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Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Suri Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft, A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad, Where underneath the grove of fycamour, That weftward rooteth from the City fide, So early walking did I fee your fon. Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood.

I, measuring his affections by my own,
5 That most are bufied when they're moft alone,
Pursued my humour, not purfuing him;

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the frefh morning-dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs;
But all fo foon as the all-chearing Sun
Should, in the furtheft Eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals home my heavy fon,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous muft this humour prove,
Unless good counfel may the caufe remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause ? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him. 7 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counsellor,

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5 That moft are bufied, &c.] Edition 1597. Instead of which it is in the other editions thus. -by my own. Which then most fought, where moft might not be found, Being one too many by my weary Self, Purfued my bumour, &c. POPE.

6 And gladly fhunn'd, &c.] The ten lines following, not in edition 1597, but in the next of 1599. POPE. 7 Ben. Have you importun'd, &c.] Thefe two fpeeches alfo omitted in edition 1597, but inferted in 1599.


Is to himself, I will not fay, how true,
But to himself fo fecret and fo close,
So far from founding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the Air,
8 Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.
Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give Cure, as know.

Enter Romeo,

Ben. See, where he comes. So please you, ftep afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny❜d. - Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy ftay To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away.


Ben. Good-morrow, coufin.

Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long!
-Was that my father that went hence fo faft?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them

Ben. In love?
Rom. Out-

& Or dedicate his beauty to the Same.] When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that brings forth, and makes the tender buds fpread them felves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote;

Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun, Or, according to the more ob

folete fpelling, Sunne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. THEOB." I cannot but fufpect that fome lines are loft, which connected this fimile more closely with the foregoing fpeech; thefe lines, if fuch there were, lamented the danger that Romeo will die of his melancholy, before his virtues or abilities are known to the world.


Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!


Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled ftill,
Should without eyes fee-path-ways 9 to his will!
Where fhall we dine?-O me!-What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
[Striking his breaft.

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Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
Oh, any thing of nothing firft create!
O heavy lightnefs! ferious vanity!
Mif-fhapen chaos of well-feeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health!
Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Doft thou not laugh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?


Ben. At thy good heart's oppreffion.
Rom. Why, fuch is love's tranfgreffion.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them preft
With more of thine; this love, that thou hast shown,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own

9-to his will!] Sir T. Hanmer, and after him Dr. Warbur ton, read, to his ill. The prefent reading has fome obfcurity; the meaning may be, that love finds out means to purfue his defire. That the blind should find paths to ill is no great wonder.


Why then, O brawling love, &c.] Of thefe lines neither the fenfe nor occafion is very evident. He is not yet in love with an enemy, and to love one and

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Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nourish'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness moft discreet,
A choaking gall, and a preferving fweet.
Farewel, my cousin,

Ben. Soft, I'll go along.

And if you leave me fo, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut, I have loft myself, I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's fome other where.

Ben. 5 Tell me in fadness, who fhe is you love?
Rom. What, fhall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan? why, no; but fadly tell me, who.
Rom. Bid a fick man in fadnefs make his will?-
O word, ill urg'd to one that is fo ill!
In fadnefs, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ben. I aim'd fo near, when I fuppos'd you lov'd.
Rom. A right good marks-man;-and fhe's fair, I

3 Being purg'd, a fire fparkling in lovers' eyes;] The authour may mean being purged of Jmoke, but it is perhaps a meaning never given to the word in any other place. I would rather read,


Bea. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit.
Rom. But, in that hit, you miss; she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; the hath Dian's wit:
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childifh bow, the lives unharm❜d.
She will not ftay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold,

Being urged, a fire fparkling. Being excited and inforced. To urge the fire is the technical term. 4 Being vex'd, &c.] As this


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O, she is rich in beauty; only poor

That when she dies, 7 with Beauty dies her Store. Ben. Then he hath fworn, that she will still live chafte ?

Rom. She hath, and in that Sparing makes huge


For beauty, ftarv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all pofterity.
She is too fair, too wife, too wifely fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair;
She hath forfworn to love, and in that yow
Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.

Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. Rom. O, teach me how I fhould forget to think. Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other Beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call hers exquifite in queftion more;
Those happy masks, that kifs fair ladies' brows,
Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;
He that is ftrucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eye-fight loft,
Shew me a miftrefs, that is paffing fair,
What doth her beauty ferve, but as a note,
Where I may read, who pafs'd that paffing fair?
Farewel, thou canst not teach me to forget.

Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or elfe die in debt.


7 with Beauty dies her Store.] nity, that her store, or riches, can Mr. Theobald reads. be destroyed by death, who fhall, by the fame blow, put an end to beauty..

With her dies beauties ftore. and is followed by the two fuc ceeding editors. I have replaced the old reading, because I think it at least as plaufible as the correction. She is rich, fays he, in beauty, and only poor in being fubject to the lot of huma

Rom. She bath, and in that Sparing, &c.] None of the following fpeeches of this fcene in the first edition of 1597. POPE. 9 too wifely fair,] Hanmer. For, wifely too fair.


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