Give me my Romeo, and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little ftars,
And he will make the face of heav'n fo fine,
That all the world fhall be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish fun.
O, I have bought the manfion of a love,
But not poffefs'd it; and though I am fold,
Not yet enjoy'd; fo tedious is this day,
As is the night before fome festival,

To an impatient child that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurfe!
Enter Nurfe with cords.

And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name, speaks heav'nly eloquence;
Now, nurse, what news? what haft thou there?
The cords that Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurfe. Ay, ay, the cords.

Jul. Ay me, what news?

Why doft thou wring thy hands ?

Nurfe. 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 difmal hell.
Hath Romeo flain himfelf? fay thou but, I;
And that bare vowel, I, fhall poifon more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice.
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,

A

All in gore blood; I fwooned at the fight...
Jul. O break, my heart-poor bankrupt, break

at once!

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

Jul. What form 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.

Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did, alas, the day! it did.

ful. O ferpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face !\/ Did ever dragon keep fo fair a cave?

Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical!

Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven! Wolvifh ravening Lamb!

Defpifed fubftance, of divinest show!

Juft oppofite to what thou jufly 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 fhould dwell
In fuch a gorgeous palace!

Nurfe. There's no truft,

No faith, no honefty, in men; all purjur'd;
All, all forfworn; all naught;' and all diffemblers.
Ah, where's my man? give me fome Aqua vita-
These griefs, these woes, these forrows make me old!

Shame

Shame come to Romeo!

Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue,

For fuch a wifh he was not borne 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 universal earth..

O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo?

Nurfe. Will you speak well of him, that kill'd your coufin ?

Jul. Shall I fpeak ill of him, that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue fhall fmooth thy

name,

When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it! But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin ? That villain coufin would have kill'd my hufband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native fpring; Your tributary drops belong to woe,

Which you, miftaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have kill'd my husband;
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 banish'd!
That banished, that one word banished,
Hath flain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or if four woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when fhe faid, Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both?
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished-to fpeak that word,
Is, father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All flain, all dead!. Romeo is banished!`s
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,

In that word's death; no words can that woe found? Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's coarse. Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up thofe Cords;poor Ropes, you are beguil'd;

Both You and I; for Romeo is exil'd.

He made You for a high-way to my Bed:
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.

Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his laft farewel. [Exeunt.

Fri. R

Changes to the Monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

O ME 0, 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 doom?

What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

That I yet know not?

Fri. Too familiar

Is my dear fon with fuch four company.

I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.

Rom. What lefs than doom's-day is the Prince's doom? j

Fri.

Fri. * A gentler judgment even'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay, death; For exile hath more terror in his look,

Much more than death. Do not fay, banishment.
Fri. Here from Verona art thou banished:
Be patient, for the world is broad and, wide.1

Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls, + But purgatory, Tartar, Hell itfelf.

Hence banifhed, is banifh'd from the world;
And world-exil'd, is death. That banifhed,
Is death mif-termed: calling death banishment,
Thou cut'ft my head off with a golden ax,
And smil'ft upon the ftroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rufht afide the law,

And turn'd that black word death to banishment. This is dear mercy, and thou seeft it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little moufe, every unworthy thing, Lives here in heaven, and may look on her; But Romeo may not. More validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies, than Romeo; they may feize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, And fteal immortal bleffings from her lips; (Which even in pure and veftal modesty Still blufb, as thinking their own kiffes fin) may flies do, when I from this muft fly;

This

A gentler judgment vanish'd form his lips,] Without Doubt, Shakespear wrote,-A gentler judgment even'd from his lips, i. e. came equitably from his Lips.

Warb.

But purgatory, torture, hell itself.] Place is the Subject here fpoken of, as appears from the preceding Words, There is no World, c. I think therefore that Shakespear wrote,

But Purgatory, Tartar, Hell itself.

Warb.

(And