(And fay'ft thou yet, that exile is not death ?) Hadft thou no Poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife, O Friar, the Damned use that word in hell; A fin-abfolver, and my friend profeft, To mangle me with that word, banishment? Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me speak.. Rom. O, thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word, Adverfity's sweet milk, philofophy, To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished. Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy eftate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou doft not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Then might'ft thou fpeak, then might'ft thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground as I do now, [Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arife, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyfelf. [Knock within. Rom. Not I, unlcfs the breath of heart fick Groans, Mift-like, infold me from the Search of Eyes. [Knock. Fri. Hark, how they knock !-(who's there?)— Run to my Study-(By and by)-God's will! Nurfe. [Within] Let me come in, and you fhall know my errand : I come from lady Juliet. Fri. Welcome then. Enter Nurfe. Nurfe. O holy Friar, oh tell me, holy Friar, Where is my lady's lord? Where's Romeo? Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurfe. O he is even in my miftrefs' cafe, Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Nurfe. Ah Sir! ah Sir!-Death is the end of all. My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?] An Antithefis or Oppofition was here intended: But what Oppofition is there between conceal'd and cancell'd? Befides, he was not conceal'd tho' he was. We fhould read, -My conceal'd, lady to our cancell'd love? And then the Opposition is evident, and the Sense exact. Warb. Nurfe. Nurfe. O, fhe fays nothing, Sir; but weeps and weeps And now falls on her bed, and then starts up; And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls, Rom. As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her, as that name's curfed hand Murder'd her kinfman.. In what vile part of this -Tell me, Friar, tell me, anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may fack The hateful manfion. Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: [Drawing his Sword. Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote *Unfeemly Woman in a feeming Man! [Earth, Why rail'ft thou on thy Birth, the Heaven, and Unfeemly Woman in a feeming Man! And ill befeeming Beast in fecming both!] This ftrange Nonsense Mr. Pope threw out of his Edition for desperate. But it is cafily re ftored as Shakespear wrote it into good pertinent Senfe. Unfeemly Woman in a feeming Man! An ill befeeming Beaft in feeming groth! i. e. You have the ill befeeming Paffions of a Brute Beaft in the wellfeeming Shape of a Rational Creature. Why rail'ft thou on thy Birth, the Heav'n and Earth, Warb. In thee at once, which thou at once would't lofe ?] These were again thrown out by Mr. Pope, and for the fame Reafon: But they are eafily fet right, We fhould read, Since Birth, and Heav'n, and Earth, all three fo meet, In thee atone; which then at once would lofe. i. e. Why rail you at your Birth, and at Heaven, and Earth, which are all fo meet, or aufpicious to you: And all three your Friends, [all three in thee atone] and yet you would lose them all by one rash Stroke Warb. Since Birth, and Heav'n, and Earth, all three fo meet, In thee atone; which Thou at once would'ft lofe? 1; Thy dear Love fworn, but hollow Perjury, Whcih Which heavy forrow makes them apt unto. Romeo is coming. [long, Nurfe. O lord, I could have flaid here all night To hear good counfel: oh, what Learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. Rom. Do fo, and bid my Sweet prepare to chide. Nurfe. Here, Sir, a ring the bid me give you, Sir: Hie you, make hafte, for it grows very late. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall fignify from time to time Every good hap to you, that chances here: Give me thy hand, 'tis late, farewel, good-night. Rom. But that a joy, paft joy, calls out on me, It were a grief, fo brief to part with thee. [Exeunt. Changes to Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. Cap. T That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, the lov'd her kinfman Tybalt dearly, Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo: Madam, good-night; commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her Mind early to morrow: To-night he's mew'd up to her heaviness. Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a feparate tender Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love:] This was but an indifferent Compliment both to Sir Paris and his Daughter. As if there were small Hopes of her ever proving good for any Thing. We fhould read, Sir Paris, I will make a separate tender. Warb. Of |