That can torment him much, and hold him
long,

It shall be his: You shall close prisoner rest,
Till that the nature of your fault be known
To the Venetian state :-Come, bring him
away.

Oth. Soft you; a word or two, before you go. I have done the state some service, and they know it;

No more of that:-I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice: then must you
speak

Of one that lov'd not wisely, but too well;
Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought,
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand,
Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away,
Richer than all his tribe; of one, whose subdu'd

eres,

Albeit unused to the melting mood,
Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees

Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;

For he was great of heart.

Lod. O Spartan dog,

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
Look on the tragic loading of this bed;

[TO JAGO.
This is thy work; the object poisons sight;—
Let it be hid.-Gratiano, keep the house,
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
For they succeed to you.-To you, lord gover-
nor,

Remains the censure of this hellish villain;
The time, the place, the torture,-0 enforce it !
Myself will straight aboard; and, to the state,
This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

• Sentence.

[Exeunt

THE reader will frequently de at a loss to reconcile the order and passages of Othello, as given in the present edition, with their accustomed delivery on the stage; but it is considered a trifling inconvenience, when coun toracted by the pleasure of possessing (as nearly as the most authentic resources can afford them,) the actual language and construction of the drama, as given by Shakspeare. In the authorized copies of the prompters? Books, and in many editions reprinted from them, the beauty of the original has been somewhat obscured by green-room entics, of conflicting taste, and obsequious managers, more penny-wise than poetical. The scene with the musicians, which introduces Act II.---that incongruous nuisance, the clown---and that equally troublesome excrescence, Bianca the prostitute ---are however, with real judgment, omitted in the representation; and many of the less important passages, such as occur in the scene before the senate--in the soliloquies of lago---in the dialogues between Montano and a gentleman of Cyprus, on the tempest of the preceding night, and between Desdemona and Emilia, on the temptations to adultery, are very considerably abridged. The order of the scenes is also perpetually varied; each theatrical copartnership retaining its peculiar programme of Richard or Othello, in common with its wardrobe, thunder, side-scenes, and mould-candles.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

LITERARY AND HISTORICAL NOTICE.

IN 1562 Mr. Arthur Brooke published a poem on "The Tragicall Historie of Romeus and Juliett;" the materia
for which he chiefly obtained from a French translation (by Boisteau) of an Italian novel by Luigi da Porto,
a Venetian gentleman, who died in 1529. A prose translation of Boisteau's work was also published 1576, by
Paister, in his Palace of Pleasure, vol. II.; and upon the incidents of these two works, especially of the poem,
Malone decides that Shakspeare constructed his entertaining tragedy. Dr. Johnson has declared this play to be
"one of the most pleasing of Shakspeare's performances:" but it contains some breaches of irregularity---
many superfluities, tumid conceits, and bombastic ideas, inexcusable even in a lover; with a continued recur
rence of jingling periods and trifling quibbles, which obscure the sense, or disgust the reader. Several of the
characters are, however, charmingly designed, and not less happily executed; the catastrophe is intensely
affecting; the incidents various and expressive; and as the passion which it delineates is one of universal ac.
ceptance in the catalogue of human wishes, the tinder-like character of the lady, and the notable constancy
of the gentleman, are forgotten in the dangers and the calamities of both. The numerous rhymes which occur,
are probably seedlings from Arthur Brooke's stock plant. "The nurse (says Dr. Johnson) is one of the characters
in which Shakspeare delighted: he has, with great subtilty of distinction, drawn her at once loquacious and
secret, obsequious and insolent, trusty and dishonest,"

TYBALT, Nephew to Lady Capulet.
FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.
FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.
BALTHAZAR, Servant to Romeo.

SAMPSON, Servants to Capulet.

GREGORY,

ABRAM, Servant to Montague.
AN APOTHECARY.

THREE MUSICIANS.

CHORUS.-BOY, Page to Paris.-PETER, on
Officer.

LADY MONTAGUE, Wife to Montague.
LADY CAPULET, Wife to Capulet.
JULIET, Daughter to Capulet.
NURSE to Juliet.

Citizens of Verona;

several Men

and

Women, relations to both Houses :
Maskers Guards, Watchmen, and At-
tendants.

SCENE, during the greater part of the Play, in Verona: once, in the fifth Act, at Mantua.

ACT 1.

SCENE I-A public Place.
Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with
Swords and Bucklers.

Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry
coals.⚫

Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

• A phrase formerly in use to signify the bearing jerice.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, nought could re-
move,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to
mend.

Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
of the collar.

Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to
strike.

Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves
me.

Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant,
is-to stand to it: therefore, if thou art mov'd,
thon run'st away.

Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to
of Montague's.
in-stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid

2 H

Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker Vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and

us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant : when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it.

Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of Blesh.

Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish: if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.

Enter ABRAM and BALTHAZER.

Enter MONTAGUE, and LADY MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet,-Hold me not; let me go.

La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek
a foe.

Enter PRINCE, with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-
Will they not hear?-what ho! you meu, you
beasts,-

That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will On pain of torture, from those bloody hands

back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?

Sam. Fear me not.

Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sum. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown as I pass by: and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they

bear it.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say,-ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you,
Sir; but I bite my thumb, Sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, Sir?
Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the

ground,

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.-
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace to part your canker'd hate:
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judginent-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

A

[Exeunt PRINCE and Attendants; CAPU

LET, LADY CAPULET, TYBALT, CITI-
ZENS, and Servants.
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new
abroach?

Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the servants of your ad.

versary,

And your's, close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing burt withal, biss'd bim in scoru:
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows
Came more and more and fought on part and
part,

Till the prince came, who parted either part.
La. Mon. O where is Romeo?-saw you him
to-day?

Right glad 1 am, he was not at his fray.
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd

sun,

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy Peer'd through the golden window of the east, sword,

Or manage it to part these men with me.

A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore,

Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate That westward rooteth from the city's side,—

the word,

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.

So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood :

[They fight., measuring his affections by my own, Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who That most are busied when they are most alone,

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:

• Angry.

But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts ap bis windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends:
But be, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself-I will not say, how true,-
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sonuding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,

Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

Could we but learn from whence his sorrows
grow,

We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter RoMEO, at a distance.

Ben. See, where he comes: So please you,
step aside:

I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift,-Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY.

Ben. Good morrow, cousiu.
Rem. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom. Ah me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was:-What sadness lengthens Ro-
meo's hours?

Rom. Not having that, which having, makes
them short.

Ben. In love?
Rom. Out-
Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in bis view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still. Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine ?-o me!-What fray was here?

Yet tell not, for I have heard it all.

[love:

:-
Here's much to do with hate, but more with
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick

health!

Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!-
This love feel 1, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not langh?

Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.

Rom. Good heart, at what?

Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.-
Griefs of mine own lle heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd
With more of thine: this love, that thou hast
shown,

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in a lover's eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.

[Going.

Ben. Soft, I will go along;
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom, Tut, I bave lost myself; 1 am

not

here;

This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who she is you
love.

In seriousness.

Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee? D
Ben. Groan? why, no;

But sadly tell me, who.

Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his
will:-

Ah word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!-
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you
lov'd.

Rom. A right good marksman!-And she's
fair I love.

Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is sootiest hit.

Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss: she'll not
be hit

With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives uh-
harm'd. *

She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide th' encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O she is rich in beauty; only poor,
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still
live chaste?

Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes
huge waste;

For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn 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 should forget to
think.

Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Examine other beauties.

Rom. 'Tis the way

To call her's exquisite, in question more:
These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the

fair;

He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,'
What doth her beauty serve, but as a note
Where I may read, who pass'd that passing
fair ?

Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in
[Exeunt.
debt.

SCENE II-A Street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and SERVANT.
Cap. And Montague is bound as well as Fy
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both;
And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said be-
fore:

1

My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years;
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Par. Younger than she are happy mothers

made.

Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early

made.

The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she;
She is the hopeful lady of my earth:
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart,
My will to her consent is but a part;
An she agree, within her scope of choice
Lies my consent, and fair according voice.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,

• A compliment to Queen Elizabeth, in whose reign the play was first represcuted.

Such as I love; and you, among the store, [more. not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come
Once more, most welcome, makes my number and crush a cup of wine. Rest your merry!
At my poor house, look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars, that make dark heaven
light:

Rom. Ay, if I know the letters, and the lan-She is not fourteen: How long is it now

Susan and she,-God rest all Christian souls!-
Were of an age.-Well, Susan is with God;
She was too good for me: But, as I said,
Ou Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen ;
That shall she, marry; I remember it well.
Tis since the earthquake now eleven years;
And she was wean'd,-I never shall forget
it,-

A fair assembly; [Gives back the Note.] Whither Of all the days of the year, upon that day :