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Now, nurse, what news? what haft thou there?
Nurfe. Ay, ay, the cords.
Jul. Ah me, what news? Why dost 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.
Nurfe. Romeo can,
Though heav'n cannot. O Romeo! Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou, that doft torment me thus ?
Nurfe. I faw the wound, I faw it with mine eyes, (God fave the mark,) here on his manly breast. A piteous coarse, a bloody piteous coarse; Pale, pale as afhes, all bedawb'd in blood, 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, end motion here, And thou and Romeo prefs one heavy bier! Nurfe. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had: O courteous Tybalt, honeft gentleman, That ever I fhould live to fee thee dead!
Jul. What ftorm is this, that blows so contrary!
(11) And that bare vowel, ay, fhall poifon more
Than the death-darting Eye of Cockatrice.] I queftion much whether the Grammarians will take this new Vowel on Truft from Mr. Pope, without fufpecting it rather for a Dipthong. In short, we muft reftore the Spelling of the old Books, or we lofe the Poet's Conceit. At his Time of day, the affirmative Adverb Ay was generally written, I: and by this means it both becomes a Vowal, and anfwers in Sound to Eye, upon which the Conceit turns in the Second Line.
Is Romeo flaughter'd? and is Tybalt dead?
Jul. O God! did Romeo's hand fhed Tybalt's blood?
Jul. O ferpent-heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep fo fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical!
Dove feather'd raven! wolvifh-ray'ning lamb! (12)
Nurfe. There's no truft,
No faith, no honefty, in men; all perjur'd;
All, all forfworn; all naught; and all diffemblers.
(12) Ravenous Dove, feather'd Raven,
Wolvifh ravening lamb.] This paffage Mr. Pope has thrown out of the Text, partly, I prefume, becaufe thefe two noble Hemiftichs are, indeed, inharmonious: [But chiefly, because they are obfcure and unintelligible at the first view.] But is there no fuch Thing as a Crutch for a labouring, halting, Verfe? I'll venture to restore to the Poet a Line that was certainly his, that is in his own Mode of 1hinking, and truly worthy of him. The firft word, ravenous, I have no doubt, was blunderingly coined out of Raven and ravening, which follow; and, if we only throw it out, we gain at once an harmonious Verfe, and a proper Contraft of Epi thets and Images.
Dove-feather'd Raven! Wolvish-rav'ning Lamb↓
Jul. Blifter'd be thy tongue,
For fuch a wifh! he was not born to fhame;
For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
O, what a beaft was I to chide him fo?
Nurfe. Will you fpeak 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 shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it! But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my coufin? That villain coufin would have kill'd my husband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native fpring; Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain;
Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds;
Nurfe Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's coarse.
Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wafh they his wounds with tears? mine fhall be spent,
When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.
Take up thofe cords;-poor ropes, you are beguil'd;
He made you for a high-way to my bed:
Come, cord; come, nurfe; I'll to my wedding-bed ..
Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewel.
SCENE changes to the Monaftery.
Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.
Fri. Omeo, 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 on with fuch fow'r company.
I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom?
Rom. What lefs than dooms-day is the Prince's doom? Fri. A gentler jugdment vanish'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.
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished, is banifh'd from the world;
And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here,
Hadit hou no poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife,
O Friar, the damned ufe that word in hell;
A fin-abfolver, and my friend profeft,
To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished.
Rom. Yet, banished? hang up philosophy; A