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Love is a fmoke rais'd with the fume of fighs,
Being purg'd, a fire fparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vext, a fea nour fh'd with lovers' tears;
What is it elfe? a madness moft difcreet,
A choaking gall, and a preferving fweet.
Farewel, my coufin.

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. Tell me in fadnefs, 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 sadness make his will?-
O word, ill-urg'd to one that is fo ill!

In fadnefs, coufin, I do love a woman.

Ben. 1 aim'd so near, when I fuppos'd you lov❜d. Rom. A right good marks-man;-and fhe's fair, I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is foonest hit. Rom. But, in that hit, you mifs; fhe'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; fhe hath Dian's wit:


And, in ftrong proof of chastity well arm'd,

From love's weak childish bow, fhe lives unharm’d.
She will not stay the fiege of loving terms,
Nor 'bide th' encounter of affailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to faint-feducing gold.

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O, she is rich in beauty; only poor

That when he dies, 7 with Beauty dies her Store. Ben. Then he hath fworn, that fhe will ftill 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 blifs by making me despair;
She hath forfworn to love, and in that vow

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 ;
Thofe happy mafks, 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 else die in debt.

with Beauty dies her Store] Mr. Theobald reads,

With her dies beauties flore. and is foll wed by the two fucceeding editors. I have replaced the old reading, because I think it at left as plaufible as the correction. She is rich, fays he, in beauty, and en'y poor in being fubject to the lot of huma


nity, that her ftore, or riches, can be deftroyed by death, who shall, by the fame blow, put an end to beauty.

Rom. She bath, and in that Sparing, &c.] None of the following fpeeches of this scene in the firit edition of 1597. POPE. 9 100 wifely fair,] Hanmer. For, swiftly too fair.


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Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant.

Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike, and 'tis not hard I think,
For men fo old as we to keep the peace.
Par. Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
And, pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds fo long.
But now, my Lord, what fay you to my Suit?
Cap. But faying o'er what I have faid before:
My child is yet a ftranger in the world,
She hath not feen the Change of fourteen years;
Let two more fummers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

Par. Younger than fhe are happy mothers made. Cap. And too foon marr'd are thofe fo early made. The earth hath fwallow'd all my hopes but the, 'She is the hopeful lady of my earth, But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her confent is but a part; If the agree, within her scope of choice Lies my confent, and fair according voice: This night, I hold an old-accuftom'd Feast, Wherero I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, moft welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house, look to behold this night *Earth-treading ftars that make dark heaven's light.

She is the hop ful lady of my earth:] This line not in the Erft edition. POPE. The lady of bis earth is an expreffion not very intelligible, unlefs he means that she is heir to his cftate, and I fuppofe no man


ever called his lan is his earth. I will venture to propofe a bold change,

She is the hope and stay of my

full years. 2 Earth-treading ftars that make dark HEAVEN's light.] This nonsenso

Such comfort as 3 do lufty young men feel,
When well-apparel'd April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads, ev'n fuch delight
Among fresh female buds fhall you this night
Inherit at my houfe; hear all, all fee,

And like her moft, whofe merit moft fhall be:
→ Which on more view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, tho' in reck'ning none.
Come, go with me. Go, firrah, trudge about,
Through fair Verona; find those persons out,
Whofe names are written there; and to them fay,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.

nonfenfe fhould be reformed thus,

Earth-treading fars that make dark EVEN light.

i. e. When the evening is dark and without ftars, there earthly ftars fupply their place, and light it up. So again in this play,

Her beauty bangs upon the cheek of night,


Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's WARBURTON. But why nonfenfe? Is any thing more commonly, faid, than that beauties eclipfe the fun? Has not Pope the thought and the word?

Sol through white curtains fhot a tim'rous ray,

And ope'd thofe eyes that must

eclipfe the day. Both the old and the new reading are philofophical nonfenfe, but they are both, and both equally poetical fenfe.

3-do lufty young men feel,] To fay, and to fay in pompous words, that a young man shall feel

[Exeunt Capulet and Paris.

as much in an affembly of beauties, as young men feel in the month of April, is furely to waste found upon a very poor fentiment. read,


Such comfort as do lufty yeomen feel.

You fhall feel from the fight and
converfation of thefe ladies, fuch
hopes of happiness and fuch
pleafure, as the farmer receives
from the fpring, when the plenty
of the year begins, and the prof
pect of the harveft fills him with

4 Which on more view of ma-
ny, mine, being one,
May fand in number, tho' in

reck'ning none.] The first of thefe lines I do not understand. The old folio gives no help; the paffage is there, Which one more view. I can offer nothing better than this:

Within your view of many,
mine being one,
May ftand in number, &c.

Serv. Find them out, whofe names are written here?

It is written, that the Shoemaker fhould meddle with his Yard, and the Tailor with his Laft, the Fifher with his Pencil, and the Painter with his Nets. But I am fent to find thofe Perfons, whofe names are here writ; and can never find what names the writing perfon hath here writ. I muft to the Learned. In good time,

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Enter Benvolio and Romeo.

Ben. Tut, man! one fire burns out another's burning,

One pain is leffen'd by another's Anguish,

Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning, One defperate grief cure with another's Languifh; Take thou fome new infection to the eye,

And the rank poifon of the old will die.

Rom. Your plantan leaf is excellent for that.
Ben. For what, I pray thee?

Rom. For your broken fhin.

Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;


up in prifon, kept without my food,

Whipt and tormented, and-Good-e'en, good fellow. [To the Servant. Serv. God gi' good e'en.-I pray, Sir, can you


Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my mifery.

Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book. But, I pray,

Can you

read any thing you fee?

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters and the language.
Serv. Ye fay honeftly. Reft you merry.——
Rom. Stay, fellow, I can read.




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