds, as high as Heav'n himself?
Oh, in this Love you love your Child fo ill,
That you run mad, feeing, that fhe is well.
She's not well married, that lives married long;
But fhe's beft married, that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your Rosemary
On this fair Coarfe; and, as the Custom is,
And in her best Array, bear her to Church.
3 For tho' fond Nature bids us all lament,
Yet Nature's Tears are Reafon's Merriment.
Cap. All Things, that we ordained festival,
Turn from their Office to black Funeral;
Our Inftruments to melancholy Bells,
Our wedding Chear to a fad Funeral Feaft;
Our folemn Hymns to fullen Dirges change,
Our bridal Flow'rs ferve for a buried Coarfe;
And all things change them to the contrary.

;

Fri. Sir, go you in, and, Madam, go with him
And go, Sir Paris; ev'ry one prepare
To follow this fair Coarfe unto her Grave.
The Heav'ns do low'r upon you, for fome Ill;
Move them no more, by croffing their high Will.
[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capulet, Paris, and Friar.

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Manent Muficians, and Nurse.

Muf. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes and be gone, Nurfe. Honeft good fellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

[Exit Nurse, Muf. Ay, by my troth, the cafe may be amended,

Enter Peter.

Pet. Musicians, oh musicians, heart's ease, heart's eafe:

Oh, an you will have me live, why, play heart's ease. Muf. Why, heart's eafe?

Pet. O musicians, because my heart itself plays, my heart itself is full of woe. 40, play me fome mer

ry dump, to comfort me!

Muf. Not a dump we, 'tis no time to play now. Pet. You will not then?

Muf. No.

Pet. I will then give it you foundly.

Muf. What will you give us?

Pet. No mony, on my faith, but the gleek. I will give you the Minstrel.

Muf. Then will I give you the Serving Creature. Pet. Then will I lay the Serving Creature's Dagger on your Pate. I will carry no Crotchets. I'll re you, I'll fa you, do you note me?

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Muf. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

2 Muf. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit.

40, play me fome merry dump, to comfort me!] This is not in the

folio, but the anfwer plainly requires it.

Pet

iron dag

Pet. Then have at you with my wit: I will drybeat you with an iron Wit, and put up my ger:anfwer 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?

I Muf. Marry, Sir, because filver hath a sweet found.

Pet. Prateft! What say you, Hugh Rebeck?

2 Muf. I fay, 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, because musicians 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

5A CT V. SCENE I,

FI

MANTUA.

Enter ROME O.

truft the flattering Truth of fleep, My dreams prefage fome joyful news at hand:

5 The acts are here properly enough divided, nor did any better diftribution than the editors 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 therefore 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.

6 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 should 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 hurt 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 queftion, whether he should believe a compaffionate advertisement, yet who would hefitate whether he fhould 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 unaccustom'd spirit

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 fweet is love itself poffeft,
When but love's fhadows are fo 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 ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if the be` well.

Balth. Then fhe is well, and nothing can be ill;
Her body fleeps in Capulet's monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I faw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took poft to tell it you.
O, pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my Office, Sir.

paper,

Rom. Is it even fo? then I defy you, Stars! Thou know'ft my lodging,-get me ink and And hire poft-horses. 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.

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

to fhew the vanity of truling to thofe uncertain and cafual exal- ́ tations or depreffions, which many confider as certain fretokens of good and evil.

Rom.

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