PAR. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable Death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown!-

O love! O life! not life, but love in death!
CAP. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd !—
Uncomfortable time! why cam'st thou now
To murther, murther, our solemnity?—

O child! O child!—my soul, and not my child!-
Dead art thou!-alack! my child is dead!
And, with my child, my joys are buried!

FRI. Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself

Had part in this fair maid; now Heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:

Your part in her you could not keep from death;

But Heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For 't was your heaven, she should be advanc'd:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd,
Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself?
O, in this love, you love your child so ill,
That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
She's not well married that lives married long;
But she's best married that dies married young.
Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse; and, as the custom is,

In all her best array bear her to church:

a

For though some nature bids us all lament,
Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.

CAP. All things that we ordained festival,
Turn from their office to black funeral :
Our instruments to melancholy bells;
Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast;
Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse,
And all things change them to the contrary.
FRI. Sir, go you in,—and, madam, go with him ;-
And go, sir Paris;-every one prepare
To follow this fair corse unto her grave.
The Heavens do low'r upon you, for some ill;
Move them no more, by crossing their high will.

[Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR.

■ Some nature. Fond nature has been introduced into the text from the second folio. The difficulty of some is not manifest. Some nature-some impulses of nature-some part of our nature. The idea may have suggested the "some natural tears" of Milton.

1 Mus. 'Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. NURSE. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up,

For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

1 Mus. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Enter PETER.

PET. Musicians, O, musicians 5o, "Heart's ease, Heart's ease;"

O, an you will have me live, play "Heart's ease."

1 Mus. Why "Heart's ease?"

Exit NURSE.

PET. O, musicians, because my heart itself plays-" My heart is full!" O, play

me some merry dump a, to comfort me.

2 Mus. Not a dump we; 't is no time to play now.

PET. You will not then?

Mus. No.

PET. I will then give it you soundly.

1 Mus. What will you give us?

PET. No money, on my faith; but the gleek: I will give you the minstrel.

1 Mus. 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 b; Do you note me?

1 Mus. An you re us, and fa us, you note us.

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

PET. Then have at you with my wit; I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger :-Answer me like men:

When griping griefs the heart doth wound,

And doleful dumps the mind oppress,

Then music, with her silver sound;

Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver sound?
What say you, Simon Catling d?

1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound.

PET. Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck'?

2 Mus. I say-silver sound, because musicians sound for silver.

PET. Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost?

3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say.

PET. O, I cry you mercy! you are the singer: I will say for you. It is-music with her silver sound, because musicians have no gold for sounding 8:

Dump. See 'Two Gentlemen of Verona,' Act III., Scene 2, note. The exclamation “O, play me," &c., is not in the folio.

* I'll RE you, I'll FA you. Re and fa are the syllables, or names, given in solmisation, or solfaing to the sounds D and F in the musical scale.

In (4) we have "such fellows as you have seldom gold for sounding;" and then the servant calls them "fiddlers." It is interesting to mark the change in the corrected copy. Shakspere would not put offensive words to the skilled in music, even into the mouth of a clownish servant.

Then music, with her silver sound,

With speedy help doth lend redress.

1 Mus. What a pestilent knave is this same !

[Exit, singing.

2 Mus. Hang him, Jack! Come, we 'll in here: tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

[Exeunt.

Roм. If I may trust the flattering trutha of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand:
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;

(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,)
And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips,
That I reviv'd, and was an emperor.
Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,
When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

Enter BALTHASAR.

News from Verona!-How now, Balthasar?
Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar?

How doth my lady? Is my father well?

(4), eye. This word has been retained by the modern editors. But it is not difficult to see

the growth of that philosophical spirit in Shakspere which suggested the substitution of the word

66

truth," which opens to the mind a deep volume of metaphysical inquiry.

How doth my ladya Juliet? That I ask again;
For nothing can be ill, if she be well.
BAL. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill.
Her body sleeps in Capels' monument,
And her immortal part with angels lives.
I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault,
And presently took post to tell it you:
O pardon me for bringing these ill news,
Since you did leave it for my office, sir.
ROM. Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!—
Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper,
And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night.

BAL. I do beseech you, sir, have patience b.
Your looks are pale and wild, and do import
Some misadventure.

ROM.

Tush, thou art deceiv'd;

Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do :
Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?
BAL. No, my good lord.
ROM.

No matter: get thee gone
And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.
Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's see for means:-O, mischief! thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
I do remember an apothecary 52,—
And hereabouts he dwells,-which late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones:
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuff'd, and other skins

Of ill-shap'd fishes; and about his shelves.

A beggarly account of empty boxes,

Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,

Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses,

Were thinly scatter'd to make up a show.

Noting this penury, to myself I said—
An if a man did need a poison now,

▪ (A), How fares my Juliet?

The first quarto has

"Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus."

[Exit BALTHASAR.

But then all the remaining dialogue in the early play differs from the amended text of the author, and the changes show his accurate judgment. For example

"Hast thou no letters to me from the friar?"—

that most important repetition-is omitted in the original play. Are we not to trust to this judgment?