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As is the night before fome feftival,

To an impatient child that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse !

Enter Nurfe with cords.

And fhe brings news; and every tongue, that fpeaks
But Romeo's name, fpeaks heavenly eloquence;
Now, nurfe, what news? what haft thou there?
The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?
Nurse. Ay, ay, the cords.

ful. Ah me, what news?

Why doft thou wring thy hands?

Nurse. Ah welladay, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

We are undone, lady, we are undone.——
Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead,
Jul. Can heaven be fo envious?

Nurfe. Romeo can,

Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo!
Who ever would have thought it, Romeo?

Jul. What devil art thou, that doft torment me thus?

This torture fhould be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo flain himself? fay thou but, I;
And that bare vowel, I, fhall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice,

And that bare vowel, ay, fhall poifon more Than the dra'h darting eye of cockatrice.] I queftion much whether the grammarians will take this new vowel on truft from Mr. Pope, without fufpect ing it rather for a diphthong. In fhort, we must restore the spelling of the old books, or we lose the


Poet's conceit. At his time of day, the affirmative adverb ay was generally written, I: and by this means it both becomes a vowel, and anfwers in found to eye, upon which the conceit turns in the fecond line. THEOB.

-death-darting eye of cockatrice.] The ftrange lines that follow here in the common books

Nurfe. I faw the wound, I faw it with mine eyes, (God fave the mark,) here on his manly breast. A piteous coarfe, a bloody piteous coarse; Pale, pale as afhes, all bedawb'd in blood, All in gore blood. I fwooned at the fight. Jul. O break, my heart!-poor bankrupt, break

at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty;
Vile earth to earth refign, end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!
Nurfe. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had:
O courteous Tybalt, honeft gentleman,
That ever I fhould live to fee thee dead!

Jul. What storm 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 thofe two are gone?
Nurfe. Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished,
Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished.

ful. 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!

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3 Dove-feather'd raven! wolvifh rav'ning Lamb!
Despised substance, of divinest show!
Juft oppofite to what thou justly feem'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 Paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book, containing fuch vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In fuch a gorgeous palace!

Nurfe. There's no trust,

No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd;
All, all forfworn; all naught; and all diffemblers.
Ah, where's my man? Give me fome Aqua vita-
Thefe griefs, these woes, thefe forrows make me old!
Shame come to Romeo!

Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue,

For fuch a wifh! he was not born to fhame
Upon his brow fhame is afham'd to fit :

For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd

Sole monarch of the univerfal earth.

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?

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Ah, poor my Lord, what tongue fhall fmooth thy


When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it!
But, wherefore, villain, didft thou kill my coufin ?
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, mistaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain ;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have kill'd my huf-

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 preffes to my memory,
Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds.
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!
That banished, that one word banished,

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+ Hath flain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there
Or if fou'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?

5 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 flain, all dead!Romeo is banished!
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe found.

Hath fain ten thousand Tybalts.] Hath put Tybalt out of my mind as if out of being.

5 Which modern lamentation, &c] This line is left out of the later editions, I fuppofe because

the editors did not remember that Shakespeare uses modern for common, or flight: I believe it was in his time confounded in colloquial language with moderate.


Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?
Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's coarfe,
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.
Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine fhall
be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up thofe Cords


poor Ropes, you are be

Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd.
He made you for a high-way to my

But I, a maid, die Maiden widowed.


Come, Cord; come, nurfe; I'll to my wedding-Bed:
And Death, not Romeo, take my Maidenhead!
Nurfe. 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.

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Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true


And bid him come, to take his laft farewel.



Changes to the Monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Fri. ROMEO, come forth; come forth, thou

fearful man.

Affliction is enamour'd 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?

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